I'm Not The Biggest Fan Of Skiing Tight Trees. Here's Why.

Trees. Almost anywhere you ski, you're bound to run into them—figuratively, hopefully. Our pine-needle-covered friends are a ubiquitous terrain feature, dotting bowls and gathering in tight, gladed clusters. But this isn't a story about the miracles of trees and everything they do to enhance skiers' favorite runs. It's the opposite.

I have a confession that should please the loggers and clear-cutters reading this: I'm not the biggest fan of skiing trees, particularly dense trees. Instead, I prefer wide-open, rolling, alpine terrain.

It obviously doesn’t have to do with the trees themselves. To understate my—and our collective—relationship with trees: they're nice enough. In fact, they're great. They smell good. Their bark has a nice texture. Without them, we wouldn't exist. But I don't like when they get in my way when I'm skiing fast. And, in an ideal world, I'm riding terrain that I can ski fast. A less-than-dense smattering of trees is pleasant, but the second they tighten up, I tighten up, noodling around in the backseat like an absolute buffoon.

I can already hear the criticism, particularly from the naysayers who will be uncontrollably impelled to tell me that I'm a donkey, a s****y skier, or some combination of both.

I hate to admit it, but they might have a fair point. Tight trees will test your mettle. Form becomes less vital on groomers and in bowls laden with fresh powder. In these more welcoming portions of the piste—to me, that is—a little scooch into the backseat won't expose you to a high-speed bark sandwich. I'm not afraid to acknowledge that if I were an exceptionally talented skier who treats trees less like obstacles and more like slalom gates, my long-running issues with the pines, firs, and larches, probably wouldn't haunt me.

It could also have to do with where I grew up skiing. In Washington, where I first learned to ski, you aren't necessarily required to become a stellar tree skier. I clung to Crystal Mountain's upper mountain terrain as a grom, knowing that near or in the alpine, those dang trees couldn't get me. The same strategy wouldn't work out East. There, much of the best off-piste terrain requires delving into dense thickets. Vermont and Maine skiers don't just like hitting the tightest glades—it's in their DNA.