In the foothills of Colorado, winter creates a wide range of (sometimes dangerous) running conditions. The one I like to avoid the most is the indoor treadmill. I’m an outdoor animal. Like my yellow lab, Lulu, I sleep and lounge indoors but need to breathe fresh air, run on a natural surface, and be among the trees to ensure consistent happiness.

Unlike my dog, I ��Dz�’t have toenails sprouting from the bottoms of my feet, or my running shoes—handy sharp grips that can dig into just-about-frozen dirt, thin layers of snow, and icy surfaces.

But there’s an easy solution to my lack of claws. Traction devices that slip easily over any pair of running shoes or hiking boots give me access to the terrain I crave mid-winter: trails. Instead of heading to boring paved paths (thankfully cleared by the City of Boulder), the treadmill, or, worse, waiting until spring to run or hike on those wonderful ribbons that wind through the woods, I grab my traction—and my dog—and go.

Here’s a quick rundown of my four favorite slip-on spike traction devices for running shoes available today. You only need one pair of fun-enabling winter animal claws to access your regular trails. Note: They come in a range of sizes, which is important so as to not squeeze your foot or fall off on the run, so pay attention to size guides when buying. (And to really shore up your winter running arsenal, especially if you run in frigid temps or deep snow, check out our most recent guide to waterproof winter running shoes.)

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Black Diamond Distance Spikes

The softshell toe cap of the makes them the most comfortable of any slip-on spikes for running shoes I’ve tried. There’s no rubber or fabric straps pulling over the top of the foot—instead, a full toe cap made of breathable, water-resistant material, with a strap that loops the heel, keeps the chain-linked spikes secure. Underfoot, 14 eight-millimeter-long teeth made of stainless steel that’s been heat-treated for durability dig into and grip fresh snow and ice. These are also remarkably easy to take on and off, and pack down to the smallest size of the bunch (no bigger than an orange). They live in the small bag they came in inside my running pack all winter long, ready to be deployed when needed. Sizes S-XL; Weight: 8.2 oz (size medium pair); Packed size: Smaller than my fist

Kahtoola Microspikes

are the toothiest of all options, with 12 3/8-inch hardened stainless steel spikes protruding from a “harness” made of thermoplastic elastomer (said to retain its elasticity down to -22˚ Fahrenheit). The harness wraps around the toe and holds the spikes on securely. While mostly comfortable, I can, however, feel the straps through the tops of my running shoes more than the full toe cap of the Black Diamond Distance Spikes. A pull-tab at the heel helps with easy on-off when conditions change mid-trail. Microspikes work best on trails with at least an inch of fresh snow, especially when there are icy patches underneath. Sizes: S-XL; Weight: 11.9 oz (size medium pair); Packed size: 5 in x 3 in x 2 in

Kahtoola Exospikes

As opposed to their toothier counterparts that dig deep into snow and ice, the 12 small, flat spikes made of Tungsten carbide of the provide a low-profile surface grip. This makes them great for terrain that’s mostly ice or mixed dirt and ice, and removes the fear, with a larger spike underfoot, of breaking a metal tooth or landing awkwardly on a rock. A similar, thermoplastic elastomer harness system as found on the Microspikes wraps around the shoe. Sizes S-XL; Weight: 7.3 oz (size medium pair); Packed size: 5.75 in x 3 in x 2 in

YakTrax Run

Yaktrax have long been the “Kleenex” of traction devices, with many outdoors people referring to all traction as such since the brand was among the first to offer winter traction for runners. The original version had metal coils under both the heel and the forefoot. The now has more durable, three-millimeter-deep carbide spikes under the forefoot (similar to Kahtoola Exospikes), while retaining coils under the heel. The combination does a good job on packed snow and ice. These slide over and strap onto shoes via a Velcro closure that secures easily and effectively. The downsides are that they ��Dz�’t come with a bag or pack down—they fold in half but remain large and awkward—and, while mine have not broken, some users report durability issues. Sizes S-XL; Weight: .74 oz (size medium pair); Packed size: Not given (but fold in half to about the size of a sandwich)

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Anyone who skis or snowboards knows: Everything outside of actually making turns is a massive pain in the ass. The exorbitant number of clothing and accessories items required to avoid frostbite and injury. The hardgoods—skis, snowboards, boots, poles—you have to load and unload without wrecking your car, your gear, or your body. The stuff necessary for a comfortable drive home or weekend away. And that’s all the gear you need even if you’re skiing or riding alone. Bring along less experienced skiers or riders who could use some help—whether friends or your children—and you may ask yourself if it’s all even worth it.

I’ve been the beginner friend who requires extra help. I’ve also been the parent shoving a child’s foot into a ski boot and swearing, not necessarily under my breath. And now I’m the parent of teenage boys and couldn’t love ski/snowboard weekends with my family any more than I do. (So if you’re wrestling with younger kids on the slopes, stick with it; the payoff is great.) I also love taking along family and friends who may need a little extra help. But all that adds up to an additional need to strategize—with the right gear—to make ski and snowboard outings as smooth as possible.

These three things rise to the top of my list of frustration-reducing gear and will be in regular rotation this winter as my family and the occasional friend head to the Colorado high country as often as possible.

