Fall Arrives, Stoke Follows

So, you may ask, why do I say I’ve never been so excited about an upcoming ski season?

Nothing gets a skier stoked like the first signs of fall.

In many ways, it's the unofficial kickoff of the ski season, a time when it feels okay to ponder powder once again. Technically, it begins in the third week of September, but in reality autumn doesn’t concern itself with any known calendar. So, you must lay in wait, never quite sure when that first hint of a change will hit. That uncertainty only adds to your simmering internal excitement. But you try not to think about it too much for fear of losing grip on your sanity, all the while worrying that being meteorologically blindsided may be even worse. So, all you can do is keep your senses sharp through the long summer doldrums and prepare for the uncontrollable midwinter daydreams that autumn’s arrival always provokes.

It could come on strong, in the form of a freak early snowstorm preempting the foliage change or a rogue blast of arctic air, but more often it’s something far more subtle. One year it could be the nostalgic scent of cider and donuts on a cool morning; another, it might be the sight of geese in a mid-migration tight flight formation. But regardless of how the arrival presents itself, the outcome is always the same. It is a seasonal page-turning, and there’s no looking back.

Skiers will instinctively lose interest in lesser pastimes and focus on any number of pseudoscientific rituals and habits aimed at preparing for and divining the finer details of the upcoming winter. Every proposition and superstition will be entertained, from the mild and mundane to the sadistic and sacrificial. Some simply double down on gym time or focus on mindful meditation, while others burn tokens to Ullř in hopes of a better bounty. Folklore of unknown origin bubbles up in ski towns around the world with modern-day soothsayers touting both doom and delight based on woolly caterpillar stripes and extreme hornet nest heights. The more logically inclined look through the long-term forecasts and scour sea surface temperature readings, hoping to glean clues on seasonal storm track trends. While the variety of individual reactions and responses to the cooling weather are as numerous as there are skiing styles, one thing binds them all together: an unquenchable passion for the freedoms that are found floating in clouds of frozen crystals.

I had my 2026 autumn arrival moment just yesterday, and I’ve never been more jazzed.

It came with little fanfare and could easily have been missed were it not for a coincidence of timing. I’d summited a small, lonely hill nearby that I gravitate to for its sprawling vista, ease of proximity, and lack of popularity. Huffing and puffing a bit from my hike, I was struck by the tranquility of the scene. Empty silence amplified the volume when a gusty northern breeze rustled loose leaves in the nearby trees. My conscious mind snapped to attention at the sight of a lone leaf in my periphery breaking free into flight. As it fluttered by, the cool wind hit me, sending a shiver down my spine that reignited that ever-simmering stoke for the sweet cold-smoke. I began to notice all sorts of season-switching signs that I’d missed on my way up, and a manic urgency washed over me. It’s time to get back in ski shape! What’s going on with this crazy El Niño? Where’s my gear? Did you see the tiny stripe on that caterpillar?!? Before I knew it, I was double timing it back down the trail. Bouncing off the boulders in my path, I was blasting powder bumps in my mind. My legs moved with the power of playfulness as I descended, finding a flow unfelt in months. Arriving at the trailhead, another chance sighting of a single falling apple solidified my finding. I’d started this day in the summer and finished it in the fall.

Driving home, my stoke was temporarily put on hold. Conflicted feelings rose inside me as I grappled with the truly privileged and perceived frivolous nature of skiing. After all, the exquisite thrills of gravitational acceleration and white-room navigation are luxuries in which most humans will tragically never indulge. And while we hedonistically chase frozen fall-line fantasies through the cold, around the globe disseminators of division grow increasingly bold. Perhaps it was just lingering effects from the summer-long swelter, but with seemingly so much uncertainty in the world, it was feeling important to free along with being brave.

So, you may ask, why do I say I’ve never been so excited about an upcoming ski season?

 Well, it isn’t because I’m making a marketing pitch; skiing doesn't need one. It’s because I believe we're all in desperate need of both the personal and socially medicinal properties that skiing provides. On an individual level, it’s a refreshing return to childhood. It’s a chance for real adventure and thrills in a time that seems increasingly detached from authenticity. A realm where unadulterated fun is the goal and the rules for getting there are left intentionally unwritten. It’s an all-in-one abstract art of motion that exercises, recharges, and revitalizes the human body and mind. Wander into any base-area watering hole, and the collection of wide eyes and glowing smiles will instantly confirm the therapeutic effects of high-quality ski time. Indulging in such activities can seem like escapism to the outside observer, and to be fair, there certainly is an enjoyable element of real-world distraction that skiers selfishly enjoy. However, I’d argue that the most wonderful part of skiing, its soul, lies in the camaraderie and sense that we’re all on this ride together for better or worse. Ideally, skiing delivers our greatest days, but that possibility doesn’t come without danger. And when disaster strikes, I’m always blown away by how the community comes together. There's certainly something that binds us, but what that is exactly is difficult to pinpoint. It has to do with sharing exuberant high-fives on a bluebird morning and telling tall tales as the sun sinks low. Pushing your friends to be their best and feeding off their rebounding energy. It’s about jumping in the singles line and sharing something tasty. It’s helping out with a yard sale and laughing when we crash. It’s about showing off in jest and giving props to all the rest. We initiate creative feedback loops of positivity that grow exponentially. Often all it takes is a little wink or a knowing nod on a powder morning to become deeply connected to an otherwise unknown soul.

Now, you could claim these links were just a temporary and inconsequential symptom of being under the influence of some high-quality crystals, were it not for their expanding aftereffects. Powder positivity doesn’t just stay contained. It goes viral! When we share in these blissful but "frivolous" moments on the slopes, we carry a very real energy with us as we return to civilization. It’s because a smile is universal and contagious. And the more you surround yourself with them, the more you see yourself in others. No matter how distant, snow-muffled laughter never needs translation.

That's why I’m extra hyped on the 2026/27 ski season, because stoke and a communal flow state are undefeated antiseptics to negativity. Hatred can’t spread in an atmosphere of positivity and passion. So, I’m going to focus the remainder of the fall on being grateful for the incredible luck and privilege I have to be a skier. But when the season comes, I will unapologetically dive deep into what has lovingly been called “the conquest of the useless," because I know every blinding faceshot, every silky carve, and shared moment of joy is powering up the positivity in the universe and recharging our resilience. So, whether you’ve seen that first sign of fall yet or not, I hope you’re fired up to join in on a winter-long session of personal and social stoke creation. Because it seems clear to me that what the world needs now is a whole lotta pow!