The first picture I ever posted on Instagram was of a sunset I saw while cross-country skiing on the local golf course in 2017. With that middling image #thingsiseewheniski was born. The second picture I posted, a month later, was also a skiing picture, this one on a powdery alpine day at a nearby ski hill. Do two pictures count as a trend?

How It Started

How It’s Going

Despite what that blistering posting pace suggests, I’ve taken a lot of pictures before and since of things I see when I ski, run, or hike. (My Lightroom photo catalogue might say too many pictures.) I’ve even posted a few of them. But, maybe because there are so many, or maybe because of perfectionism issues, I’m generally bad at sharing them.

With the exception of Strava, where I try to include a picture with every activity, I wonder: Should I post another picture of this mountain, view, tree, trail? Which pictures are worthy? Is it all just more of the same? Then I just move on to the next activity, and the photos go live on a hard drive.

But when I happen to see one of those pictures I took—from a ski last winter, a hiking trip years ago, a run I’ve done countless times—it takes me back to that day and that specific ski or hike or run. Whether it was a one-time experience or the same trail, mountain, or view yet again, the snow or the light through the trees or my feelings were distinct in that instant. Looking at the picture a forgotten moment returns, and since we’re talking about skiing, hiking, and running, it was probably a pretty good moment. I feel lucky.

I’m grateful I get to go outside, explore, and see so many things. I think that’s why I take all those pictures, even if I don’t post most of them. In the right light with the right viewpoint, patterns in the snow, a mountain vista, or a lone cattail can feel like a gift I have to stop and acknowledge. It’s a privilege—though it shouldn’t be—and I want to hold onto all those singular moments. I also worry that we’re losing opportunities to have such moments outside in nature. Maybe I’m stockpiling them while I can.

For me, many of those outdoor moments happen while skiing, and 2024-25 was an exceptionally memorable ski season for me. It started a year ago in the Andes, continued through winter here in Maine, and ended this spring in Colorado. I was extra lucky, and I didn’t want to forget that. So now, with summer tapering, the air cooling, and leaves on the ground hinting at fall, I’ve been looking back and rediscovering last season’s stash of skiing highlights.

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August 2024

We started our ski season early last August when our family took a trip to Chile, where our son would be spending a semester abroad. We drove up the curviest road in the Andes to El Colorado ski resort, our son competed in two IFSA Freeride competitions, and we met the greatest skier of all time. The conditions, the views, and trip were epic.

December 2024

Epic, once-in-a-lifetime trips aside, most of my ski days are at our home mountain, Saddleback in Rangeley, Maine. I haven’t missed an opening day since the mountain reopened five years ago, and this year Saddleback opened on December 6. The season had an auspiciously snowy start.

January 2025

New year, more skiing, same but different views. I have taken countless versions of these pictures over the years, and I’ll still stop and take yet another.

February 2025

The shortest month had the most skiing and therefore the most skiing pictures. There was enough snow in February that I ventured into the glades repeatedly. Also, if my husband ever replaces his ski jacket, it needs to be red to keep that pop of color. February also reminded me that I like wandering around in the woods and on frozen bogs and ponds in winter. I should cross-country ski more.

Alpine

Cross-Country

March 2025

A little cross-country, a little downhill, a little uphill—March had a little of it all.

April 2025

Conditions were thinner and spotty by April, but we kept on skiing until Saddleback ended its season on April 20—Easter, or rather, Skeaster. It was too early—ski seasons have shortened by about two weeks in my lifetime—but we take what we can get.

May 2025

The season wasn’t quite over though; while in Colorado in May we added a day at Loveland. This means we started the 2024-25 ski season at El Colorado in South America and ended the season in Colorado in North America. I do love an unplanned bookend.

After pulling these pictures together I ended up back at my usual spot wondering should I even post this? Sure, there’s a lot of outdoor beauty and fun above—mountain vistas, snow, trees! But skiing also reeks of privilege, and what about climate change? While all my ski days in New England were accessed in an electric vehicle, I realize those flights to Chile and Colorado make me a hypocrite. Flying somewhere to ski while we lose winter sounds irrational.

New places can be stellar to see, but most of these moments happened in my own state, in places I’ve visited many times. Several outings cost nothing beyond my 20-year-old cross-country skis, and for others I used my Saddleback season pass and Indy Pass. All this rumination to wonder: Is my climate math mathing? It feels complicated.

This is how I get hung up and twisted into knots about posting a simple picture…

But when I look back, I remember the joy of skiing uphill with a friend, making snowy tracks on local trails, the way the mountains lit up at sunset, and crossing frozen ponds to wander conservation land. I don’t want such moments to only be seen and preserved in pictures on a hard drive. I want them to be waiting for anyone who heads outside, looks around, and feels lucky.

If you want more things I see outside, occasionally, follow me on Instagram.

All photos copyright Alicia MacLeay