I started skiing at the age of 3, first learning in Montana. But for the last ten or so years, Utah has been like a second home: I’ve taken an annual ski trip to Utah with my family and a large group of family friends that I’ve grown up alongside. We’ve been all over the picturesque Wasatch Range, skiing at Park City, Deer Valley, Solitude, Brighton, and Snowbird. For a Northeastern skier, Utah is like another realm. The long, varied runs and low-density powder create an unparalleled ski experience that leaves sore legs but wide-stretched smiles and whoops of exaltation.

Utah’s mountains have always offered a tranquil respite. There’s an indescribable feeling as you stand over a steep field of snow with no one in sight, surrounded by towering, rugged peaks glistening in the sun and dense evergreens weighed down by lumps of snow, all as the crisp, quiet air numbs your face. And you feel that same feelings as your skis float above the smooth, untracked snow, billowing up around you as you weave through beautiful aspens. It’s a feeling I wish I could live over and over again.