(Matt Heffernan performing the 7/20 blunt. Photo by Riley Snyder.)

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The cork 720 blunt grab is the quintessential ski trick—the hallmark of our sport. You may ask about the backflip mute, the flat three japan, the cork three safety, the zero-spin, or the 180, and I agree with you that these are all essential, iconic tricks. But they are not as essential and iconic as the 7 blunt.

It’s the ideal combination of complexity and simplicity. When done well it looks beautifully simple, when done poorly it looks complex. At fourteen, the 7 blunt seemed to me about as simple as going to the moon. Making it look easy seemed impossible.

The cork 7 blunt is most superior because out of all the tricks under the sun it is the most perfectly representative of our sport. It combines its best, most laudable aspects into one crisp maneuver. The takeoff, the grab, the axis, the landing. It’s the greatest trick because it’s so endlessly variable. Some skiers go almost inverted when they do a 7 blunt, others go off-axis so slightly as to be almost upright.

The unforgettable moment between when the skier grabs their tail and when they roll over to spot their landing, finally letting go of the grab… It’s a brief, beautiful moment.

The blunt grab looks wild! It’s a notable absurdity. In its place amidst the organized chaos of velocity and height, the blunt grab seems both incongruous and conspicuous. The skilled skier sets the trick with comfort and hangs out in the air with as much apparent ease as they would relax on the couch at home. They grab the tail while only barely glancing at it and extend their leading arm like an arrow, smooth and controlled and precise.

It’s the epitome of the discipline; the most exemplary slice of freeskiing’s heart and soul. I’ve seen flawlessly gratifying cork 7 blunts and ugly scary ones that made my heart sink, but I’ve never seen anyone do a cork 7 blunt at any level without myself pausing for a moment to appreciate the immortality and purity of the skier’s vision.

With the culture of our sport regrettably steeped in much frivolousness, triviality, and pomp, it’s too easy to forget the deep sincerity, wonder, and friendship that are its timeless core. People come and go, skiers ski all day and go home when the lifts close, but the cork 7 blunt lives forever.

It encapsulates all I hold dear about skiing. It showcases nearly every skill that exists in the sport. It is the most interesting trick because no two skiers will do it the same way. Yes, this is true for all tricks, but for some wondrous reason I think the cork 7 blunt allows for maximum variability.

If I could throw all of skiing—its history, progression, legends, tricks—into one pot and boil, reducing it to its most pure essence, I think only the cork 7 blunt would remain. It stands like a statue above the pleasant mess of our ridiculous sport. It is proud, and it is blunt.

It’s a great name for the grab: immensely blunt, frank, in-your-face. It almost seems to saunter sometimes.

Freeskiing is, mainly, an effervescent art form. The trick lasts one second, maybe longer, but no matter the size of the jump or the length of the rail, it’s over quick. And when it’s over, it’s done. Gone. It lives on afterwards only in the skier’s heart and the minds of the witnesses, and if you’re lucky maybe a friend filmed it. In reality though, it’s irretrievably gone. The video’s more like a drawing of a statue than the statue itself.

Not to say that the videos aren’t impressive stuff, no. It’s just the bittersweet truth of the matter: it’s so damn fleeting. The video rarely seems to do the trick full justice. At its best I’d say we get about 80% reality coming through the screen, and that’s quite the rare shot we’re talking about. But thank god for videos regardless because damn are there some cool ass edits out there. Truth is, freeskiing wouldn’t really exist without cameras.

A good cork 7 blunt embodies the style and proficiency of the skier. By observing closely the whole spectacle, you can see to what sort of detail the skier tends to directs their focus. In this way, it is a very revealing trick—a silent exposé on the skier’s skill, vision, and attention to detail. There’s no way to cover up inadequacy with fancy artifices in a cork 7 blunt.

That’s why the cork 7 blunt is so great: because it’s simple, beautiful, and raw.

My favorite iterations of the trick are done by Parker White, Adam Delorme, Liam Downey, Anti Ollila, and, of course, Matt Heffernan (whose skiing first put me on to the trick).

I think on this awesome day of 7/20 we should take a short moment of pause for all the greats, sung and unsung, who have passed on to the next mountain of eternity, where legendary cork 7 blunt trains are happening as I speak.

But it doesn’t truly matter what tricks they do up there nor what tricks we do down here, because it’s a hell of a good time whether you’re corked and blunted or not, and all that really matters is sincerity and fun.

7/20’s great too because we’re in the depths of summer and it’s hot and damn do I miss skiing.