Tree skiing is the best skiing. Of course you can say that's just my opinion, and of course you'd be right. However, if you take the time to come along on this ride with me, I'm pretty sure I can convince you that it is. Don't get me wrong, I've been the first skier down a steep, wide-open ski slope freshly blanketed in the fluffy white stuff more times than I can count, and that is certainly a thrill to behold. An argument can certainly be made that having the ability to turn whenever you want, wherever you want without fear of what lies around the next blind spot is a special kind of freedom, and that it is. Some will say that the rush to be found in being able to really let it rip when there aren't any obstructions is the best you can get on a ski hill. One might even believe that the unfiltered light on an open slope is where it's at, or that being seen from the chairlift is important, or that freestyling through a perfect field of bumps is the thing. People can say whatever they want about tree skiing not being the best, but they're wrong.
TREE SKIING HAS SOUL, not just figuratively either. Trees communicate with each other via a system sometimes referred to as the "wood wide web" and that being the case, it's hard to argue that trees don't have souls. I mean, how cool is that? I'd like to think that every time I ski a particularly righteous line through the woods the trees shoot a collective instant message out among themselves saying something along the lines of, "Did you guys see that? Man, that human sure can carve a gorgeous track." Of course, I'm aware that this isn't actually what kind of communication is going on between the trees, but on the right day, with the right snow and with just the right light sparkling through the branches it certainly feels like it, so I'm just going to keep picturing it that way.
TREE SKIING IS AN ART FORM. There's a guy I've seen skiing for decades at my home hill who makes the exact same turns back and forth, side to side, at the exact same pace no matter what the conditions are. So perfectly repetitive are his turns that I've dubbed him "metronome man." While his feat is certainly impressive, it lacks any kind of style that one might call art. The thing about tree skiing, you see, is that the trees have an immense say in how we ski through them. So much in fact that if you ski the same tree run over and over all day long, you're likely to never ski it the same way twice. The light filtering through differently depending on the time of day, the snow falling from the branches as temperatures change, or even the momentary loss of vision as the wind picks up feathery flakes from their temporary homes among the needles are just a few of the factors that make tree skiing so dynamic and require that we approach the sacred lines which lie below a canopy of gossiping limbs through the eyes of an artist.
TREE SKIING IS A SECRET. The wide-open slopes that can easily be viewed from the suspended reference point of a chairlift are low-hanging fruit. First-time visitors to a given ski area can spot them almost without effort, and as such they are often the first runs to be carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey. In the magical wonderland of the trees, untracked lines lie hidden for days. Any true ski bum who has put in the time at their chosen ski mountain home will be able to recognize certain trees and certain spaces between them which function as doorways to hidden wonderlands of powder not unlike the wardrobe provided a portal into the secret world of Narnia.
TREE SKIING IS PROTECTED. There are many enemies of truly great powder skiing, and our friends the trees act as noble knights standing tall in defense against many of those. A foot of low-density snow may fall directly from the sky overnight only to be tainted by a firm crust formed from an early morning wind event, but our protectors — the trees — will stand firm and save soft stashes for us hidden almost in plain sight. A gorgeous sunny powder day may start out light and fluffy but soon turn dense and manky from the ill effects of solar radiation. Once again, our allies the trees come to the rescue, spreading their broad branchy arms out high above us providing much needed protection from the sun's radiant destruction.
TREE SKIING IS UNIQUE. Every great tree-skiing location around the globe features different kinds of trees and as such a different form of tree skiing. Some say the tree skiers from the Eastern United States are the most proficient, and watching even one video of someone slaying the impossibly tight trees of Jay Peak, Vermont, will make you believe it. The beauty and spacing of the aspens at Steamboat Springs, Colorado, have been a tree skiing holy grail since what feels like the dawn of time. The unique birch trees on the slopes of Japan are pretty much ubiquitous in any ski photo taken there and have become almost a required pilgrimage for those who truly love life in the trees.
TREE SKIING IS LOCAL. Here in the Northwest, we are lucky to have some of the best tree skiing around. Among our five local hills, you can find a mixed bag of subalpine firs, hemlock, some of the biggest cedars you'll ever see and of course the western larch or tamarack that so kindly shed their needles in the winter, creating more space between them and less of a tree well hazard. Just north of us lies Baldface Lodge, which offers snowcat-serviced steep tree skiing among the best you can find anywhere on earth. Closer to home, the unique nature of Schweitzer owning the land upon which the ski slopes are located rather than operating on leased forestland enables them to thin trees at will, helping create some of the best lift-serviced tree skiing available in North America.
TREE SKIING IS THE BEST SKIING. There, I said it again. If my words were not persuasive enough to convince you, then I highly suggest you fuel up the car, put the skis in the rack and immediately head to any one of our great local tree runs and find out for yourself. Who knows, maybe by the end of the day you will have memorized your own special tree that indicates the entrance to your own private wonderland of powder, hiding in plain sight under the protection of our wooden chaperones. If you leave a special enough line through the snow, who knows? The trees might even be talking about you.♦
John Grollmus is a lifetime resident of the Inland Northwest, local restaurateur and backcountry ski guide. He loves all things outdoors, food of every kind and, more than almost anything, skiing. John can currently be found living with his wife and favorite human, Kim, near Hope, Idaho, and at johngrollmus.com.
