Air travel is disorienting. This is why, given the chance like the one that the Mountain Collective pass offers, I’ll drive anywhere. After our last day at Alta, Sesko dropped me off at SLC International Airport, and as he drove into the salt flats of western Utah, I slung my boots over my shoulder and… Read the rest of the post!
Leaving Alta was an emotional experience. Descending out of Little Cottonwood is always a tough move (especially after a storm), but this time was different and more complex. After ten days on the road, we had finally hit a groove: the stresses of our professional and personal lives had magically dissipated, our legs and lungs… Read the rest of the post!
For two days at Alta, there was a rainbow around the sun. It’s called a sun dog, or a parhelion for weather nerds. Sun dogs are especially common in cold weather and at high altitude, and at Alta, the wind literally glowed with the reflections of floating ice crystals that swirled around us even on… Read the rest of the post!
If you live in a cold and damp city, it may feel like winter will never end. Storm after storm blows through and leaves you with nothing but icy sidewalks and a treacherous commute to work or school. But as you trudge outside to shovel out your car for the tenth time this winter, let… Read the rest of the post!
The Mountain Collective Chronicles, Chapter 7: The Road to Zion
If you ski and hike all day in subzero temperatures and skin-shattering winds, and if you manage to make it back to a warm lodge and a cold beer, it’s hard to feel anything but delusional joy. This alchemy of endorphins and emotions is what makes apres-ski, and at Jackson Hole, they take this leisure… Read the rest of the post!
Jackson Hole humbles you. Before you even get on the snow, before you reach the top of Rendezvous Peak and are carried out of the tram by a surging mob of helmeted speed freaks, you realize that this mountain is not like other mountains. In the early morning in Teton Village, the windows shook in… Read the rest of the post!
It was dark and late and a glass of whiskey was waiting for us somewhere in Jackson, Wyoming. There was no moonlight, and as we drove the side-streets on the south side of town, I could barely make out the white trails of Snow King. I knew the local ski hill was up there somewhere,… Read the rest of the post!
