Conditions Report
Conditions report from Saturday, December 13, 2025
While the West waits with steady focus for the arrival of full-on powder skiing, Tirich and I decided to head up to Brighton to pass the time in the best way we know how:
To go skiing with your friends.
It was sunny and warm—like spring conditions warm.
It was kind of nice, honestly.
We hopped on Crest with other eager young skiers and snowboarders, all of them sporting the latest in stylish ski-fashion, and took a cruise up to the top of the mountain.
Under blue skis, we cruised on a smooth groomer down through the trees, taking it nice and easy and just enjoying the good vibes of the day.
This we repeated several times.
Tirich is a snowboarder, and he was trying out skiing today, so I gave him some pointers on how to better his two-plank style.
He was picking it up quickly.
After a lap or two, I decided I try my luck in the park.
I don’t think I hit the park 1 time last season…
But when I was a kid, growing up in often snow-depraved Southern New Mexico, park was all we had.
I enjoyed it for a time.
Then I found powder skiing in Utah and I never looked back.
On my first go in the park, I felt pressure from all the good park rats crushing it, and subsequently slammed on the first rail I attempted, sliding back and out onto the hard snow.
They paid 0 attention to me.
I got up and did the exact same thing on the second rail I tried.
I didn’t quite have it.
I needed a rebuttal.
Tirich and I went back up Crest and I beelined straight to the park.
I ran into one of my favorite tattoo artists, Lauren Randall, and stopped and said hello then carried on to the rails.
I knew I had it this time.
I slid the first rail to the end and slid off not perfectly but good enough.
The second rail I fell hard on last time, I slid this time and made it almost to the end before sliding off.
But I didn’t fall.
I felt good about that.
It’s been a while since I hit some rails and that was good enough for me.
As we wait for fresh snow, we danced our best snow dances in the park;
young kids dressed in black like special forces soldiers whizzed down rails with potency,
light, free, and dangerous.
Both good skiers and new tangoed on the few open runs that were there—
no complaints, just shaved snow erupting off edges
black ice lurking under meaty exhausts in a packed parking lot
and smiles fluttering like butterflies left and right.
Soon, these ritualistic dances will pay off in full.Â
And we’ll be happy as snow pigs—
rolling in powder.
WeatherÂ
