The text pinged on my phone. I was driving, so I ignored it and went on singing along to the radio, cleverly disguised as a Spotify playlist on Apple’s CarPlay. Pulling into the trailhead, I jumped out, grabbed my phone, and scrolled to the text as I prepared to take my skis off the top of the car for another day of turns.
Mid-reach to the rack, I stopped and smiled. My oldest child, my one and only son, wanted to come out for a week to ski with me, his mom, and his sisters. Awesome. I instantly replied, “Let’s do it. Tell me when to pick you up at the airport.”
Then, I forwarded the text to his sisters and mom and listened as the responses pinged in while I stepped into my boots and got ready for a few quick turns in the sun. I laughed as I once again wondered at the power of texts and how another awesome adventure was started with a few simple words typed on a screen.
A few short weeks later, I found myself standing in baggage claim at the Boise airport, waiting for a glimpse of my son. Soon enough, Travis rounded the corner and headed my way. A quick hug and a few pleasantries later, we grabbed his gear, walked to the parking garage, loaded the car, and headed up the mountain.
The nice thing about these airport runs is they give you time to reconnect. Two hours. Two and a half if you run into small delays. Much longer if you get unlucky. The drive offers plenty of time to talk about the flight, life back home and, most importantly, organize a plan of attack for the week.
Our plan was to start at Tamarack, work through all three resorts (Little Ski Hill and Brundage), and do a little side-country hiking and powder slaying. To say the whole family was amped is an understatement.
The next day dawned bright and cold. We rushed to Tamarack, rode two lifts to reach the summit, and with nary a word to each other, skied off the chair, jumped the wind lip to the right of the lift, and sliced down, angling left into the trees. About a third of the way down, my son and one of my daughters’ boyfriends spotted a cliff jump. The boyfriend slid up to it, took a look, hopped down, and skied out of the runout.
Travis yelled, “How’s it look?”
“Good,” yelled Lucas. “But stay right.”
We heard nothing from Travis, but we saw plenty. He came into the cliff with too much speed, threw a 360-degree spin, caught his back tips on a pine tree branch mid-air, went off-axis, landed hard, losing both skis and snapping a pole in half.
“Whoa,” I yelled up the slope. “You OK?”
He stood up and smiled. “Yeah. Came in a little hot.”
He held up his snapped pole and shrugged. We skied the rest of the way to the Summit Express without incident, and Travis threw both his poles in the trash.
We again rode the lift, exited skier’s right, took the ramp past the ski patrol shack, and dropped into a nice powder run. All eight of us hooted and hollered, slashing in and around each other’s tracks. We rolled over a lip and came to a stop to have a chat. My son, who had been dinking around in the trees, jumping off anything that offered even the smallest opportunity, came roaring up to snow us, but again he mistimed his speed, swiped, and broke one of my daughter’s ski poles. So, for those of you keeping score at home, that is two ski runs and two poles broken. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one pole broken, much less two in two runs.
I slid over to my son.
“Hey man, love the enthusiasm, but how about we not kill somebody?”
He laughed, “Sorry, Dad. It’s been too long since I’ve been on skis. I think I was trying to have all the feels in every run. I’ll dial it back.”
So, he did. We spent the rest of the week getting up early, making a good breakfast, and then putting in a long day of skiing—returning home tired and fulfilled.
Throughout the week, Travis and I and the rest of the family got to share chairlift rides, tree runs, powder runs, groomer runs, and side-country hikes. And, because skiing is an inherently social sport, we also got to spend all those little moments reconnecting. Sometimes, we’d stand in an incredibly beautiful place under snow-laden trees or on the peaks of mountains, just soaking in the sun and vibes. Other times, we’d chit-chat about life—things that were going well, hopes and dreams for the future, things that needed to be fixed.
It's the power of skiing—the innate ability to spread joy and create bonds. And it’s also the history of our little town. I hope you get to enjoy some time with people you love in our mountains. Just maybe, try not to get overly enthusiastic. It can get expensive—and painful.
Have a great winter!
