Despite Oregon's "Worst Season Ever," I'm Still Happy to Be Skiing Mt. Bachelor

Ben and I originally made plans to take his snowmobile out and poke around in the backcountry on Sunday morning this past weekend.

After skiing in conditions that felt more like mid-May than late-February on Saturday afternoon, I texted him Saturday night, wondering if we should rethink our plans.

“Still thinking of sledding tomorrow?” I asked him.

“Apparently, it’s horrible,” he responded, “Breakable crust or sheet ice everywhere.” His response wasn’t shocking, although disappointing.

I’d returned home from Japan a week before to find conditions at Mt. Bachelor had improved significantly in the two weeks I’d been gone. The trees held soft, skiable, even fresh snow, and no longer was I terrified of what lay under the snowpack. It was cold, actively snowing, and finally promising.

Just as I’d sighed with relief that our season was saved, a storm came in warm and wet. 10” of snow fell on the Central Cascades, although snow might be a loose term. As the storm got skied off, the mountain became sticky, chunky, and pretty inhospitable off-piste before warming up this weekend, bringing us back to Saturday’s unseasonably warm conditions and my Sunday plans.

It’s no secret that Oregon, the Pacific Northwest, and much of the western U.S. have had an abysmal ski season. Mt. Bachelor opened just days before Christmas, almost a month later than planned. The first few days of the season were joyous and pretty darn fun skiing.

However, as quickly as we’d gained hope, we lost it again as high-pressure cycles set up, and not just over the PNW.

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The Mountain West, California, and the PNW all saw numerous storms bypass or hit as rain up to significant elevations as the season progressed. Bases that should be building clung for dear life, and resort operations did everything they could to keep things running smoothly.

At Mt. Bachelor, ski patrollers spread hay over rocky spots on groomers to preserve snow from getting scraped off. Grooming crews chose carefully which runs to take a cat over, resulting in less groomed runs than some may have liked (I, for one, was loving the moguls on Cliffhanger, but that’s not a popular opinion here).

Despite marketing teams’ best attempts to sugarcoat poor conditions, skiers across the west have seen the writing on the wall: this is not a normal season, and unfortunately, we might want to buckle up for more of this as climate change continues to wreak havoc on our winters.

“Want to just spin a few groomer laps first thing?” asked Ben as we redirected our plans for Sunday.

Groomer laps were exactly what I was after.

I had a new pair of skis that were begging to make big, arcing turns at a speed I wasn’t quite sure I could keep up with. As a patroller at Mt. Bachelor, Ben knew exactly which runs would be the emptiest once we arrived at the mountain on Sunday morning. Our first try on the mountain’s west side proved empty, but a little firmer than either of us wanted, especially after the previous day’s freeze/thaw cycle.

So, we headed to the mountain’s east side for a couple laps on another of his “secret” groomer spots. Lap after lap, the precipitation hitting us turned more into rain, and our outerwear became drenched as we sat on the lift. But the snow was edgeable, the groomers were empty, and we were both happy to be outside together. 

Even on a day when we could not ignore how abnormal this season feels, the thing that remained the same was the joy we still found in skiing.

As I write this, it already feels clichéd. Inevitably, during some high-pressure period or bad winter, we always write about how happy we are to just “be here,” or all the wonderful things about skiing groomers.

Even when the skiing is bad, skiing is an integral part of my job.

I’ve tested powder skis in conditions that don’t even come close to resembling powder. I’ve written article after article about resorts closing and subpar snowpack. If anyone understands how hard it is to be inspired this season, it’s me (and our whole staff, and arguably, most of the ski industry).

The world is a heavy place right now, and it feels hard to find joy in many things. Skiing is usually the place we go to escape all the loss and stress and f*ckery, and even that feels like a fight.

Regardless, even the days when my boots hurt, or the snow is bad, or I show up in a terrible mood, or I run into that person on the mountain I really don’t want to see, the odds are that for at least some portion of the day, even if it’s just for a few turns on one run, I am the happiest version of myself.

I’m grateful for the snow groomers who are doing their best to keep the mountain skiable, for my friends on ski patrol for marking every hole and rock to keep us safe, and for skiing through all of the worst days.

I’m grateful for my body carrying me down the slopes, even though the snow is a bit firmer than usual.

I am so very grateful for those Sunday morning turns with Ben, as soggy as they were, and for every day this season of skiing at my home mountain, with my friends, even the “bad” ones.

Hope does not feel like an infinite resource right now, but gratitude can be as infinite as I choose, and when hope, inspiration, and maybe skiable snow have run out, that’s what I’ll be focusing on.

Related: The Best Ski Photos of the Year, Part 1