Rigstrips SnoStrip

I ��Dz�’t remember whose snowboard slid off my bumper last season in the ski hill parking lot, but it took off a chunk of my car’s paint. To keep it from happening again, I started using the SnoStrip,�� an ingeniously simple contraption. The 16” x 1.5” x .08” magnetic strip attaches to the side of my car or our family truck and acts as an impromptu ski rack when we’re unloading boards and skis from a rooftop gearbox or the back of the car. It also allows me to tackle this job solo by securing the gear within arm’s reach while I’m standing on the side of the truck with an open rooftop box. The soft rubber organizing slats hold snowboards, alpine skis, Nordic skis, or any combination of snow gear, making this contraption a great alternative to leaning gear against the car’s paint or laying it on a rocky, grimy parking lot surface. When not in use, the SnowStrip lives in the back of the car, barely taking up any space at all.

SMMT Outdoor 35L Powder Tote

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From December through March, I keep this bag loaded with what I need off the mountain during a weekend ski trip. (I also keep a ski bag packed with what I need on the mountain.) It’s always ready to go and my shit doesn’t get mixed up with teenage boys’ dirty socks in hastily packed shared bags. I love that this tote-style bag zips shut—my stuff stays safely shoved inside—and the shell and zippers are protectively water-resistant. Internal organizing features, like a laptop sleeve, zippered mesh pocket, water bottle pocket, and small, separate bag that’s ideal for charging cords help me keep necessities organized.

It’s lofted like a puffy jacket, which keeps the contents inside a little warmer so I ��Dz�’t have to put on cold sweats, and just makes it look like a perfect ski weekender bag. A keychain clip even doubles as a bottle opener. The bag is made with a bluesign-certified manufacturing partner and constructed out of post-industrial, post-consumer recycled materials. And, through , a portion of sales goes to Park City-based Summit Land Conservancy.

Smartwool Hudson Trail Pattern Slippers

I love sharing hotel and lodge rooms with all three of my boys (sons and spouse) and my dog, but none of them wipe their feet enough or take off their snowy shoes when entering a room. That leaves f***ing puddles on the concrete or laminate floor of our most frequented hotels, and I step in those puddles in my socks all the f***ing time. But not anymore. The Smartwool Hudson Slippers have a slightly padded outsole made of nylon/polyurethane that keeps my feet dry so I ��Dz�’t have to change my socks multiple times an hour. The Merino wool/nylon/polyester (some of it recycled) blend that makes up the main body of the slippers keeps my feet and lower legs warm and comfortable, to boot.

These three items may not guarantee great snow or make I-70 traffic and lift lines go away, but they have been helping me manage the hassles—and get to the fun—of skiing and snowboarding this winter.

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Seasonal reading—that’s my boring-but-apt term for enriching the mood and meaning of a certain time of year with the addition of a certain text. Each April, I reach for the “Spring” chapter in Walden. Every July, I take a lap in E.B. White’s “Once More to the Lake.” And in November, when the brown ground freezes and the weatherman predicts five months of blizzard, I cozy up on the couch with a mug of chamomile tea and “The Ascending Spiral,” a short, dense essay by the legendary snow scientist Ed LaChappelle.

Lynne Wolfe, editor of The Avalanche Review, which published “The Ascending Spiral” in 2005, calls the essay a seminal work. I got turned on to it a decade ago by my friend Jerry Roberts, a retired avalanche forecaster for the Colorado Department of Transportation and self-described “snow-viewer.” (Seventeenth-century haiku poet Matsuo Basho: “Come, let’s go / snow-viewing / till we’re buried.”) Roberts and LaChappelle were colleagues and pals. They worked together in the San Juan Mountains in the 1970s and shared a bottle of pisco a mere week before LaChapelle suffered a fatal heart attack at Monarch Pass—skiing, of course—in 2007. “Required reading,” I was told.

LaChappelle frames��his essay as a contribution to the never-ending discussion among snow-viewers, both professionals and hobbyists, regarding how best to “evaluate avalanche hazards, consider human factors, and communicate (or execute) decisions.” There is much practical wisdom in these pages, actionable advice for telemarkers, splitboarders, snowmachiners, alpinists, and gonzo backcountry tobogganists. But the really special thing—the reason I’m drawn to “The Ascending Spiral” each November—is the brief and tantalizing treatment of rheology and the Deborah Number.

The what and the what?

My initial reaction, too.

Rheology is a branch of physics that deals with the deformation and fluidity of matter. For instance, gummy bears—pop a few in the microwave and behold the freaky carnage. Snow is another fine example, defined by LaChappelle as “a granular visco-elastic solid close to its melting point” that subtly, constantly, and complicatedly responds to its environment, fluctuations in temperature and pressure in particular. He asks us to envision a peak in winter. “From the external perspective of a passing observer, snow on a mountainside is just sitting there, apparently dormant. The snow cover, however, is neither static nor dormant, but a positively seething mass of activity.” Learning to see it as such—to see it as dynamic, as lively and perhaps even alive—is the challenge and the fun.

