Beyond the Beacons: Culture, Courage, and Community
Photo: Courtesy Michael Collins
“These mountains hold our stories; I finally learned how to listen…”
There’s something unforgettable about powder turns, sure; but there’s also something quietly powerful in how people opened up, shared knowledge, and cheered each other on.
It’s hard to explain the magic of a cat ride to someone who’s never done it; the anticipation, the views, the way it feels to reach the top of a run and be lifted into something bigger than yourself.
I didn’t grow up thinking I’d be out here; not in avalanche terrain, not with a transceiver on my chest and skis on my feet, not chasing lines through deep snow with strangers who quickly became a community. The mountains were always in the background, but they didn’t feel like mine. Not yet.
The first time I stepped into the backcountry, I felt like I was entering someone else’s world. The gear, the lingo, the pace; all of it made me feel like an outsider, but something deeper kept pulling me back. I didn’t know it then, but what I was looking for wasn’t just adventure. It was a connection; to land, to people, and to parts of myself I hadn’t been a part of while growing up.
“We are the land, and the land is us. To separate them is to deprive us of learning.”
This cat-assisted ski touring trip was a chance to go deeper; literally and figuratively. Each morning, we’d load our gear, climb into the cat, and ride out into terrain that felt untouched by the outside world. At first, we were focused on the logistics: skinning efficiently, reading terrain, managing our breath on the uptracks. But over the days, something shifted.
We found more than snow out there.
Photo: Courtesy Alexi Mostert
The group started to mesh. Stories were traded while skinning up, and laughs came easily on the descents. When someone struggled, others quietly stepped up, offering tips, slowing their pace, and creating space for everyone to show up as they were.
That’s the thing about the backcountry. It doesn’t just test your fitness; it reveals your spirit. And sometimes, it hands you back a part of yourself you didn’t know was missing. That’s one of the lessons nature will teach you, only if you’re willing to listen.
“The truth about stories is, that’s all we are”
For Indigenous people, the land is never just scenery; it’s a relative. Every tree, every mountain, every storm tells a story. On this trip, that truth sank in deeper. I remembered teachings from when I was growing up about listening, about respect, about reciprocity. These mountains weren’t here to be conquered; they were here to be honoured.
Out there, away from cell service and noise, I felt my identity as an Indigenous person grow. Not as a guest in these mountains, but as someone returning. Someone who belonged.
I saw the land with new eyes; and maybe, it saw me too.
Photo: Courtesy Alexi Mostert
Being able to start this company and this trip reminded me that joy and belonging aren’t luxuries; they’re essential to our being. Especially for those of us who’ve been told, in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, that we don’t belong in outdoor spaces.
But we do. We always have.
