Growing up at the foot of the Wasatch Mountains in Utah, I was fortunate enough to have parents that encouraged skiing as a family activity. My brother, sister, and I often rode the bus to the world-class ski areas just a short distance away, an activity that fostered independence, adventure, and a thirst for powder. Those mountains rarely disappointed us, and even as youngsters, we knew we had it good.
It wasn’t long before skiing turned into an obsession: the freedom and joy of speeding downhill over a snowy landscape, the raw beauty and challenge of being immersed in an unforgiving environment, and the bonds formed with friends and family during such life-changing experiences. Today, skiing defines much of my life. It’s what I do with my family during the holidays, where I go on vacation, and how I make a living. But I never knew how deep it could take me until I stepped out of my comfort zone and started exploring new places.
During those early days of my youth, I believed all I needed was the Wasatch and later on, the Tetons. It’s true that you could spend a lifetime in those snow-bound mountains and be perfectly content as a skier. But that ignores the size and breadth of our world. I’ve since learned that few things compare to the reward and exhilaration of sliding over snow as a traveler—experiencing the same liberating sensations of skiing but doing so in an altogether different place. Consider how much fun it is to ski at Alta, Utah, or Mount Baker, Washington, or Squaw Valley, California, and then do the same thing at, say, Zermatt, Switzerland. As skiers and snowboarders, we possess the tools to enter a community or mountain environment that can instantly feel like home, even if it is very far away and has its own distinct character.
I’ve also learned that no matter where you go—from the deep snows of Japan to the steeps of Chamonix or from the gritty ski bum culture of Silverton to the international flair of Portillo—skiers and snowboarders share the same language. They might use different words, and it might be untranslatable to English, but when their faces are plastered with fresh powder, or a big smile extends over their red cheeks at a bar, you understand them perfectly. And they understand you.
Ranking such locations is often an exercise in futility. Every ski area has its own merits—it often comes down to good snow and good people—but there are specific zones that hold great influence over the sport. In Fifty Places to Ski and Snowboard Before You Die, Chris Santella expertly compiles those areas into a comprehensive guide for skiers and snowboarders looking to make their own personal pilgrimage. From the little areas at the end of a country road to huge resorts full of nightlife and high-speed lifts, Santella makes it easy to dream of what adventures may wait. Each place has its own heartbeat, soul, and culture, and each helps define what it means to be a skier or snowboarder. Having experienced even a handful of them makes me forever grateful that my parents put me on skis all those years ago. By doing so, they introduced me to a world far bigger and more beautiful than I ever could have imagined.
So before your next adventure, go through this book and pick one … or pick them all. Either way, you’ll know you’ve got it good.
—MATT HANSEN