Enter the Deborah Number. Proposed in 1964 by the pioneering rheologist Markus Reiner, the concept (it does not refer to a specific, fixed number) takes its name from a Biblical prophetess who sang of the mountains “flowing before the Lord.” LaChappelle sums it up like this: “In the limited time frame of human perception, the mountains are static and eternal, but for the Lord, whose time frame is infinite, they flow.”

LaChappelle was a Professor of Geophysics and Atmospheric Sciences at the University of Washington and a co-inventor of the modern avalanche transceiver, whereas I flunked Algebra 2, confounded by the damn TI-82 graphing calculator. Nevertheless, this stuff greatly excites me. Per my layman’s understanding, the Deborah Number is an expression of the relationship between time spent observing natural phenomena and perception of flow—high D equals scant time and we ��Dz�’t see the flow, low D equals tons of time and we do see the flow. A hastily dug snowpit on an unfamiliar slope (high D) yields “a static view of what actually is an active (‘flowing’) snow cover.” LaChappelle continues: “In other words, stability evaluation has to be an��ongoing process, the longer the better.” Ideally, it starts on a given avalanche path with the first flakes of winter.

Meticulous and relentless monitoring of this sort is the hallmark of an avalanche��forecaster’s job. As Jerry Roberts told me in 2016, during an interview I conducted for the Buddhist magazine Tricycle about the Zen-like aspects of patrolling (meditating on?) the sketchy San Juans and their avalanche-prone high-mountain passes: “You’re afraid to go shopping at the supermarket an hour away because you might miss a wind event. You can’t be absent from your place. You have to be totally present.” I recall him chuckling, shaking his head, seemingly amazed by the stamina and focus of his younger self. “You ��Dz�’t think about Christmas or your wife’s birthday. You ��Dz�’t go on vacation. A series of storms in ’05 lasted ten days. I got very little sleep.” Chuckle, shake. “From November through May, paying attention is what you do. It’s who you are. There’s no difference between on and off.”

Indeed, for the snow-viewer whose entire existence is devoted to detecting and registering slow-motion transformations occurring at both micro and macro scales, whose sacred daily mantra is lower the D, lower the D, lower the D, lower the D, the on-versus-off question is moot. Case in point: After a career in the field researching glaciers, LaChappelle retired to a remote cabin in McCarthy, Alaska and busied himself tracking—surprise, surprise—the nuanced behavior of his local glaciers.

I’m sporadic and undisciplined when it comes to studying the ever-shifting details and ever-morphing character of Colorado’s Elk Mountains, my home range. Hence my need to sit with “The Ascending Spiral” each November as the thermometer’s mercury plunges and the touring gear beckons from my mudroom’s cobwebby corner. I skin up and float down a couple mildly dangerous peaks most winters—beacon, shovel,��probe, goofy buddies, and lots of laughs—so in part I read to humble myself: Pay attention, boy, or else! According to the Colorado Avalanche Information Center, one hundred and forty-nine people got caught in slides last ski season and, sadly, two didn’t survive. The or else is exceedingly real.

Ultimately, my enthusiasm for rheology and the Deborah Number is less utilitarian—a means to the end of protecting my vulnerable ass while poorly carving powder 8s—than it is aesthetic and spiritual. I like to poke around the valley floor and gaze at the intricacies of the snowscape. I like to sculpt a drift into a chair, crack a beer, and stare. I like to approach perception as a kind of basic yet mysterious adventure. I like to notice, and notice that I’m noticing, and keep on noticing, and keep on keeping on. So in part I read to be humbled, yes, and in part—in large part—I read to be inspired, encouraged, nudged toward a cool way of inhabiting my place: Pay attention, boy, because lowering your D is a worthy end in itself! An awesome pastime! A beautiful and demanding practice! A raison d’être!

Do I aspire to godliness, an omniscient and infinite vantage? Nah, too grand for my earthly tastes. But looking through those eyes now and then, on occasion, is a huge thrill. Stealing a glimpse of the perpetually changing, fleeting, flowing planet. Feeling that glimpse, at my luckiest moments, as an electric tingle racing the length of my spine.

I felt the tingle recently, following my annual twenty-minute check-in with dear old Professor LaChappelle on the couch. Five or six inches of snow had fallen in the high country the evening prior and I suspected that, unlike the flurries of early autumn, which disappeared quickly from the summits, this coating of white would stick. Or maybe I hoped it would stick, eager for the schuss, the glide, the burn, and the turn.

The essay finished, at least until next year, I drained the dregs of my tea, stepped into the yard at sunset, lifted my binoculars, and scanned the wilderness of ridges and faces and bowls that rises abruptly to the west of town. Conditioned by my quasi-ritualistic re-reading of “The Ascending Spiral,” what I saw had the quality of epiphany. It was “a granular visco-elastic solid close to its melting point.” It was gummy bears in the microwave, a quintillion protean crystals. It was the foundational layer of a new winter’s breathing, pulsing, growling, tail-whipping snowpack—a snowpack guaranteed to spawn the avalanches that Jerry Roberts and other animistic snow-viewers call “dragons.” It was simple and complex, common and strange, mundane and magical.

I pocketed the binos, zoomed out.

