The Best Ski Party of the Season Looked Different This Year, but I Went Anyways

I woke up groggy on the morning of June 22nd. The sun is beaming into the windows, my sleeping bag cast aside long ago.

Two of my hometown friends are still asleep next to me in the cramped car. Mt. Hood looms outside, the dwindling snow melting quickly under the hot sun. There’s just one last path to the base at Timberline Lodge, and that too will be gone soon.

The night before, under a waxing moon, I’d joined the masses in the hectic descent down that strip of snow, the finale to the chaotic rendition of Solstice 2026. 

I’d gone once before to Illumination Saddle, two years prior. That year, I’d forgotten skins and bootpacked from the Timberline parking lot instead, an erroneous decision looking back now.

I was hoping that more preparation and a double-checking of gear would make for an easier climb, yet on the cloudless afternoon of June 21st, standing in the parking lot, clad in flip-flops, the realization hit that my hopes of skinning from the parking lot were dashed.

The Pacific Northwest, like much of the United States, experienced a historically low snow year. Mt. Hood received less than 50% of its median precipitation. Thus, the slog to Illumination began in volcanic dust.

We hiked for the first thousand feet. It was clear that flip-flops had been a poor choice, placing my Solstice footwear success rate at 0%. Nearing the transition, we met up with a crew from Revelstoke who had driven down for the weekend.

Among them was Kyle Flatman, sporting a recently broken collarbone. “No collarbone, no problem,” he said with a laugh. We shared pulls of brandy from a bottle appearing from the depths of his backpack and continued onto the snow slope.

The skin track was straight up with little deviation for the majority of the climb. From the Timberline base to Illumination Saddle is 3,300 vertical feet, which takes most parties between three and four hours to reach the ski transition.

We ranged closer to the four-hour demographic, arriving half past 6 p.m. From a thousand feet away, individual silhouettes blended into a single contorted mass. Echoing cheers indicated landed tricks off of the kicker that crews had spent the morning building, with house music filling the silences between.

I couldn’t tell if there were more people than two years ago, but the warm conditions had reduced the saddle into a hairline ridge. Five hundred people or more packed the narrow space, creating a full-blown traffic jam.

In future years, I’ll remember to show up early to claim a spot, as those who had dug snow couches into the sunny eastern face looked to be VIP’s as opposed to myself and the hundreds of other peons stuck in standing GA.

Despite the limited space, the festive spirit was in full swing. Based upon the number of snow coozies, I imagined that the majority of the weight hauled to the saddle was accounted for in beer. The rest could be accounted for by one psycho, or hero, who had lugged an enormous speaker up to the gathering.

Technically, this celebration is unofficial. If the Illumination Saddle summer solstice were a sanctioned event, there would be permits and red tape to cut through. Without organization, the party is one of happenstance— a gathering of like-minded skiers and snowboarders reminiscing over the past season and looking towards the next. 

The same cheering I could hear a quarter mile away is infinitely louder up close. It’s like there’s a collective buildup before each rider drops, with the whooshing of equipment off the kicker’s lip met with a cacophony of drunken cheers.

Who cares about a landing anyway? What matters is that it’s a party, and it’s one that refuses to stop. As a squadron of paragliders swoops in close to the saddle, drinks change hands in hurried exchanges, and lit joints leave their owner’s fingers with no intention of returning.

This could be ski party paradise. 

The novelty of the solstice celebration atop this saddle at 9,300 ft. is second to none.

It’s a chance to connect with old friends, ski the season’s last lap, and enjoy midsummer among a beautiful landscape, but this year’s dwindling ridgeline conditions and overcrowding of a precarious point, one ensconced by crevasses and boulder-strewn snowfields, is a harsh reality check.

Amid the throng, I caught myself slipping into pessimism. “How much longer can this work?” With less snowfall and a growing demand, I can’t help but wonder if the Illumination Saddle may not be the proper solstice venue in coming years, at least for those of us arriving late to the party.

Jazz convinced me to stay after the crowd began to dissipate.

It’s in those last few minutes as the wind dies and the light fades that the ridgeline really comes to life. There are no more hits on the jump, the saddle has cleared out, and people begin their long descent to the base.

Solstice becomes the centerpiece of the affair, the last rays of sun illuminating the foothills below and bathing us in a golden haze. Sun flares bounce haphazardly off of Brooke Reed’s disco cowboy hat, and Parker Wright hoists his dog, Olivia, in a Simba-esque manner. The calamity of the prior hours dissipates, and the community comes together to witness the last light of summer’s longest day.

As the sun dips below the horizon, the ridgeline erupts and chaos returns. The party continues to the base, a long line of bouncing headlamps appearing as ants from above.

Our cans collected and stowed in pockets and backpacks, we joined the fray, dodging through the other drunken attendees as we careened through the dwindling strip of snow and into the gathered masses. Mariachi music fills the air as the snow fades to dirt some five hundred feet from the parking lot.

The camaraderie of Solstice is alive and well here at the base, as our small group splits off from the masses to share food over a camp stove and finishes the remaining drinks, swapping stories with both new and old friends.

It’s a fitting end to the annual celebration, and there’s no sense of melancholy in the rapidly chilling night air. There’s a recognition that I won’t see many of these people until next year, when I’ll throw my pack on again for the solstice climb to Illumination Saddle to join the gathering 3,000 feet above the world below.

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