No friends on a pow day? No. Powder days are best spent with friends, whether they’re new or old. This is the story of my first hike up Highland Bowl, and the friends we made along the way.

With an inch or two of fresh snow, the prospects of riding good powder didn’t seem great, but we followed Adam’s gut to Aspen Highlands in hopes of picking up some wind-loaded glades or maybe hunting for leftover stashes off the beaten path. He immediately dragged us up the Loge Lift with the intent of making a 900′ vertical hike to summit the Highlands Bowl at 12,392 feet above sea level.

Needless to say, after putting in nearly 20K vertical feet the day before, a hike like that wasn’t even remotely on my mind, and I didn’t need to think hard to come up with a laundry list of excuses: we hadn’t picked up a lot of snow, conditions the day before were less-than-ideal, and there wouldn’t even be a scenic view from the summit as we were socked in with full cloud cover. Making matters worse, 40 mile per hour winds were whipping a mix of grappel and snow at us as we waited for Sean to handle a goggle malfunction at the warming hut on Loge Peak.

At nearly 39 years old, I (usually) know and respect my limits, so I resolved to take the first good looking descent and meet up with Adam, Jessie and Sean at the bottom somewhere. “I want to be able to ride today,” I said, doubting that I’d have any legs left were I to finish the hike.

We set out a few minutes ahead of the first cat, which just barely beat us to the Main Gate. Now fully exposed to the weather as we plodded further up the ridge the choice of available descents ranged from bad to worse. The visible portions of Ballroom and Mosh Pit were anything but welcoming; exposed rock and windswept boilerplate. So I took a breather and pressed on.

If it wasn’t difficult enough to secure footing along the firm and windswept track, my 162cm Never Summer Swift was a sail catching each successive gust, threatening to topple me in to the no-fall zone that was Highland Bowl that morning. A lady skier ahead of us was likewise struggling to keep her footing, to the grumbling of the more experienced skiers behind us. Armed with a Burton Flight Attendant strapped vertically to his pack, a male companion helper her along and out of the way. Neither of them looked particularly inexperienced, it was just rough conditions for that climb. We passed them on the outside but left with a few encouraging words to help them on their ascent.

Approaching the Fun Deck gate, Grahamsters and B-Fore weren’t looking any better. Experience (and Adam) told me that the best lines and visibility would be found in the glades beyond the summit, if I could make it that far. Now, nearing the halfway point I had no intention of being the one guy going the wrong way on the boot track. When my legs started to burn, I’d step off the track for a few minutes’ break, and that kept me going — if incrementally. Slowly, I made my way to the summit.

The couple we had passed earlier did make summit while we were waiting for Sean, and we were happy to welcome and congratulate them on their ascent. We briefly rested our legs and caught our breath amidst the stinging wind while making their acquaintances: Jonna (spelling?) and Ronnie from Germany were spending a few weeks of vacation skiing and snowboarding through Colorado. They were both looking forward to steeps (with snow!) and glades so naturally Adam offered that they follow us down the boundary line and into the trees.

With nowhere to set an edge, we strapped in seated and prepared to make our way down. The first hundred yards or so was an almost vertigo-inducing descent, reminiscent of an actually vertigo-inducing experience along The Great Divide at Schweitzer Mountain (the trail separates the front Schweitzer Bowl from the Outback Bowl). Single-file like, we side-slipped sheer ice, guided only by the orange ribbons draped at intervals from the boundary ropes.

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Onward, towards the (hopeful) comfort of the conifers among G-0, G-1, and G-2, densely gladed northerly aspects with pitches as steep as 43 degrees. As we dipped further below the summit, approaching the pine spires, the winds subsided to an almost-calm, the snow no longer icy underfoot now nearly ankle-deep.

And then we were among the trees.

Six of us weaving in and out, left and right, over and down and in between. Hoots and woots and hollers keeping each other in ear-shot, stopping periodically to count heads or regroup, keeping everyone in sight. With abandon we rode now knee-deep pockets of untouched and windloaded terrain far off the marked trails, navigating the trees with precision; our new friends in tow.

It was the sort of descent that you don’t want to ever end (it did, after 2,600 vertical feet), absolutely fantastic turns which were all the sweeter for the effort required to make them.

The Deep Temerity lift offered a brief respite before we dropped into Broadway, branching through Face Oly, ducking into glades towards the Cloud Nine chair and veering rider’s right before finally popping out into Wine Ridge and following Heather Bedlam to the top of Exhibition chair. Spent, we settled in at Merry-Go-Round for lunch and celebratory Mules, before ultimately parting ways with Jonna and Ronnie, wishing them well on the remainder of their vacation.

Adam had mentioned that it’s often not until a day or so later that you really come to appreciate a climb, and its rewards. That’s mostly true; though I immediately felt a sense of relief and gratification for making the climb, it wasn’t until later that I would soak up the totality of the morning, and how we came make those memories and share that experience together. The only thing better than an awesome experience is being able to share it with others, and I’m truly grateful we were able to do that.

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