What I saw was a paradox, tingle-inducing for sure—the whole world perfectly still, not a bird, not a cloud, not a hint of a breeze, not a single trembling blade of grass, and there on the horizon, washed pink with alpenglow, something deep inside the stillness beginning, secretly, to move.

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When snow flurries fall on Seeley Lake, Montana, snowmobilers zip into the backcountry for another day of powdery bliss. The town, located 50 miles northeast of Missoula, boasts 400 miles of groomed trails through dense woods and over enchanting meadows, right to the foot of steep, snow-filled chutes.

“Five minutes from the trailhead and you’re on really technical stuff,” Karl Zurmuehlen, 50, a local backcountry guide, told ���ϳԹ���. “That’s what brings a lot of riders to Seeley Lake.”

But this winter, Seeley Lake’s picturesque trails and snow-covered slopes have become ground zero for a crisis gripping America’s small-but-dedicated community of avalanche forecasters.

In December, the made the tough decision to no longer send avalanche experts to Seeley Lake to test the snowpack. The Missoula-based center, which oversees a huge swath of backcountry in the state’s center, also announced that its avalanche forecasts for Seeley Lake would be published only sporadically this winter. The decision comes just four years after a in the area.

“I guess avalanche safety is going to become a word-of-mouth thing at Seeley Lake now,” said Zurmuehlen, who’s business, Kra-Z’s, also rents snowmobiles to visitors.

The avalanche center’s decision to pull back from Seeley Lake is a result of the recent budget and staffing predicament within the National Forest Service. In September, the Forest Service publicly announced for the remainder of 2024 and into 2025. The agency, which manages 193 million acres of American grasslands and forests, also operates or helps fund 14 regional avalanche centers, including the West Central Montana center.

Abandoning one popular backcountry area may seem like a local issue. But forecasters who work within the Forest Service’s avalanche program told ���ϳԹ��� that a larger problem may be looming on the horizon. With the Forest Service’s future left to the whims of national politics, they worry that the agency’s avalanche program may suffer deeper cuts in 2026 and beyond. If that happens, the Forest Service’s avalanche centers will have to abandon more recreation areas like Seeley Lake.

This plight comes as more Americans than ever are venturing into avalanche terrain for outdoor recreation. Participation in backcountry skiing and snowboarding soared during the pandemic. The , a trade group for the skiing industry, reported approximately 4.9 million skiers and snowboarders recreated in the backcountry during the 2023-24 winter. That’s up from just 2 million during the 2017-18 winter.

A sizable portion of these skiers and snowboarders rely on the published by Forest Service centers to assess danger. Within the tight-knit circle of avalanche forecasters, the Forest Service budget cut has sparked a debate over funding and managing avalanche safety in the United States.

“Right now is an inflection point,” said Patrick Black, the executive director of the West Central Montana Avalanche Center (WCMAC). “With so many uncertainties for this winter and winters to come, now is the time to revisit the current model for funding avalanche safety.”

How a Federal Shortfall Impacts Avalanche Forecasting

The bad news broke just a few weeks before the first snowfall blanketed the Rockies. In June, the U.S. House of Representatives from the $8.9 billion the agency requested for the 2024-25 fiscal year. On September 16, which was then released to the public, explaining how the massive agency, which , would address the shortfall.

For 2024 and 2025, the Forest Service would no longer hire part-time seasonal workers, except for wildland firefighting crews, he said. Losing these employees, called “1039” staff in Forest Service parlance, would require the agency to halt a wide range of seasonal duties, from trail maintenance to campsite cleanup.

“We are not going to do everything that is expected of us with fewer people,” Moore said during the conference.

The news sounded alarm bells within the Forest Service’s 14 avalanche centers, which are based in California, Utah, Wyoming, Alaska, Montana, Idaho, Washington, and New Hampshire. Seasonal employees perform critical work during the winter at some of these centers. They venture into backcountry areas early each morning to observe snowfall and dig pits into the snowpack, looking for signs of avalanche danger. They work alongside year-round forecasters to process this information and combine it with weather data. And some of them also write the daily avalanche reports that appear online.

“There was panic,” said Scott Schell, executive director of the Northwest Avalanche Center’s non-profit organization. The NWAC, which is one of the 14 Forest Service centers, forecasts for Washington State and northern Oregon. “Without our seasonal workers we aren’t much of an avalanche center,” Schell added.

Collectively, the NFS avalanche program employs approximately 70 workers; 55 are permanent positions or a designation called “seasonal permanent.” The remaining 15 are seasonal positions. Of the 11 employees at the Northwest Avalanche Center, eight are seasonal workers, Schell said. All eight positions were jeopardized by the hiring freeze.

“Avalanche forecasts aren’t produced by machines,” Schell said. “They’re done by people with high levels of expertise.”

The Forest Service also funds and operates the National Avalanche Center, a collection of snow science experts and avalanche forecasters who train staff and coordinate resources between the 14 regional centers. Simon Trautman, the director of the National Avalanche Center, told ���ϳԹ��� that his office began working on solutions to the staffing crisis shortly after the call. “People do these jobs because they love what they do,” he said. “And because they believe the work ultimately saves lives.”

