Conditions Report
Report from March 24-26, 2025.
The moment we rolled into Incline Village, we knew this would be more than just another ski trip. Six of us, a mix of seasoned riders and snowboarding newbies, had converged on Lake Tahoe, California, with nothing but spring skiing on our minds and a rental house packed with enough energy to melt the remaining snow.
Monday burst open like a postcard of perfect ski conditions. Before heading out, we gathered around the BLM Bear statue—that weathered guardian of good times—snapping photos and giving him a proper farewell pat for luck.
The Olympic side of Palisades Tahoe welcomed us with soft, slushy snow that seemed to whisper, “Come play with me.” We stripped down to our base layers, shirts off, embracing the warmth that was more California beach day than traditional ski conditions. Siberia run became our playground, an endless canvas of snow where two of our crew were learning to snowboard.
From my perspective, even with spring wax applied to my board, the snow felt a little slow—that sticky, grabby quality that comes with spring conditions. But there was something perfect about that pace for our novice riders.
There’s something magical about watching someone learn to snowboard. The falls, the frustration, the sudden moments of pure joy when they link their first turns. Our novice boarders were falling—a lot—but laughing even more. The mountain felt forgiving, the snow so soft that each tumble was more like falling into a giant marshmallow than hitting hard-packed terrain.
Tuesday morning greeted us with the aroma of a feast. Our unofficial trip chef, Lisa, had transformed the kitchen into a breakfast haven. Eggs sizzled in the pan, bacon crisped to perfection, golden hashbrowns and toast waited on plates—the ultimate avant-ski fuel. We loaded up on carbs and protein, knowing the mountain was waiting to burn through every calorie.
Our faces were a canvas of sunburn and windburn, a testament to the previous day’s adventures. Granite Chief might have been closed, but the mountain had other plans for us. We found ourselves exploring chutes that seemed custom-made for our group, taking small cliff drops with plush landings that felt like a team of cloud engineers designed them.
Six guys, moving like a single organism down the mountain, taking over runs and creating a symphony of snowboarding and skiing. Each run was a competition of who could find the most creative line, catch the most air, and make the others laugh the hardest.
Wednesday started like a dream. Alpine side, bluebird skies, that crisp morning air that makes you feel alive before you’ve even clipped into your bindings. But mountains have a way of reminding you that they’re always in charge.
The Scott Chair lift. A moment’s distraction. A ski. A hand. Suddenly, everything changed.
Blood. Everywhere.
My friend’s ski had caught my hand, and what started as another epic day turned into a scene that looked more like a CSI episode than a ski movie. Jake, the ski patroller, was a guardian angel in a red jacket. He wrapped my hand professionally and calmly and got me off the mountain with the kind of efficiency that makes you grateful for mountain rescue teams.
Tahoe Forest Health System became our unexpected destination. The emergency room felt surreal—ski gear still damp, the smell of pine and antiseptic mixing in the air. Nurse Samantha was a beacon of calm in what could have been a moment of pure panic. Fifteen stitches later, my hand was a testament to our adventure—a medical souvenir that would become a story told and retold.
The injury didn’t dampen our spirits. If anything, it became part of the narrative, another layer to our spring break epic. We’d come for the skiing, but we’d leave with something much more—memories of sun-drenched runs, learning and falling and rising, and friendship tested and proven on the snow.
