News from Jules | 05.28.2025 | You Ski You
It’s about the passion.
Some lifelong passions can lie dormant in our hearts for a long time until they re-emerge as if no time has passed. Skiing has been one of those experiences for me. Until my first attempt at climbing Mount Hood in spring 2021, skiing hadn’t crossed my mind since I dropped off my high school skis at Goodwill during one of my many moves. More than 15 years had passed before I tried it again on Mar. 1, 2023—ironically, the very same day that I arrived in Central Oregon.
It all came back in a flash. The crisp mountain air, the warm sun on my cheeks, the brisk but refreshing wind, practically levitating across the snow as if I were flying, not skiing.
The joy, the thrill, the speed, the freedom. And I was hooked, again.
Even before I arrive at the mountain, I start to get excited as the homes on the outskirts of town fade into forest. Coming around that first bend on Cascade Lakes Highway and just seeing this beautiful mountain brings a huge smile to my face. Not only because I love skiing there, but I love being there.
This was my second season skiing and working at Mt. Bachelor Ski Resort, about 30 minutes southwest of Bend, Ore., including a free season’s pass ($1,600 value!), vouchers to bring my friends and family (another approximately $2,000 value), leasing skis for the season for 50% off ($144 value) and lots of other perks like free passes to dozens of nearby ski resorts, free ski socks and beanies and yesterday’s employee-only ski day and end-of-season party. Oh, and wages, though I earned about as much as my pass and vouchers were worth.
Because it’s not about the money. It’s about the passion. And the stoke that glows from the people who share that passion, especially folks who are so committed that they’ll work for access because they can’t afford it otherwise.
This was my favorite part: being part of the local mountain community.
Flashing my pass to get onto the shuttle bus for free, taking a couple of laps together after running into teammates in the locker room, knowing the lifties and shop folks by name, getting a little extra from the bar servers at the end of the ski day, running into friends in the lodge at the start of my evening cleaning shift, getting starlight rides down the mountain from the snowcat drivers. The mountain felt like a microcosm of living in a small-ish mountain town.
Yesterday, the day after Memorial Day weekend, was my last day of skiing for the season. Yes, six months of skiing! Given the earliest start to a season in 26 years, at times it felt like a never-ending winter, but I am still so grateful for my first full season of skiing and working (due to the abrupt and early end last year after I broke my leg taking a jump).
See beautiful photos of this winter on Instagram.
In ski culture, most people count their days of riding, whether skiing or snowboarding. The higher the number, the better the year. For instance, riding 100 days in a season means going up several times a week. Given my two jobs, two writing projects—the book and here on Substack, life maintenance, and self-care, once a week was more realistic for me. Last year, I noticed that I had a lot more fun skiing with friends than going solo. This year, my goal was to ride with as many people as possible.
So, I made a list of everybody I could think of—here in Bend and in Portland—and every week I reached out to new folks to schedule a ride. Once or twice, I couldn’t find anybody and I went up by myself. These were my least favorite days. A few times I went up alone, then happily ran into teammates in the locker room or on the slopes and skied together, including my personal record of riding with nine people in one day.
This was one of my favorite days.
The swarm of us swerving down the run, three skiers and four snowboarders—all men, plus me—weaving in and out of each other’s tracks and catching air on the edges of fresh powder, attuning to each other’s movement like a flock of birds or a school of fish.
I also ran into one of my ski instructor friends that day, who kindly offered to guide me down an off-piste, ungroomed black diamond run in the East Bowls. I was hesitant, given my “ride or die” crash and whiplash earlier in the season, but it was one of the best powder days of the year, and I was eager to learn how to ski it. His main guidance was to keep my skis together so they could slice under the two feet of snow like one blade. This became a mantra for the rest of the season that I’d chant under my breath during each turn in thicker snow: “Together; Together; Together.”
“Oops, Not Together!” I’d laugh and squeal out loud as my skis spread out.
That “boy squad” day of powder riding was right up there with another favorite day of all the stoke while learning storm riding with a “girl squad” of three female skiers, including me, and four snowboarders. Being a large group is very different than riding alone. It’s a bit slower to keep track of everybody and stay in sync with snacking, hydration, bathroom breaks etc. but it’s also safer in the case of an accident, a lot more fun—full of laughter, hootin’ and hollerin’ on the lifts, on the runs and during lunch breaks—and thus encourages moving beyond one’s comfort zone to get better and grow.
