The snow wasn’t in the forecast.
We turned into Rek’Lis Brewing Company just before 8am. The flakes were big enough to see clearly and slow enough to watch fall. Each one hung in the air for a second, like it was considering something, then settled without argument.
As people arrived, they stepped out of their cars into the cold and into that hush. Hand warmers were passed around to lessen the sting while the group shuffled skis and gear to arrange carpool logistics. It’s amazing how quickly a group of near-strangers begins to feel like a team simply because they’re standing in the same weather.
That’s how a day like this starts.
The drive to the trailhead took twenty minutes along backroads that don’t get much attention this time of year. The entrance was easy to miss and shared with a private driveway. We lined up carefully, parallel parking only. A small act of respect before stepping into our adventure.
The Cooley–Jericho Glades stretch across 840 acres of forest, maintained by Granite Backcountry Alliance and preserved by Ammonoosuc Conservation Trust. The land was farmed once, logged later, nearly developed, then saved. It exists because enough people decided it mattered.
As with all Treeline adventures, we began the same way we always do: introductions first. Names, where you’re from, what brought you here, your favorite color. Then a quick review of what we were getting ourselves into.
And, of course, glitter. Optional, but strongly encouraged. Scientifically proven to make you faster.
The climb began without hurry. Conversation set the pace more than any objective did, which meant we moved at the speed of story. When someone had more to share, we slowed. When laughter took over, we stopped. The snow continued falling in a steady rhythm, softening the forest and the edges of whatever people had carried into the morning with them.
Switchbacks cut gently through the trees. Old logging clearings opened into quiet white fields where we paused for snacks and longer conversations. Gummies and Slim Jims made their rounds. A few skiers tested the depth of the powder at the trail’s edge and disappeared sideways into it, resurfacing with the kind of laughter that dissolves any lingering self-consciousness. There’s freedom in falling when no one is keeping score.
Climbing together has a way of leveling things. Everyone breathes hard. Everyone earns each step. Titles and jobs and daily stresses fall behind you on the skin track. What’s left is effort, and the willingness to share it.
We reached the top after a brief and humbling rediscovery of the trail and passed around Valentine’s X’s and O’s gummies from Trader Joe’s before selecting our route down. We chose route “1” as our pathway for fresh turns. And wow, did that path deliver.
The first turns were cautious. Then less so. The snow was soft and mostly untouched. The terrain pitched just enough to find rhythm and soon the forest filled with the sounds of “whoops” and “yeews” and the kind of noise adults make when they forget they’re supposed to be measured.
At the bottom, we regrouped and climbed again, breaking trail, our legs heavier now. Conversation quieter but deeper. At the next decision point we faced the familiar question: go farther, or go back?
It was 12:30pm and most of us could hear the rumbles of hunger setting in, so the decision was made to head back down to the cars, but we decided we might as well take our time and enjoy the people, the setting, and a few snacks before making our way out of this magically still and snowy forest.
Backpacks came off, poles and skis were rearranged as tables, and the Rek’Lis and Treeline team surprised the crew with some Rek’Lis brews and a full spread of charcuterie (charcuter-ski?).
Sharing food after shared effort changes the tone of a group. The edges soften and conversations deepen. You notice the person next to you not as “the strong skier” or “the beginner,” but as someone with a story, someone who held the skin track for a while, someone who offered gummies when you needed them.
In that small clearing, with snow still falling, something subtle settled over us. No one rushed. No one checked their phone. For a little while, the only thing that existed was the circle we’d made in the woods.
Eventually, the cold reminded us it was still winter. We packed our bags and left nothing behind but impressions in the snow. The final descent was playful, filled with rollers, soft bumps, and small drops that launched a few of us whether we meant to or not. More laughter, more unfiltered sound.
Back at Rek’Lis Brewing Company, we waited until everyone had a drink in hand. We raised them together. To good snow, to earned turns, to new friends, to next time.
Here’s what we’ve learned about days like this: Skiing is the invitation, but it’s not the point. The point is what happens after. The longer conversations, the exchanged numbers, and the thank you’s for snacks shared. The realization that you arrived alone and are leaving connected.
You don’t always recognize the important moments while you’re in them. But later, when you think back on the season, these are the days that stand out. Not because they were epic. Because they were shared.
