From my perspective, this winter feels pretty standard for the Sierra.
Every few years, the range holds back its seasonal reward just long enough to make the ski world sweat. Storms get teased. Forecasts overpromise. Opening dates get circled, erased, and quietly re-circled again. Locals watch patiently while travelers refresh snow reports and hope for that first real payoff.
There’s always a little humor — and maybe a little justice — in how it plays out.
Early-season storms underperform just enough to delay momentum, thin crowds, and keep expectations in check. Locals quietly hope the real storms land midweek, delay traffic, or arrive when only those who truly know the Sierra can enjoy the prize: fresh, deep powder without the chaos.
And then, occasionally, the Sierra reminds everyone who’s actually in charge.
This past weekend’s Christmas storm was one of those moments. It was a cruel one — arriving with perfect timing to disrupt travel plans and make safe recreation nearly impossible on one of the most prized weekends of the year. Valleys were hit hard by rain and flooding. Roads were brutal. Access was limited. Plans fell apart.
But the mountains?
They won big.
The snow came in deep and furious — the kind of storm that doesn’t just freshen the surface, but sets the table. The kind that builds a real base for January and February and quietly lays the groundwork for that familiar Sierra rhythm: the late-season push of February and March when everything finally clicks into place.
From up here in Washington, I’m learning the west side of the Cascades — watching flood damage unfold in the lowlands while staring at the white peaks of Mount Baker rising above it all. It’s a strange parallel to what the Sierra just experienced.
I think about friends who made it to Mammoth this weekend only to find snow nearly unridable in places — heavy, wind-affected, unpredictable — and yet people were still out there, trying. Because that’s what we do. We chase it even when it’s messy.
And then I think about the friends who quietly called in sick today. The powder had settled. The avalanche beacons were clipped on. The tourists were gone. It was time to find the untouched lines that only reveal themselves after storms like this.
That’s the Sierra.
Brutal and beautiful. Inconvenient and generous. It gives nothing on your schedule, but everything when it’s ready.
This weekend, the Sierra — and its people — won.
Now, let winter fun begin.
So I’ll ask from afar:
Who’s dancing in the next storm?
