March turned into a wait-and-see month for recreation in southwest Montana. Each week was an exercise in pulling up the NOAA forecast, figuring how high the rain/snow line would rise and fall, and whether we should be packing ski gear or mountain bikes in the back of the truck for the weekend. I love being able to leave the house without layering up and packing extra mittens as much as anybody, but I still crave the joy of deep powder turns this year. So, when in doubt of what your local snowpack will be offering in terms of slush and crust – go higher.

We’re lucky to have several mountain ranges within a couple hours of Bozeman that offer high alpine skiing above the 8,000ft. summit of Bridger Bowl. One of those higher elevation playgrounds is the Tobacco Root Mountains, with 43 peaks rising above 10,000ft in elevation.

The second weekend in March came after a cycle of warm, sunny days followed by some brief snowstorms ushering in northern cold fronts. My boyfriend and I seized the promise of two bluebird days, lower temps, and a relatively comforting avalanche report to plan a quick backcountry trip up the North Meadow drainage with the hope of skiing some of the higher elevation terrain we’d been drooling over during an early season visit. A call from a friend in Helena looking to get out of dodge for the weekend made us a crew of three. The only obstacle? Three people, one not-so-beefy snowmobile, and a bum snowmobile trailer wheel. Any snowmobile owners out there (or people like me who partnered into a snowmobile relationship) can attest to the unassailable truth that snowmobiles are extremely convenient for getting you into long-haul access skiing…when everything goes right. Which seems to be a 3:10 ratio as far as I can tell.

The first part of our T Roots adventure began on the street just outside our house, when our neighbors got to watch, and listen to, yet another round of snowmobile shuffle in the early hours of a Saturday morning. Without the trailer actually intended for snowmobile transport in commission we had to load a pick-up bed trailer my boyfriend uses to haul the tear-out materials from his tile work to the dump. I won’t go further into the saga except to say that there was some serious Evel Knievel stunting undertaken to load that thing up and get it to the trail head.

The turn off for the drainage we went up is just after the sign for McAllister on Hwy 287. As we made our way down the sloppy, rutted dirt road I couldn’t help but feel nervous about the distinct lack of snow in the low country and the steady stream of melt running in the gulleys alongside the road. But, I reminded myself we had a long way to go before we got to the skiing.

The snowmobile trail up the drainage is approximately seven miles long and relatively easy. The extra passenger on a single person machine and a tower slowed things a bit, but we made it to our destination intact. Temperatures were significantly cooler and the snow was significantly lighter at the alpine meadow where we unloaded from the ‘bile and put on our skins for the tour up a ridge that promised soft, powdery turns in the chutes between.

The sun was definitely warm as we ascended the ridge. All three of us were stripped down to base layers: no gloves, ski pants legs unzipped all the way. Still, the sweat flowed freely. Scoping out the best north aspect skiing with the least sun baking was a great distraction from the burning in our legs and lungs during the steep climb. Fortunately, one of the most promising chutes without a cornice overhang or overly committing drop-in was nicely shaded. It beckoned.

The last part of our ascent proved to be more challenging than we initially thought when looking up from the meadow. A steep, but possible, skin track gave way to a hand-over-foot bootpack. My boyfriend is well-versed in these climbs. This would be a first timer for Allie and me. The bootpack felt pretty comfortable for 2/3 of the way, and pretty exposed for the remaining sidekick steps to where we could get up on flat ground. I’ll just say this: you’re a good sport, Allie!

When we got to the top, we had time to drink it all in: the sharp snow-covered peaks set against a surreal blue sky, the cold fresh air, and the adrenaline surging through our veins. The Tobacco Roots definitely feel like real mountains if that makes sense. The elevation gain takes you above treeline, where your ski options are in wide open bowls and narrow chutes that you can envision yourself making full tilt sweeping turns down from start to finish. They are the type of peaks where you need to carve out some time in your tour to just stop and look around at all the options ahead of you, and to thank whatever deity for the opportunity to be here, and to experience this amazement.

Standing at the top of the chute, looking at the bulging roll over that needed to be dealt with before the steep turns below, I was intimidated. We’d fully assessed avalanche potential, but there’s always that small pull in my gut when I look at a narrow choke in steep terrain. That’s when the louder inner voice, the one that knows you’ve done your homework and you’re ready for this type of descent, has to step up. Luckily, mine did.

The first few turns dealing with the rollover were on hard windpack before the soft snow collected beneath. Once my skis touched that promising powder my jaw unclenched and my smile got loose. I don’t know how many turns I made to get to the high alpine lake below, but I loved every single one of them.

When we all got to the lake with our smiles and sore legs, we met up with a pack of snowmobilers who had taken a break to watch us ski. They were kind hearted enough to offer us a beer, and we all kicked back for a while feeling the sun on our faces – and knowing we were right where we’re supposed to be.

Shannon Hughes is a writer and marketing strategist who seeks silence and adventure in the mountains. She can be contacted at shannon@spur-studio.com