Nothing breeds nostalgia quite like memories of hastily-packed bags, last-minute sprints through airports and train stations and the release of built-up anticipation as you finally embark on a journey to a new mountain just oozing with untapped potential. School of Rock’s Dewey Finn believed that “one great rock show can change the world,” and, to those who dedicate their free time to gliding across snow-covered mountains and hills, I say, one great ski trip can change your world.
My world was changed in March 2011. My buddy Brian and I took off from Logan International Airport early on a Saturday morning, landed in San Francisco, grabbed a rental car and hit the road to North Lake Tahoe. Years of re-watching legendary film segments, an idolization of Shane McConkey and an obsession with the recently released G.N.A.R. The Movie had compelled us to hit Squaw Valley, Heavenly and Kirkwood over the course of our college spring break. The 800-plus inches of snow that fell at Squaw that season certainly helped us pull the trigger.
The trip had all of the ingredients of a proper skiing experience. The conditions were otherworldly, especially for a duo that fled Vermont during one of its worst winters in recent memory. We skied some of the deepest snow either of us had ever encountered; it was the first time I’d ever choked, literally, on powder, and it happened during our first run down Chute 75 off Squaw’s infamous KT-22 chair. Expansive views of crystalline Lake Tahoe smacked us in the face as we punished our quads down Heavenly’s Gunbarrel bump-run. Our egos inflated like pufferfish after we conquered The Wall at Kirkwood, and after riding the hill’s Vista T-Bar, a slow surface lift that meanders up a knife ridge with serious exposure, we discovered the true definition of the word “puckered.” McConkey and Robb Gaffney’s game of G.N.A.R. was played every single day, on every single run, and the image of Brian loudly informing a mortified child that he was “the best fucking snowboarder on the mountain,” will be burned in my brain forever. We scared ourselves on nearly every run, hitting cliffs, straightlining chutes and dodging trees because we were finally out there in the dreamscape we’d only seen in magazines, books and movies, and had no other choice but to send it.
The skiing was phenomenal, but, like any ski trip, the off-hill moments defined our experience. Brian and I bopped around Lake Tahoe, two college dudes hauling bags and ski gear in a white Dodge Caravan we called Moby Dick—the White Whale. We slept in close quarters and subsisted on a diet of frozen pizza, Thomas’ everything bagels and PB&J sandwiches. We lurked around the Squaw Valley base area, eyeing up shop employees until we found one that would sell us a sandwich baggy of weed—it wasn’t legal back then. Our beer consumption was off the charts—#college—and at least one hotel balcony was the victim of overindulgence and the resulting regurgitation. Without smartphones and Google Maps at our disposal, we got lost heading from Kirkwood back to San Francisco; our route dead-ended at a snowmobile trail and we squeezed out every last drop of our collective resourcefulness to get us back on track. And, once back in The City by the Bay, we celebrated my 21st birthday deep into a night that saw us dance on tables, slug Jameson in sketchy basement bars and follow a bachelorette party like hounds on the scent of foxes into a psychedelic nightclub called The Bubble Lounge. That’s just the tip of the iceberg.
It’s a trip that Brian and I reminisce fondly over to this day; it was a quintessential cinematic journey to the center of our souls and of all the memories from college we’ll forget, the Tahoe adventure won’t be one.
That cross-country ski vacation is the predominant reason I moved west following college and made skiing a focal point of my life. It’s why I’m adamant that one should never over-think booking a ski trip. Just do it. Revel in the moment and feeling of being somewhere new, beautiful and uplifting.
This magazine is flush with evidence supporting the hypothesis that immersion in unfamiliar ski areas and mountain towns can shift your way of thinking. Cody Cirillo and Kellyn Wilson have already reaped the soul-enriching benefits of life on the road, skiing across North America in their Honeyhouse Bus, for example. And a fortuitous college trip to Jackson is directly responsible for Caite Zeliff’s rise to pro skiing stardom and her title as the two-time reigning Queen of Corbet’s. Contributor Les Anthony proves that a lifetime of ski trips can yield new ways of understanding nature. You’ll be taking notes from a novice skier who had his world flipped upside down after one ski trip, altering his answer to the question, “what do you want to be when you grow up?” And, to wrap up this magazine, our annual Resort Guide showcases 11 tales of destinations near and far that we hope will inspire you to ski somewhere new this winter and scream at the top of your lungs, “I’m the best skier on the mountain!”
When you flip the last page of this book, remember: One great ski trip can change your world.
