My son, who just strapped on skis for the first time this year, has completely blown me away. I taught him the basics—pizza wedges, balance, a little courage—and now, after nine days on the slopes, he’s a force of nature. Our wildest adventure yet was a trip to Bretton Woods in Carroll, NH, New Hampshire’s biggest mountain with those jaw-dropping, sky-scraping peaks. We tackled runs that felt like half of Everest’s height from base to summit—an epic triumph for a rookie and his proud dad.
We rolled up on Saturday during a brutal ice storm, the kind that makes you question your sanity for leaving the house. Four hours in the car from home, windshield wipers slapping away at the chaos, but we made it safe and early to Bretton Woods—and it was worth every second. The moment we hit the slopes, the storm couldn’t touch us. The snow was unreal, the grooming was top-notch (no surprise there!), and the scenery? It’s like skiing through a postcard. My son was grinning ear-to-ear, weaving down the trails, and I couldn’t stop laughing at how much fun we were having together.
I’m beyond proud of him—his guts, his progress, how he took on NH’s gnarliest mountain like a champ. Bretton Woods turned a crazy, icy day into one of our best memories. That 4-hour drive home felt shorter because we were already scheming our next trip back. I’d love nothing more than to return—maybe with a season pass in hand?—because this place isn’t just a ski resort; it’s where my kid became a skier and I became his biggest fan.
