The Best Pair of Ski Gloves Don't Cost $200, They Create Memories

This story originally appeared in the print magazine POWDER 2026 Photo Annual. Copies are still available while supplies last. Click here to get yours.

Tough Enough

The snus-lipped Norwegian looked down at my hands and asked, “Are you wearing garden gloves?” As we shuffled our way through the haphazard Argentinian lift line, I responded by lifting my straightened fingers. “These?” I said, “These are Tough Guys.” “They look like something my grandmother wears while planting carrots,” he joked. The thing is, he wasn’t wrong.

It was the early 2000s. I was headed off to South America on my yearly powder pilgrimage, and was in dire need of new ski gloves after the set of lavish, waterproof-membraned handwear I had been using the previous season failed well earlier than its lofty price tag warranted. That’s when I came upon them. Leather-palmed and canvas-backed with a simple nylon cuff, the Tough Guy was the epitome of basic. The only thing that set them apart from the gloves you’d find piled high in a steel trough at your local hardware store was nearly invisible. 

Dangling in the dappled summer sunlight of a Denver alley behind my friend’s house were a dozen or so pairs of these gloves. They had just been warmed in an old oven and dipped in a waterproof beeswax coating. The fella behind this entrepreneurial endeavor was a longtime friend of my buddy and someone I had met a few years earlier in Wyoming. His simple process, which was more labor-intensive than creative, prepared the gloves for the elements. Despite their looks, they weren’t made for an aging Scandinavian root vegetable farmer. Instead, they’d accompany a powder-crazed skier in his mid-twenties on his next adventure. After exchanging a crinkled twenty-spot for a pair, I slid them into my overstuffed duffel and headed to the airport.

A week or so later, high above Marte—one of South America’s highest and most fickle chairlifts—the bootpack steepened. As my left foot teetered on the edge of an orange and green lichen-covered rock, I punched my right hand through the breakable ice crust in a last ditch effort to regain my balance. I didn’t want to become the leader in a domino-style toppling of the Norwegian crew I found myself climbing above that day. The Tough Guy’s low volume exterior penetrated smoothly while its dexterous grip allowed me to clutch a buried piece of scree that was frozen in place. Having successfully steadied myself, I avoided becoming the cause of an international incident and the butt of an endless parade of “Grandmother’s Garden Gloves” jokes that certainly would have followed. After proving themselves worthy, the Tough Guy became a staple of my everyday kit.

Over the next few years, that pair of gloves saw countless days on my home hill shuffling bamboo, clove-hitching ropes, detonating explosives, and all the other tasks associated with my winter job as a patroller. Eventually, on my final trip to Argentina, a small hole in the thumb’s leather slowly grew too big to patch with duct tape. It was time for a second pair. Then a third. Like a retired thoroughbred stallion, the original set was given a more comfortable home and reduced duties. 

They now live in the pocket of my everyday winter coat, resting peacefully most of the time. But when the driveway needs a quick shovel before heading up the canyon, or my kids want to build a snowman in the backyard, I know just where to find them. I’ll reach into that pocket and be reminded of my younger, more adventurous self. The days when there was always enough daylight to squeeze in another sketchy climb with foreigners to get the goods. Sure, they may have gone a little threadbare (similar to my hairline), and most of their waterproofing has worn off, but when I slide them on, they’re still tough enough for me.

This story originally appeared in the print magazine POWDER 2026 Photo Annual. Copies are still available while supplies last. Click here to get yours.

Related: “Skiing Is Supposed To Be Fun”—A Lesson Every Sports Dad Could Learn From