Three Fingered Jack. Photo courtesy of Andrew Wagner

There is something extraordinary about watching friends sparkle—when they are in their element, thriving, glowing, doing what they love. Yes, I am talking about witnessing someone experience pure joy, but this sentiment holds dual meaning, because I am also referring to the added pizzazz of seeing your friends actually sparkle. I am lucky to be a part of a friend group inspired to get outdoors and push ourselves, all while embracing the silliness of wearing sparkly, colorful, elaborate outfits. It is a tradition taken seriously as we plan adventures—especially when it comes to ski outings. If this friend group had a mantra, it would be “cover yourselves in glitter and sequin and let’s make this a party!” A close second to the standard logistics of “where are we going” or “what time are we meeting,” is the question “what are we going to wear?” Prom dresses, tutus, and mardi gras necklaces are on the “essentials list” when preparing for an adventure, and we usually pack a few extras, just in case.

I’ve often struggled to view myself as a person who belongs in outdoor spaces. I have felt intimidated by the skills I perceive others to have, questioning if I could keep up, and wondering if I would be accepted as an adequate adventure partner. It takes substantial consideration when looking for partners in outdoor pursuits like backcountry skiing, rock climbing, and mountaineering, and it can take some time to meet people with similar goals, risk tolerance, and energy. Subsequently, there is an immense sense of belonging when you do find your people, and I am lucky to have found that! When I met members of this friend group, they were full of laughter, and were clearly people with years of experience and skills who prioritized safety and having fun above all else. I immedately recognized how being out with them felt different than some of the spaces I tried to be in. It didn’t take long to see the value in coordinating silly outfits, and how it amplified feelings of being “a part of the group,” while setting a tone for the day ahead.

One person in particular comes to mind when I think about bringing the sequins, silliness and stoke; my friend Eli. I asked my Eli what it meant to them to have this tradition of dressing up for outdoor pursuits. “I love to look good while I’m outside. One reason I like to dress a little silly is that back country skiing, long distance running, or other sports like whitewater rafting or climbing can have a harder barrier to enter the sport,” they told me. “I want to be able to signal to folks that you don’t have to be all decked out in Arcteryx, gore tex jackets, and expensive outdoor clothes. I can ski that mountain in a prom dress from the thrift store. I want to show folks that part of being outside and in these sports is finding our inner child and feeding that child with play and silly fun.”

Eli Tome skiing in their dazzle outfit. Photo courtesy of Andrew Wagner

As winter settles into the valley for the season, a peaceful darkness finds its rhythm as the sun rises late and sets early. Though many view winter as a difficult and introspective time one “endures,” some well adapted Oregonians recognize it as a time to return to crafting, creating elaborate homemade meals, candlelit evenings, and the promise of rest. For those of us who participate in winter recreation, so too begins a wistful watch on weather forecasts to see if the valley’s rain storms are translating to snow on higher ground. I myself am one of those people down in the valley, welcoming the full force of winter with the hopes of bountiful snow in the mountains.

It’s a Friday afternoon in February, and our NWAC weather forecasts come bearing good news. A forecast of several new inches of snowfall means the group text is popping off with weekend plans and ecstatic friends. “These conditions call for a dawn patrol tomorrow.” “Let’s get to the parking lot by first light!”

We spent time that evening, getting gear sorted out. Backpacks are ready to go with beacons, shovels, probes, and extra gloves. Skis, boots, and poles are patiently waiting by the front door to be loaded in the back of the car in the morning. After a lifetime of skiing, the excitement in my body the night before a ski day has never dulled. A fulfilling sound of rainfall comforts a deep rest until alarms wake us abruptly from slumber. Down in the valley it will remain dark for several more hours. Nearly 14 hours a day are dedicated to darkness, and for weeks, the remaining 10 hours a day are just marginally brighter. Heavy, low lying mist saturates the outside air. Water drops curl down evergreen tips, and the wet asphalt glistens black. It feels like the middle of the night, but if we start the drive before daylight, we can maximize our time to recreate in the “light.”

My phone pings with an incoming message in the group chat reading:

“Ya’ll wearing dresses or tutus?”

“I have both! Leaving in 10! See yinz there!” Eli responds.

I place a few extra party garments in a reusable bag for good measure and load up the car. “Yeehaw! En route!” I text back.

I take off down the moonlit streets and start driving towards the Santiam Highway near Three Fingered Jack.

Touring near Three Fingered Jack. Photo courtesy of Nate Pfeifer

The popularly known recreation corridors of Santiam Pass and McKenzie Highway continue to be outdoor playgrounds throughout the winter. The sky slowly begins to lighten, and with each turn up the meandering highway, snow walls build higher on the side of the road. As I drive into the parking lot, friends are blasting music, dancing outside their cars and getting ready.

The sun finds its highest place in the sky, shining on the fresh snow. I took a few snow ecology courses when I was a student at the University of Idaho. Our professor Dr. Eitel was from Switzerland, was a fabulous instructor, and knew how to make ideas stick. “Ah yes, we call this Mariah Carey snow,” he would say. Undisturbed, dry, light snow, and a cold, windless night keeps snow crystals separated rather than clumped together. Light reflects and refracts off individual ice crystals acting like prisms under the morning light, and “Mariah Carey Snow” sparkles like fields of diamonds as it gleams under the sun.