But in the days after the announcement, a solution seemed nearly impossible to attain. The Forest Service initially told avalanche centers they could not sidestep the staff cut by simply paying the seasonal salaries from their own coffers. The 14 NFS avalanche centers are funded in part by the agency; each center also raises a portion of its operational budget through non-profit donations, sponsorship sales, or from state agencies.

The ratio of private funding to NFS dollars differs for each center. Trautman said funding from sponsorship sales and non-profit organizations, called “friends groups,” account for slightly more than half of the total budget for the 14 centers. The Forest Service, he said, contributes $2.5 million annually to fund the centers.

“We’re essentially a rounding error,” Schell said. “When you consider the impact we have.”

But the Forest Service still manages the centers, which means they are subjected to all agency-wide mandates, including staff cuts. That decision did not sit well within the avalanche program.

“Injuries and fatalities will likely be the result of this cost-saving measure,” Dwayne Meadows, the executive director of the Bridger-Teton Avalanche Center, .

Meadows, Schell, and other avalanche center managers pushed back on the cut. Throughout September and into October, they contacted regional forest managers and asked, then begged, to be exempted from the hiring freeze.

“We are a crucial part of the economy,” Meadows told ���ϳԹ���. “Outdoor recreation is part of what keeps our community going in the winter.”

Pressure mounted from outside the agency as well. In Wyoming, Senators John Barrasso and Cynthia Lummis, both Republicans, asked for the Bridger-Teton center to receive an exemption for its seasonal staff. On October 4, a letter signed by 42 different companies and nonprofits—from the American Mountain Guides Association, to Montana’s Bridger Bowl Ski Area, to Colorado Mountain Club—begged Moore to allow the avalanche centers to remain fully-staffed.

“Forest Service Avalanche Centers provide crucial tools for public safety and it is critical that these centers operate at full capacity this, and every, winter,” the letter said.

The pressure worked. As the first snowfalls hit the high country, regional managers granted exemptions for the avalanche centers, or allowed them to fund seasonal staff through non-profit funds. The Intermountain Region, which oversees Utah, Idaho, and Wyoming, granted exemptions to Bridger-Teton for its two seasonal positions; the Pacific Northwest region, which manages Oregon and Washington State, approved Schell’s request for all eight.

At Montana’s Flathead Avalanche Center, which oversees the area surrounding Glacier National Park, the Northern Region manager approved one 1039 employee and allowed two seasonal-permanent employees to have their contracts extended. Other centers received exemptions, and by November, all 15 seasonal employees were saved.

The success “significantly helped morale,” Trautman said. “Because of leadership support, we are still in the avalanche forecasting business,” he added.

Patrick Black, the executive director of the West Central Montana Avalanche Center, watched as other centers received exemptions throughout September and October. But as the snow began to fall on the mountains outside Missoula, Black learned that his center, which does not employ 1039 workers, would receive a debilitating cut.

“There was a brief moment when it seemed like all of us were going to be safeguarded,” Black told ���ϳԹ���. “We weren’t included. It was painful to hear.”

How Budget Cuts Hurt Avalanche Centers and the Backcountry Users that Rely on Them

If any avalanche group was destined to fall through the cracks, it was the West Central Montana Avalanche Center. Of the 14 centers affiliated with the Forest Service, it is the only one that operates as a true non-profit.

None of the avalanche center’s three full-time staff work for the Forest Service—instead, they report to a board of directors and are paid by a non-profit called The West Central Montana Avalanche Foundation. The center raises $80,000 of its $120,000 annual budget through grants, donations, and sponsorships; the remaining $40,000 comes in via an annual Forest Service payment.

“I’m often envious of the other avalanche centers,” Black said. “Their friends groups and non-profits are on the hook for a much smaller percentage of their operating revenue.”

But the Forest Service support is still crucial: Each winter the agency gives the WCMAC three trucks to drive to and from forecasting areas, plus snowmobile use, and gas cards to cover fuel costs.

In late October, Black received the bad news from the regional forest supervisor. The Forest Service would not renew its $40,000 annual contract with the center, or provide vehicles or gas.

“It doesn’t sound like a ton of money, but to a small non-profit, losing that was devastating,” Black said. “To think we could squeeze any more out of our equation was unrealistic.”

He called a meeting with the center’s board members to come up with an operations plan amid the cuts. The center would need to rent vehicles for the six-month season, and cover the cost of fuel for hundreds of miles of weekly driving. Those added costs, plus the loss in $40,000, would require a reduction in head count, from three full-time forecasters to one full-time and one part-time.

The reduction in staff would also impact the center’s area of forecasting. Avalanche forecasters could no longer travel deep into the backcountry to dig pits or test the snowpack. Instead, they’d need to focus on the most popular trailheads near ski areas and towns.

“We’re prioritizing areas that are popular with the non-motorized community, like backcountry skiers and snowshoers,” Black said. “The areas where the motorized community goes are too far out.”

And finally, Black made the difficult decision to dramatically reduce the number of published avalanche forecasts in all areas. Prior to 2024, the West Central Avalanche Center published daily forecasts on Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. For the 2024-25 season, employees will write reports for Saturdays and Sundays only.

“Folks will not know until Saturday morning what we’ve been seeing in the field,” Black said. “Honestly, I hate to even say this out loud.”

