The Memorial Day Skiing At Jackson Hole Was Awesome

It happened again and again this spring. Watching the snow line rapidly rising towards the summits around my home, I'd think that I was done for the season.

I re-organized the garage, putting most of the skis, boots, and accessories into deep storage for the season. Of course, mostly to appease my wife, I had to keep one pair ready to go at a moment's notice. Mountain bike helmets and shoes took over the drying rack, and greasy rags and hex tools replaced wax scrapers and base cleaner on the workbench. Gore-Tex outerwear went into the upstairs closet, out of sight and out of mind until the fall. 

Then the call came. Again. "Want to ski the Tram this weekend?" For a second, I wanted to come up with all sorts of excuses. 'My skis are locked away and I lost the key...or...'my boots smelled so bad I had to throw them out', I thought. But then a single flicker of a memory from the last time I had slid on snow entered my mind, and I convinced myself that yes, 'I want to go skiing again'.

The Tetons can be a fickle place to go skiing in the spring, and I still haven't quite figured out why it's so challenging to find good snow here in the warmer months. I've been told it has to do with the fact that our deep, dry snowpack doesn't transition at the right rate, or that the slopes we want to ski are all so steep and facing the wrong aspect, or that our latitude, longitude, elevation, and astrological signs prevent a good corn cycle. Whatever the case, it's challenging to find proper spring skiing without a lot of bushwhacking, tons of vert, and a good dose of luck. 

Luckily, we have the Tram. In the winter, the big red box carries skiers into the alpine 100 at a time, promising some of the best turns of their lives. After Jackson Hole Mountain Resort closes for the season in mid-April, there are a few weeks where locals go through serious withdrawal symptoms. They head to the desert, the Alps, or to Alaska to drown out their feelings with other indulgences. The Tram undergoes its seasonal maintenance operations, Ski Patrol and the other resort workers get some much-needed R&R, and things quiet down before the summer crowds show up. 

However, by mid-May, the Tram is back. JHMR usually re-opens Big Red to the public a weekend or two before Memorial Day, allowing skiers to access the world-class backcountry terrain while the deep spring snowpack blankets the infamous runs on Cody Peak. This year, (re)opening weekend was one for the books, with a fresh coat of spring pow up high, setting up ideal conditions for Memorial Day weekend. 

Making soft turns at nearly 11,000 feet with verdant valleys far below is a pretty special experience. Like any of the most memorable experiences on skis, especially around these parts, it's not a gimme. Sure, the Tram lets you skip the hardest part (an early wakeup), but we were still earning our turns up high, skinning and booting to gain the top of the two lines we skied that day.

Summer skiing at Jackson Hole is a decidedly different experience. It's far less intense than a frothy mid-winter powder day. In fact, my friends and I were the only ones on the box with skis that morning, sharing the cabin with 50-odd tourists gawking at the stunning views of the Snake River and Grand Teton National Park.

We dutifully answered all the questions from visiting dads, much to the entertainment of the Tram operator, explaining how climbing skins work, where we were going that day, and that yes, anyone is allowed to ski Corbet's Couloir. It's all part of the game here, and despite it being a little backwards, it can be pretty fun to lean into the fact that as skiers we were a spectacle at our own local ski resort. 

The day unfolded as any backcountry skiing day might, with a beacon check, some heavy breathing, and whoops of joy as we harvested corn turns, shirts off, on some of our favorite high alpine runs. The snow eventually got too hot, so we opted to skip the bushwhack out and returned to the top of the Tram on skins. Waffles awaited in Corbet's Cabin, and changing into flip flops at 10,450 feet felt better than I ever could have imagined before downloading back to the valley.

Given the sunny, hot forecast, that might have been the last day of the season for me, but what's the old adage?

Never call last run.