Olivia K. J.
Google
Mad River Glen isn’t just a ski area to me—it’s where skiing became part of who I am. Five years ago, I clicked into skis there for the first time, nervous, awkward, and completely unsure of what I was doing. What I didn’t know then was that I was stepping into a place that would shape not only how I ski, but how I think about skiing altogether. Mad River Glen has a way of doing that to you.
From the very beginning, the mountain felt different. There’s no glossy, manufactured vibe, no sense that skiing is something to be rushed or optimized. Instead, Mad River Glen greets you with honesty. The trails are narrow, winding, and unapologetically steep. The snow is real Vermont snow—sometimes soft and dreamy, sometimes scraped and demanding—and it teaches you quickly that technique matters here. Learning to ski at Mad River Glen meant learning the right way: weight forward, edges engaged, respect the fall line, and above all, respect the mountain.
The Single Chair alone is enough to make Mad River Glen legendary. Riding it never feels like just transportation; it feels like a ritual. The slow, creaking ascent gives you time to look out over the valley, watch other skiers pick their lines below, and mentally prepare for what’s coming. Conversations with strangers happen naturally on that chair—locals, lifelong members, first-timers—and there’s an unspoken bond between everyone who rides it. You’re all there for the same reason: because you love skiing, not because it’s trendy or convenient.
What I love most about Mad River Glen is its refusal to change for the sake of change. The mountain has stayed true to itself in a way that feels increasingly rare. No snowboards. No sprawling base villages. No massive high-speed lifts designed to move crowds as quickly as possible. Instead, there’s a fierce commitment to preserving the soul of the place. Every decision feels rooted in respect for tradition, community, and the mountain itself.
Learning there was humbling. I fell—a lot. I remember standing at the top of trails that felt impossibly steep at the time, heart racing, wondering if I was actually capable of making it down. But each run taught me something. Mad River Glen doesn’t coddle you, and that’s exactly why it’s such an incredible place to learn. Progress feels earned. When a trail that once terrified you starts to feel familiar, the sense of accomplishment is unmatched.
The terrain is endlessly interesting. Tree skiing feels organic and wild, not manicured. The trails follow the natural contours of the mountain, and you can feel that history under your skis—decades of skiers before you choosing lines, making turns, learning the same lessons. There’s something grounding about knowing you’re skiing a place that hasn’t been overly reshaped or sanitized.
And then there’s the community. Mad River Glen has one of the most genuine, passionate ski communities I’ve ever experienced. From the lift operators to the ski instructors to the people you see lap after lap on storm days, everyone shares a deep love and respect for the mountain. There’s no pretension, no posturing—just people who truly care about skiing and about this place.
Five years later, my love for Mad River Glen has only grown. Every visit feels like coming home. It’s the place I measure other mountains against, and honestly, very few compare. Mad River Glen taught me how to ski, yes—but more than that, it taught me why skiing matters. It taught me patience, grit, and appreciation for tradition. It showed me that the best experiences aren’t always the easiest or the flashiest—they’re the ones that ask something of you and give something real in return.
Mad River Glen will always have my heart. It’s not just where I learned to ski—it’s where I learned to love skiing.