Is it Time to Abandon the Forest Service Model?

In May, Forest Service chief Randy Moore on natural resources and energy to discuss his $8.9 billion budget request for the 2024-25 fiscal year. One by one, Republican and Democratic senators admonished Moore for the agency’s shortcomings in everything from wildfire prevention to timber sales.

“There’s broad agreement on this committee that the Forest Service is not meeting the challenge it confronts,” Barrasso of said. “The Forest Service must change course.”

Statements like this continue to cause consternation amongst Forest Service avalanche employees. Amid the change in presidential administration and a shift in power in Congress, there’s considerable doubt that the agency will receive the future funding it requires to function at its current size and scope. Meanwhile, the Forest Service’s annual spend on wildfire prevention and mitigation, , is likely to continue to rise.

Avalanche professionals worry that the agency’s solution to the 2024 staff cuts are temporary, and that additional cuts are likely to occur in the coming years.

“If I’m being honest, I’m not confident that the Forest Service is going to figure this one out,” Black said. “If we’re going to chart a course for seasons to come, it makes sense to invite new groups to the table to fund these programs.”

Even Trautman, who worked long hours in September and October to save the seasonal employees, worries that the current solution may not last forever. “There are significant unknowns around how we accomplish mission-critical summer work, or if we can hire seasonal and turnover positions for next fall,” he said.

Different funding models do exist within America’s avalanche centers. In addition to the 14 Forest Service avalanche centers, eight regional centers are operated by separate non-profits. The Colorado Avalanche Information Center, the country’s largest avalanche program, receives most of its funding from the state’s Department of Natural Resources, with additional funds coming from private donations, local governments, and the federal government.

The other avalanche center managers who spoke to ���ϳԹ��� for this story said that the current crisis has made them consider—and even study—funding models that do not involve the Forest Service.

“There’s so much more the avalanche program could do if our current structure pointed us toward stability,” Schell said. “The amount of hours we spend worrying about funding alone could be put toward creating better forecasts.”

As Black and his board directors sought solutions to the West Central Montana Avalanche Center’s budget crisis, he crunched the numbers to see how it could exist without Forest Service funding or involvement. Like other avalanche centers WCMAC sells memberships to backcountry users that grant them access to events and teachings.

If half of the center’s 2,500 newsletter subscribers became paying members, the revenue would offset the lost Forest Service funds, Black said. Ramping up the center’s sponsorship sales could also boost its budget.

Black said that, if given more time for fundraising, the WCMAC could survive on its own.

“It feels like we’re a year ahead of the other centers in having these discussions,” Black said.

Consequences of Forging a New Path

Everyone interviewed for the story admitted that divorcing the 14 avalanche centers from the Forest Service would have consequences. The agency provides liability insurance and legal support to the centers, which help protect them from lawsuits.

“If someone tries to sue the Forest Service they’re not going to get very far,” Meadows said. “If they sued our foundation with our non-profit insurance, they’d kill us.”

Jayne Nolan, the executive director of the non-profit American Avalanche Association, an industry group for avalanche professionals, said that the Forest Service model provides greater stability for staff, like health insurance and paid vacation time. Nolan believes that the Forest Service has an obligation to continue managing the centers.

“Nearly 95 percent of all avalanche fatalities occur on Forest Service land,” Nolan said. “It’s the job of the Forest Service to reduce these numbers, even as backcountry skiing, snowboarding, and snowmobiling skyrockets.”

Bruce Tremper, who oversaw the Utah Avalanche Center from 1986 until his retirement in 2015 and wrote the seminal avalanche safety textbook, Staying Alive in Avalanche Terrain, says alignment with the Forest Service also gives avalanche centers clout with the general public. “If you’re part of the Forest Service then you have authority and legitimacy that people take seriously,” Tremper said. “It’s not just another non-profit springing up.” That authority makes backcountry users more inclined to pay attention to its warnings, he said.

Tremper said he endured multiple budget cuts, government shutdowns, and staffing shortages during his 29 years with the Utah Avalanche Center. Learning to exist amid the agency’s dysfunction is simply part of the job, he said.

“It took me a long time to figure out the rules and regulations of how to work in a government agency,” he said. “It’s like a big aircraft carrier and it’s hard to change direction when you’re in it.”

But Schell worries that this mindset has stifled innovation, and prevented avalanche centers from discovering better models for funding and management. The Northwest Avalanche Center will celebrate its 50th anniversary in 2025. And despite the center’s growth in fundraising and its advancements in snow science and avalanche prediction, the program is still vulnerable to shifts in the Forest Service’s budget and management structure.

“We’ve bootstrapped these centers for 40 or 50 years,” Schell said. “At what point can we have a durable and sustainable program?”

Schell told ���ϳԹ��� that the NWAC would continue to “lean into” the Forest Service relationship for 2025 and beyond. Rather than pursue non-profit status or state-run structure, he said the center would instead ask the agency to consider a different operational model for the centers. At the moment, all 14 avalanche centers exist within the Forest Service’s arcane management structure of regional forests and ranger districts. A center’s budget and staff size are decided by regional, and not national, managers.

“We need to find the right people inside the Forest Service to make the whole avalanche program stand on its own,” he said.