Snow isn’t the only thing dazzling bright on this blue bird day. As we all get ready for our ski tour, a final layer of clothing gets slipped over ski pants. Brightly colored tutus, sequin dresses, cheetah print, and on an extra special occasion a drag queen fashioned wig is the final touch.

Once we are ready to start our ski tour, we check our beacons, and start skinning up the mountainside. A few conversations later, we are stopped and peering over the edge of our ski line. A quick transition of ski gear, and one by one we are off – hooting and hollering down through the trees. The skirts of our garments are swaying and swooshing as we glide down the hillside. As each person makes it to the bottom of the run, they turn up to watch the next person cruising down in a spray of snow, a trailing dress, and a big old grin.

The view of Three Fingered Jack’s rugged peak peers over us, and Mt. Washington unwavering in the distance. The Oregon volcanoes are some of the most breathtaking natural formations I have ever seen, and climbing them is always a humbling experience. Here we were playing on the shoulder of an Oregon volcano, blanketed in Mariah Carey snow on a clear blue sky – and I laughed as friends skied down, thinking how relieved I was that we didn’t show up “underdressed” to a lavish party.

“Another lap?” A rhetorical question! We repeat the process of touring up and skiing down, until the threat of darkness approaches, or our legs start to protest too loudly. Whichever happens first.

As we ski back to the cars, everyone is beaming with joy.

These are my favorite days of winter, when the brightness of one day carries into the week, and revisiting this memory can bring a smile to my face for the days to follow. As I reflect on last year’s ski season, I am grateful to have these lighthearted memories, especially sprinkled throughout a challenging winter and spring.

I fondly recall a special day, where these friends let me sparkle and shine at a time I needed it most. Each year, we plan an annual ski tour up Loowit (Mount St. Helens), on mother’s day in dresses. This mother’s day tradition isn’t exclusive to our friends, but a well known invitation in the ski and mountaineering communities. May is a fantastic month to ski mountaineer Loowit because the risk of avalanches greatly decreases in the Spring, the upper parking lot melts out meaning easier access to the approach, you can generally hope for a good weather window, and well, it’s a heck of a tradition.

This past year in March, I lost my mother. When I started to come out from bewilderment and began interacting with the world again, invitations to play outside were the greatest support I could have asked for. Days outside, belly laughing with friends, and romping in the snow was medicine to my aching heart. As planning started to take place for this year’s Loowit trip, I was still grieving the loss of my mother, and healing from an injury that had kept me from skiing for a large portion of the season. The ski tour up Loowit isn’t technical, but it is a big day! I wondered if my body would be up for it, and if my heart was ready to be vulnerable talking about the recent loss of my mom.

Conversations about permits, camping plans, and updates about recent thrift store scores were hitting the group chat.

A photo of a bright pink prom dress comes in and a message reading: “Just scored this beauty at St. Vinnies.”

“YES. Slay!”

“The annual Mount St. Helens trip is so special to me. I love ski touring in dresses on mothers day because it gives us a chance to celebrate our mamas who are with us, and who we have lost. I started participating in this tradition before I was a mother, and it was my first postpartum ski after becoming a mother, complete with pumping on the mountain. It’s a great chance to get a huge group of friends together dressed in hand-me-down dresses or outlandish scores from the thrift store to celebrate all the mamas on a holiday that can bring up both a lot of joy, and a time where people may need friends by their side.” Lucy Anne Barton.

Lucy and Eli celebrating the Mother ‘s Day Ski Tour. Photo courtesy of Andrew Wagner

Arriving one by one in the parking lot we would call home for the night, friends started to gather and make the most of the short evening by longboarding around the parking lot, and testing every brand and style of “salt and vinegar chips” to determine which was the best. On our summit team, we had friends I had now known for years, and names I had heard many times, but were meeting faces for the first time. In addition to our 20 person party, there were dozens of other climbers celebrating the arrival of their own beautifully formed adventure packs. We set up our car beds for the evening and tried to get as much rest as we could before the 4 am wake up call. During the 5 hour slog up the tremendous volcano that is Loowit, I was asked thoughtful questions about how I was holding up with the loss of my mom, and genuine questions about who she was and how she shaped me as a human.

It is forever difficult to find the right words to describe the loss of a parent. While we are on the subject of mountains, comparing it to an eruption is the closest analogy I can think of. It creates a devastating impact, with immense power, sometimes unannounced, and it most certainly shapes who you are for the rest of your life. The Klickitat, Coowlitz and other local tribes, from which the name “Loowit” originates, often referred to Loowit as a woman. I found the irony, in sharing this moment on her shoulder, as her story demonstrates resilience, and nature’s power to recover.

This trip up Loowit was special because it pulled me out of somewhere I no longer wanted to be, and brought me to the most magical place I could imagine. I felt seen, I felt strong, and I was literally and metaphorically glowing on a magical slopeside amongst fun loving friends. I suppose you could say I was distracted from the burdens and heaviness of life at the time. I suppose that is why many of us find solace in the outdoors – it humbles us, brings us back to a feeling of awe, relieves us of the stuffiness of our homes, and breaks our patterns and recurring thoughts about our own place in the world. I love being in a landscape that makes me feel small, a vast and expansive view of mountainscapes beyond a timeline of my own human life. I suppose the ultimate sense of joy comes from being present and being where you are. And if where you are is on a gorgeous mountain summit, on a blue bird day, in the silliest dress you could find at the thrift store with people who care about you, then you are sparkling bright.

Watching Your Friends Sparkle

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