Eggs, Bacon, Frozen Nose Hairs and Blower Powder With High Sierra Snowcat & Yurt

As I pulled out of the Margaritaville Hotel in South Lake Tahoe, California, I chuckled at the happy coincidence of Jimmy Buffett’s most popular song playing in the lobby.

“Wastin’ away in Margaritaville, searchin’ for my lost shaker of salt…” Salt wasn’t what I was after, but I was hoping that Mother Nature had metaphorically dumped a whole load of salt (snow) on High Sierra Snowcat & Yurt, and I intended to find it, sans floral shirt and a straw hat.

U.S. Route 395 is the most beautiful scenic highway in the country, and it would take more than a few margaritas to convince me otherwise. As I entered the highway after descending the Kingsbury Grade, a familiar sensation of excitement, anxiousness, and ultimately, stoke washed over me.

Driving south, the desert floor of Gardnerville turned to the familiar alpine lakes and towering peaks of the eastern Sierra. Entranced by the morning alpenglow, I nearly missed my turn-off on a random side road near Virginia Lakes.

But thanks to Siri’s obnoxious voice, I veered off the road and parked near a few pickup trucks, a couple of snowcats, and a few snowmobiles. I was in the right place, I reckoned, and texted High Sierra Snowcat & Yurt’s Drew Layman that I had arrived at the pickup spot.

Excited about the fresh snow on the ground and the deep, winter chill that had seemingly escaped California for most of the season, I got out of my car and started booting up. My nose hairs froze, always an omen for a good day ahead, in my experience.

Layman texted me just as I was double-checking my beacon and avy gear: “Hey, we’re running a bit late with some sunrise shots, sorry!” The text was accompanied by a video of two skiers summiting a brilliant pink peak with a purple sunrise in the background, and snow, lots of snow on the ground. I texted back, “No worries, man, enjoy!”

About 30 minutes later, I heard the roar of a snowmobile getting closer. As it came down the snow-covered fire road, the man driving it, who eventually introduced himself as Layman, waved and yelled, “Matt? What’s up, man? Hop on, I’ll take you up to the yurts for some breakfast.”

Yurt Life To Cat Skiing Glory

Layman opened the door to one of High Sierra Snowcat’s yurts. The smell of freshly-cooked bacon and eggs, plus eight smiling faces, greeted me with the warmest welcome. “This is Matt from POWDER,” Layman told the guests who had spent the night before in the adjoining yurt. “Make some space, he looks like he needs some bacon.”

Need some bacon, I did, but a thought started nagging my easily-distracted brain as I shook hands and got to know everybody—can somebody figure out how to bottle up the smell of breakfast being cooked in a yurt on a frigid winter morning? I’ll pay good money for it, if so.

We wrapped up breakfast, somewhat hastily due to the “f-ing fantastic” snow that had fallen the night before, and made our way to the snowcat parked outside. I had been cat-skiing before and was expecting to alternate laps with another group, a common practice at most operations, but Layman informed me that our small group of eight or so would be it. I smiled.

We packed into the back of the cat and started our journey into High Sierra Snowcat’s tenure. Layman pointed out different lines, but mentioned that we were going a bit deeper for the “good stuff.”

Somewhere between 12 and 18 inches of snow had fallen the night before, and in classic Sierra fashion, the storm blew everything around. Some spots were barren, others powder-laden, and thankfully, Layman and his crew of guides knew exactly where to go.

I had barely skied powder up to that point in the season (and barely skied any after). The nerves started to get to me. Would it be heavy? How deep would it be? Do I even remember how to ski powder?! I’d better remember how to ski powder, Layman just told everybody I work for freakin’ POWDER Magazine…

The first turn washed everything away. Just as the cloud of white smoke started billowing over my knees and into my chest, an uncontrollable “YEEEEEW!” came screaming out of my mouth. Left turn, right turn, left turn, right… the snow was perfect, and I had another 1,000 vertical feet in front of me. I turned up the speed and felt my anxieties dissipate with each weightless, perfectly dry, fluffy powder turn.

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I was barely keeping the happy tears from rolling under my goggles as I joined the group at the bottom of the run. I looked at their faces, all newly-made friends within the past hour, and smiled back. We dapped, hugged, high-fived, and laughed. 

This is why I ski, I reminded myself.

Cat Skiing Is Better Than Heli Skiing

Everybody talks about heli skiing, and yes, it’s undeniably impressive that the magic flying contraptions can whisk skiers to the highest and deepest peaks in a matter of minutes, but I’ve long said that cat skiing is better, and my day with High Sierra Snowcat furthered that belief.

I’m scared of helicopters and, you know, the fact that they hover thousands of feet above the ground, but do you know what isn’t scary? A snowcat, filled with 8-10 happy skiers, music playing on a Bluetooth speaker, and a cooler stocked with beers, snacks, and tasty beverages.

We kept skiing better snow and better lines with each passing lap at High Sierra Snowcat, but I found that the time between laps, especially piled into the back of a stinky snowcat cabin oozing with stoke, was what fueled my excitement for the next lap.

The conversation flowed freely, not a single skier had their phone out, and everybody was engaged, captured by this brilliant moment we were sharing together. 

Then, just as the conversation would start to die down, or attention began to waver, Layman or one of the other guides would holler, “Okay, we’re at the top! Everybody out of the cat. Time for another lap!” Rinse, ski powder, laugh with new friends, smile, repeat.

My frozen nose hairs were right. It was a good day, maybe even the best day of the season.

Related: How Good Was Ski Portillo, Chile This Year? I Traveled 6,000 Miles To Find Out