The sign at the bottom of the snow-covered dirt road had warned of active logging up here, but our radio wasn’t picking up the frequency. I hesitantly turned my truck uphill around each blind corner, ready to stuff it into the snowbank at a moment’s notice. I figured it was better than a head-on collision with 40 tons of wood and steel. 

“There’s just one truck left up there,” said the driver at the base of the road that morning. His braided ponytail was tossed to the side as he removed the chains from his fully loaded rig. “Yep, you should be ok.”

We were just hoping he got his numbers straight. It was a bit of risk, but we were searching for something better than the overcrowded early season experience back home. Though draft dodgers once arrived to this neck of the woods in droves during the Vietnam War, photographer Louis Arevalo and I were in the midst of our own exodus, escaping skiing’s status quo to heed the call of the Monashees…

Buy issue

Subscribe to start your collection of The Ski Journal.