Shaking the Snowglobe

The three months since I left San Francisco were enough to forget a few things. One was how the Presidio smells on a sunny morning after a rainy couple of days. Another was how good Arsicault croissants are and how I get a funny kick out of bringing a few back to 225 10th Ave for a still asleep roommate (Zach). Another was the joy of diner coffee at Art’s Cafe with Mikey in the Inner Sunset. And another was how good it feels to be up in the mountains, in the resort or the backcountry, where all you and your friends can talk about is just how good you have it that day. Visiting SF and Tahoe the past few days, it felt great to be reminded of each of those.

On paper it sounded like a potential hassle: President’s Day weekend + a big storm on Thursday/Friday = traffic, skied out mountains, and stress. But we maintained optimism and found a perfect weekend. The drive up to Tahoe was a green 3 hours 30 minutes (complete with an amazing taco stand discovery), lines were non existent, and our group in the ski lease was 10/10.

Saturday morning we headed to Alpine Meadows. We felt that the holiday crowds would flock to better known Palisades, leaving fresh lines on Summit Chair and Scott Chair. Alpine also had a power outage on Friday, which meant even more fresh track possibility. I have to say, we were spot on and had an all time day. I totally forgot the heaviness of Sierra snow, which moments after giving you soft, steep, dense turns just burns up your legs as you plow through the lower angle mounds on the final stretch towards the lift. Memories of labeling that feeling “getting lactic” with Dom and Nick a couple of years ago roared back to my brain. The nostalgic burn was welcomed though, and our day went as designed. Most of our time was spent in the aptly named “Promised Land”. Our luck (or very strategic good choices, call it what you wish!) even hung around at dinner time, where the packed Shady Side Lounge happened to have an open spot for our group without much of a wait at all. Chef’s kiss to whoever designed the lighting in that place. At night we threw on Tropic Thunder and laughed our socks off…”Survive!”

Sunday was Palisades. A morning snow refresh had us all hyped up. Again at the resort lines seemed thin (despite some texts I received on Saturday lamenting the Palisades crowds). Nick, Kaz and I were constantly hyping ourselves up. We practically stepped out of the car onto Far East chair, then traipsed around the mountain until our genius decision to have a slightly earlier lunch around 11:30 so as to be fueled up for a big second half of the day. We ate outside in the cold, warmed up inside with a coffee, and then headed to Granite Chief while the crowds chowed down at more typical lunch hours. There we did what one does in Granite Chief and jumped off little rocks into soft powder, while yelling down at people from the chairlift to “send it!” off even bigger rocks.

We got some fantastic turns in that day. I would remind myself every so often to really take it all in. Unlike the past couple of years, this is probably a once a season delight for me now. We spent a lot of time on two of my favorite runs. Chute 725, where the best way down is to really attack the top, going in between the tree bumps and the wider part of the chute, and Red Dog Ridge, where the wind deposits all recently fallen snow making it the softest part of the resort.

It’s a funny feeling to now have nostalgia for Tahoe. But I’m grateful to have it, since it’s only because of the great memories formed that now span several years. Everything from my early 2021 days with a Northwestern crew that charged a responsibility of tequila shots for every tumble taken, to the 2023 season of working from the mountain as often as I could, to last year’s big February ski bum month. It’s a beautiful thing when you find a place in life that has a semblance of home and familiarity, especially when that place seems somewhat arbitrary from the home where you grew up.

Kaz, Nick and I ended our day at the Chamois, eating Fireside cookies, drinking a pitcher of Coors, and high fiving for the great day we had. We ate dinner at RMU, alternating bumping “Not Like Us” by Kendrick and “Taste” by Sabrina Carpenter on our way there after a healthy hot tub and sauna session. We watched Platoon, and then a Mitch Hedburg set to make it go down a little easier.

With the big snow storm came a more risky avalanche problem: the rare and spooky Sierra Persistent Weak Layer. The overall weekend design was “Definitely no tour Saturday, maybe tour Sunday, hopefully tour Monday.” So this morning, with a much toned down risk level from a couple days ago, Nick and I scoped out Waterhouse Peak (labeled “quick and easy”, one of the safest near the West Shore), as recommended by Cody W – my touring guru. So to complete our ideal weekend, we drove south around 9:30am. We skinned up, taking it easy on already tired legs, accompanied by Cleatus, an extremely muscular dog whose owner was heading up the same skin track as us. The track was slippery and icy at points but the snow soon softened up as we climbed, foreshadowing an awesome time on the way down. Nick and I thanked prior us for devoting time these past few years to getting into this sport. I think that backcountry skiing, as casually and low level as I participate in it, is the coolest way I can possibly spend my time outside. It brings you up mountains with friends, asking you to give a little effort in exchange for absurdly pretty views and pure joy on the descent. It shocks me every time.

After the tour we drove to the Reno airport, and I’m here now for another few hours until a red eye brings me back home. I can’t wait to wake up there tomorrow morning knowing that my reality is family close by and that my dreams are in the mountains, not all too far behind.