Two of my other favorite days were riding and learning from one of my REI co-workers, who’s been skiing as long as I have, but didn’t take a 15-year break, so she’s now an expert skier in downhill and backcountry and intermediate in nordic and skate skiing. One day at Mt. Bachelor, we skied more than 23,000 feet of elevation, and the other day at Hoodoo near Sisters, Ore., we skied nearly every run in the resort.
Between her constant encouragement and copying her turns and technique, I felt noticeably better by the end of each day.
Other times, I was the more experienced skier, which pushed me to be bold and steady, so that others could confidently follow me. Another favorite day was when my climbing partner and I skied the Cirque Bowl of double black diamond runs down from just below the summit. Even though I did it last season before I broke my leg, it was still well into my “courage zone,” especially leading it. Navigating the steep, icy traverse and then the chunky powder descent while keeping a brave face confirmed how strong both of my legs are, as well as my mind. We had amazing views of the Three Sisters and Broken Top mountains as our reward.
One of the last days of the season was also a surprise favorite when I swapped gear with one of my adventure buddies from Bend Climbing Club, and she taught me how to ski uphill for the first time. I felt strong and capable, albeit a bit short on snacks. I loved setting and achieving micro goals, like getting to the next pole or to the top of the next hill. Oh my goodness, it was so much harder than downhill, and yet it immediately felt so natural, just like when I climbed my first mountain.
I was in my element.
See fun photos of my first time skiing uphill on Instagram.
That’s when I remembered, on nearly the last day of this season: “Oh right! This is why I started skiing again!”
As I skinned uphill, I had a flashback to my first ascent of Mount Hood in spring 2021: After eight grueling hours of hiking in crampons, we finally made it to Devil’s Kitchen at 10,400 feet, where the route crosses a glacier and the terrain becomes significantly steeper about 850 feet below the summit. There we saw rows of skis and poles sticking out of the snow. It took those folks about two hours to skin up, and it would probably take 30 minutes to ski down. My jaw dropped. I wanted to do that! And I realized I probably could. I had skied a lot in my childhood, so I immediately set the intention to try skiing again. That was four years ago.
Yesterday, I had my camera ready per usual as I came around that first bend on Cascade Lakes Highway and snapped yet another photo of this beautiful mountain: There she is! Once I was geared up in our locker room, I logged into the app to start tracking. But, for the first time, it said: “Resort closed—tracking unavailable.” I laughed out loud.
It was indeed a day about just having fun and enjoying the snow, sun, and each other. I drove up alone, but immediately ran into some of my teammates in the lift line who I hadn’t skied with yet this season, so I hopped on the chair lift with them—#38 and #39!
As my teammate whizzed past me skiing backwards, spun around to cruise up and over a jump, then shot down the run, I raced to keep up. Usually, the first one to the bottom and waiting for everybody else, I thought I was fast. Holy mackerel, was this humbling! As I felt my skis going faster than I was comfortable with, I remembered my other mantra of the season and a key life lesson:
You ski you.
Like “you do you,” which essentially means to do what feels right for you, regardless of what others think or expect. Because it’s not safe to compare ourselves with someone else. We have different bodies, different experience levels, different skills, different fears, and different skis or boards.
A reminder to stop thinking and simply respond by listening to my body, attuning to my surroundings, and feeling the terrain under my skis in that moment. The crisp mountain air, the warm sun on my cheeks, the brisk but refreshing wind, practically levitating across the snow as if I were flying, not skiing.
As if I wasn’t skiing but being skied.
As if this was something I’d known how to do my entire life.
It was the perfect way to end the season.
I fulfilled my goal and rode with 39 friends and friends-of-friends (ages four to 65) during 22 days* on the mountain—skiing nearly 250,000 vertical feet* on more than 500 trails*. We had so much fun and learned a ton.
See fun photos of my 2024-2025 ski buddies on Instagram.
What I loved most was being part of the local mountain community, and my favorite days included being challenged with people I trust—together!
May you rekindle one of your passion this week.
Love,
Jules
*The Mt. Bachelor Ski Resort app tracker did not account for a couple of untracked days of skiing this season, so I rounded up based on my best guess. But, who’s counting anyhow? 😉