March 7, 2026
~ submitted by Matthew Lettington
I was lucky enough to join the fun on the club’s March 7 ski tour to Green Mountain. While this winter has fizzled more than it has popped, the lack of snow has given us unusually good opportunities to drive high into the mountains and start our recreation much farther up than we typically can. Earlier this year we attempted the same trip but had to start skiing around 400 m. This time we were able to drive to nearly 800 m before stepping out of the vehicles.
But I don’t want to start this story on the mountain. This is really a story about how I dropped the ball.
I was happily whiling away the morning at home—making eggs, enjoying a coffee, and waiting to start packing the Jeep—when I received a text:
“You still on the road?”
On the road? I thought. I don’t need to be on the road yet… do I?
Crud.
I had three events scheduled that weekend and—yes—managed to miss the first meeting time entirely. I quickly replied that I’d meet everyone at the trailhead for the start time and ran downstairs, throwing gear into the vehicle as fast as I could.
Catch up I did. I arrived just as our small convoy drove the last 200 m of elevation gain to our starting point. We decided to use the Snowbird route to the summit, as it looked like the lower meadows might offer some fun, tree-free turns in the afternoon.
We loaded our packs and started gearing up. After putting on my boots and double-checking my safety gear, I stopped to attach my skins to my skis.
Usually that’s a pretty simple task. But it requires something I didn’t have that morning.
My skins.
In my rush out the door I had left them sitting neatly on the floor by the front entrance. Because I don’t like leaving gear in the car overnight (theft is always a concern), I normally load everything in the morning—and this time I forgot one very important item.
Welp.
The group agreed I’d follow along as far as I could by bootpacking. Fortunately, the conditions were very favourable for it. While the skiers made longer switchbacks up the slope, I was able to climb a more direct line and surprisingly keep pace with the group. It helped that the snow didn’t deepen beyond about 10 inches until we were well above 1000m.
We didn’t linger long on the summit—it was simply too windy. From there we skied down the north face and around the peak, looping around the massif before returning the way we came up. Along the way we stopped at a lovely, sheltered spot for some food and hot drinks before continuing down.
Despite the much lower-than-average snowpack—and despite being that guy who forgot his skins—I had a great day out. A few of us even managed to string together several genuinely good turns along the way.
If there’s a lesson in all of this, it’s probably to pack your gear the night before… or at the very least make sure the one piece of equipment that actually lets you ski uphill makes it into the vehicle. Thankfully the group was patient, the bootpacking was manageable, and the mountains were just as enjoyable as ever.
Every group trip eventually has that guy—the one who forgets something important, misses a meeting time, or provides the day’s comic relief. On March 7th, I was happy to do my part.