Black echoed Schell’s sentiment. In mid-December, the WCMAC began talks with the Forest Service for a smaller contract, one that included access to vehicles. But the uncertainty, Black said, still gave him considerable anxiety about the future.

“The whole thing frightens me,” he said.

Whether or not the lack of avalanche reports affects Seeley Lake’s snowmobilers this winter is yet to be seen. After a few early season storms in November, the lake saw sunshine in December, and the trails at lower elevations were mostly bare in the weeks before Christmas. But Zermeuhlen was confident that business would soon be booming.

“We’ll be inundated,” he said. “Hundreds of people heading out every weekend.”

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���ϳԹ��� spends a lot of time ranking the best mountain towns in the country, but which one is the worst? Is Aspen’s conspicuous wealth worse than Jackson Hole’s false modesty? How many billionaires does it take to ruin a local economy? Is there any hope for the ski-bum lifestyle? Paddy O’Connell and Frederick “Rico” Reimers bring us a debate you only win by losing.

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Shaun White has been the face of snowboarding for two decades. So what is he doing in retirement? A lot. He’s launching his own snowboard brand. He’s raising money to protect public lands. He’s even starting his own half-pipe competition. In this live interview from The ���ϳԹ��� Festival in Denver, former NFL linebacker Dhani Jones talks with White about life after pro sports and how the keys to his past success play a role in his future.

Tickets to the 2025 ���ϳԹ��� Festival and Summit are on sale now at early bird prices at

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While visiting the lodge at Idaho’s Sun Valley Resort a few years ago, Colombian-American photographer noticed something disconcerting about the pictures lining the walls. In the images, which date back to the ski hill’s opening in 1936, nearly everyone was white. “That’s when I got the idea—how cool would it be to re-create these, except centering people of color?” Jaramillo says.

With the support of the resort and a grant from the nonprofit , Jaramillo began work on a project called , tapping a team of other creatives to source clothing and props to reshoot 13 of the original photographs. Models included friends who are snow-sports athletes, Colour the Trails founder , and Indigenous activist Quannah ChasingHorse. “We wanted people who are living the mission of this project,” Jaramillo says. She hopes that A New Winter, which goes on display at the Sun Valley Museum of Art in January, inspires a broader conversation about diversifying the slopes. “I believe that art directly influences culture,” she says. “I’m doing this for all the young Black and brown girls and boys out there who ��Dz�’t see themselves when they walk into a ski resort.”

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Opening day is upon us, with most major ski resorts expected to open by Thanksgiving weekend, kicking off the winter 2024–25 season. Each year, , our ���ϳԹ��� Inc. partners, surveys its readers about which resorts offer the most value, their favorite family-friendly amenities, banging bumps, where to catch the liveliest après scene, and more. All responses are recorded—many of them mentioned below—and highlight what each ski area does best.

No one resort is the ultimate ski destination for every single person. We know that. You know that. But the experiences and opinions of your fellow skiers go a long way when it comes to deciding which mountain to knock off your bucket list next. To see the full list of the top 50 resorts in the U.S. and Canada, with , check out its .

1. Snowbasin, Utah

Strengths: Value, lifts, access
Weaknesses: Lodging, après, nightlife
Price and Pass: Adult lift tickets from $159, or use your Ikon or Mountain ­Collective Pass.

Why Skiers Love It: The notion that a top ski destination should be considered a best-kept secret seems inconceivable, yet that descriptor filled the comment section in ������’s annual Reader Resort Survey. Hidden in the Wasatch Back region, the 3,000-acre resort is popular with locals and visitors alike. skiers appreciate the easy access to Ogden (20 miles away), the fast lift network, the 325 average annual inches of snowfall, and the quality hospitality. “Staff are friendly, and you can tell they love to work there,” said one skier.

The resort earned the second-highest score in the value category, demonstrating that readers feel it delivers great bang for the buck. Raves were heaped on everything from the relative lack of crowds—holidays excepted—to the delicious food and variety of terrain (“Hands-down some of the best in Utah,” said one visitor). ­Skiers also loved the sparkling, marble-adorned bathrooms.

Snowbasin, which opened in 1939, doubled in size in the late 1990s after it was designated a venue for the 2002 Salt Lake City Olympics. Today it spans three peaks, drops 3,000 vertical feet, and operates 13 lifts—the DeMoisy Express six-pack debuted last season, doubling uphill capacity to the popular intermediate Strawberry area. Upscale facilities include national-park-style day lodges with those bougie bathrooms. With the returning to the region, we can expect even more upgrades, as Snowbasin is slated once again to host the alpine skiing events.

If you’re coming solely for the skiing—from the wide, well-groomed boulevards of Elk Ridge to the powdery chutes of Lone Tree—Snowbasin will deliver. It has preserved its local vibe while offering the amenities of far more expensive resorts. In other words, it’s got something special. One aficionado said it best: “The first look at the mountain as I turn off Trapper’s Loop gives me in the feels every time!”

Room for Improvement (According to Readers): Snowbasin isn’t a true destination resort, because there’s nowhere to stay at the base. The closest lodging is about ten miles away in tiny Huntsville, and the nearest hub, with hotels, dining, and an après scene, is 30 minutes downvalley in Ogden.

