There’s a rule that you never leave powder to find powder. But what about when you leave powder because you simply have to leave? One March, responsibilities and life called me away from the motherland. Each day, however, was better than the last, so I kept delaying, skiing, powcrastinating, until finally I had to git.

I took one last run on Teton Pass, though, on the way out of town. It howled all the way up the booter to the top of Glory. We took shelter in the cave, warmed up, and then dropped down Second Turn. The greybird of happiness sang its windy song, and the snow wasn’t especially light but it billowed in the breeze and flagged over the shoulder nonetheless.

Standing on the side of the road at the bottom, I thought, do you choose your last run or does it choose you? Whichever, I put TP in the rear view mirror as satiated as an insatiable powder hound can be, knowing there’s truly no good way to leave powder.

Photo: Sean Leslie on Teton Pass, Wyoming, by Steve Casimiro