Ever since I first laid eyes on Japan’s bottomless powder in ski movie segments as a middle school student, the land of the rising sun has perpetually occupied the top spot on my to-do list. As I grew older, I befriended others who were similarly enchanted, and with enough careful planning and a healthy dash of luck, we were suddenly the proud owners of tickets to the pow promised land.
We chose to focus on the island of Hokkaido for self-guided backcountry adventures, primarily exploring areas around Rusutsu and the looming volcanic glory of Mt. Yōtei.
There’s nothing quite like the sound of the wind whispering softly across the snow, muted sighs of barren branches swaying in the golden afternoon sunlight, cotton-candy clouds dancing lazily overhead, me banging on my bindings with a damn mallet for half an hour at the top and growling intermittently while friends fashioned emergency bindings made of ski straps and duct tape that they hoped would get them down to the van.