KYLE TOOHEY

Photo: Iz La Motte (@izmottephoto)

Skiing elicits one of the most ethereal feelings from people on this earth.

Gliding down a high-friction surface on two sticks boils skiing down to its most basic form. Experiencing that sensation generates “white moments” momentarily pushing all physical and emotional discomforts of the world outside the periphery of your being. Such a feeling captivates others and myself calling us back for the next perfect turn. 

Most children walk by age 2, that progression for my family equaled trading Velcro shoes for old rear entries with ski-leash wielding parents in tow. Our small town ski slope, Wachusett Mountain, offered 1,000 feet of vertical and 25 trails for us to cut our teeth. East coast skiing often receives the label “not skiing” but if one can rip the ice here you can ski anything. Growing up in central Massachusetts doesn’t provoke thoughts of steep, powder-filled slopes. However, I am beyond grateful for growing up five minutes from a ski lift otherwise I would not find myself where I am today. After somewhat drifting away from skiing during my initial college years I visited a few friends who moved to Mt. Baker. Upon realizing I let skiing go by the wayside, I graduated from business school bound not for an office but back to the powerfully restorative outdoors. I left the deciduous forests of the East headed west for the snow-capped Rockies. There I began an entirely new chapter of learning how we can live in this world and be the best environmental stewards possible.

Nowadays if not skiing you can find me barefoot, tending my garden or immersing deep in nature striving to deepen my connection with the mother that gives us everything, Earth.