The first edition of the Blizzard Cochise rolled out six years ago, to instant acclaim. When Skiing magazine anointed it Ski of the Year, I recall wondering why the publication would pick as its overall favorite a ski that’s utterly inappropriate as an everyday ski for all but a tiny fraction of the skiing public? The original Cochise charged the fall line with unalloyed aggression, obliging its pilot to maintain a harrowing speed as it pillaged all in its path.

Over the intervening years, Blizzard has been incrementally chipping away at some of the design elements that made the Cochise a challenge to manage for most skiers. It has thinned the core profile, softened the longitudinal flex, added carbon to the tip and tail to reduce swingweight and this year trimmed the top sheet of Titanal a tad, although this last little modification was more for appearance than performance enhancement.

What the drip-drip-drip of changes didn’t do was erode the Cochise’s core characteristics. It’s still a wood-and-metal battleship with an urge to dominate. Its 27m radius sidecut isn’t interested in mincing through moguls, although it has no compunctions about ripping up groomers as long as its pilot has the power to tip it and load it. This isn’t an enterprise for the faint of hear nor the slight of frame. There’s even a 192cm length for expert skiers whose weight never dips below 225.

If there’s one condition in particular the Cochise would most like to play in, it’s crud, in all its many manifestations. A snowfield that been riven by countless tracks still looks like fresh fodder to the Cochise. You can try to ski the Cochise slowly or push it around at low edge angles, but it isn’t likely to cooperate in these endeavors. This bad boy was built to gallop, not to trot. If you want a more compliant off-trail companion that isn’t geared so high, try the new Rustler 10 instead.