Where to Stay: The boutique Compass Rose, in Huntsville, has 15 modern-farmhouse-inspired rooms, as well as a complimentary light breakfast every morning. Families with kids will love the room configuration—two pairs of bunk beds plus a queen.

Dining and Après: Hit the Angry Goat Pub and Kitchen in downtown Ogden for the expansive menu of spruced-up American pub fare, unique house cocktails, and 200 craft beers.

If you buy through our links, we may earn an affiliate commission. This supports our mission to get more people active and outside. Learn more.

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It’s been a busy 18 months in the news cycle for Utah’s formerly sleepy ski area: New owners, a push toward a hybrid privatization model, the end of season pass sales caps, and now February weekends reserved entirely for season pass holders, with no daily lift tickets on offer.

The weekends of February 1-2, 8-9, 15-16, and 22-23 will only be accessible to Powder Mountain season pass holders. Ski Utah Passport holders and people taking lessons through the resort’s ski and snowboard school will also be permitted, and night-skiing tickets will still be sold to the public for $19 apiece.

A little backstory, if you haven’t followed Powder’s unique trajectory: It all started in April of 2023 when in the financially struggling resort. Hastings, a passionate snowboarder, and his wife have owned property at the mountain for the last 10 years and built a house there in 2021. He’d always loved the resort’s low-key vibe, adventurous terrain, and incredible lack of crowds in spite of the sport’s tremendous growth over the last several decades.

Since the purchase, Hastings has been frank about the ski area’s financial struggles and the goal to bring it to profitability under his leadership. Accordingly, he and his team have had to make some difficult and sometimes unpopular decisions, including�� and introducing paid parking this season.

On the flip side, they’ve also begun to seriously invest in the ski area’s aging infrastructure, including adding a new lift in the formerly hike-to and cat-served Lightning Ridge area and upgrading two older lifts with high-speed express chairs—all open to the public and debuting this season. (They’re also adding or upgrading three lifts serving slopes reserved for the private homeowner community.)

For Hastings, it’s all about preserving Powder Mountain’s most important attribute: its lack of crowds.

“Being uncrowded is our core value; that’s what makes Powder unique,” he said during a sit-down with SKI earlier this week. “It’s a great mountain in Utah, but there are other great mountains in Utah. Alta and Snowbird are intensely crowded and there’s intense traffic to get there. We’re low on the traffic, with easy access, and low on the on-slope number of skiers and boarders, so that’s the thing that people love about Powder.”

His dilemma is how to preserve this destination-defining core value while still becoming profitable.

“One answer would have been to go Epic or Ikon,” Hastings explained. “Big crowds, but pleasing a lot of people. I decided to try to be a strong independent, but there were going to have to be some changes.”

One of the more controversial changes is removing the longtime season pass sales cap, a tactic put in place years ago and lauded by local skiers for keeping crowds low. Although it might seem counterintuitive to keep crowds in check, Hastings and team are hoping to sell more season passes, but unlike the high-value Epic and Ikon pass, the $1,649 price tag for single-resort access will naturally deter some folks. The February weekends are intended as a pass benefit to reward current pass holders and to attract new ones.

“It’s a little shocking because we’re giving up a bunch of day ticket revenue in those big February weekends,” Hastings admitted. “But we think it’s worth it to make the experience for the pass holders a little bit better as we shift into becoming a season pass-oriented business to compete more effectively with Epic and Ikon.”

Public feedback has been mixed. Hastings said that the response from season pass holders has been very positive, and acknowledges that while it’ll be more difficult for day skiers hoping to enjoy some weekend turns in February, he reasoned that “it’s only eight days, it’s not that radical.”

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, with the majority of Pow Mow followers—including many pass holders—expressing frustration and disappointment in the ski area. Several locals lamented the late date of the announcement, saying that they’d made plans and might now lose money or have to pivot to a different ski area.

“We’ve already booked our lodging for February, and now finding out that some of our group can’t ski on the weekends is unacceptable,” said one user via Instagram. “Please consider making provisions for season pass holders like me who plan these trips a year in advance to enjoy Powder Mountain with our extended family.”

Others took issue with the general direction that Hastings is taking the ski area.

“Ten years ago that place was amazing. Best value on the snow,” said another skier via Instagram. “Ten years from now it will be a private version of Deer Valley.”

For his part, Hastings is sensitive to the optics around the ski area’s broad moves, including the private slopes and the exclusive pass holder weekends, but argues that he’s fighting a battle to keep Pow Mow in business—and keep it independent and uncrowded.

“The industry with Epic and Ikon has gotten more low cost, more open to people coming in,” he responded. “We’re a little counter-position niche, we’re not going to transform the ski industry. We’re struggling to find a way to keep our resort independent, so it’s a more narrow aim that we stay independent and uncrowded.”

Maybe the real question here is whether “independent” and “uncrowded” can ever be cordial bedfellows, or is exclusivity their de facto offspring? We’d hate to see that be the case, but only time will tell.

Summed up one longtime Pow Mow skier: “I remember when it was a reasonable idea to have family and friends visit me from out of state in February and be able to get affordable day tickets at Powder Mountain.”

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