Ode To The Crew
Some of my favorite lessons aren’t really “lessons” in the traditional sense. Often, I act as a guide—a facilitator for a group of friends who already know how to ski or paddle but are looking for local knowledge, the best lines, an occasional tip, and, most importantly, the ability to switch off and simply enjoy being together.
In many ways, these are lessons for me. As an outsider invited into a tight-knit group for a short time, I get to witness friendship in the wild. These groups aren’t family, but they’ve navigated formative phases of life together—high school, college, or early adulthood—and have made the effort to reunite despite the distance that time and careers have created. They are the crew.
Prioritizing time with friends, setting aside the rush of routine, and making new memories might sound cliché, but it’s actually the sweet spot of adulthood. One of the unique bonuses of adventure sports is that even if you're not consciously working on improving your technique, you're improving something far more important—your connection to life.
Too often, reunions feel forced. You reminisce about the good old days, have a few drinks, and part ways feeling vaguely melancholic—aware of how far removed you are from the time when the party started after 10 PM and fun was as effortless as touching your toes. Friendships, as life changes and pulls people in different directions, require work to sustain.
That’s where adventure comes in. Days on the slopes, sharing a rented condo, building fires, pouring wine, and passing out on the couch. Or overnight paddles to pristine islands, pitching tents, chucking cell phones, and cooking over an open flame.
But how to get everyone on board and actually make these trips happen? At a recent dinner with a crew I had the privilege of skiing with, the question came up and was met with three very pragmatic answers:
Try to make the dates an annual occurrence. Super Bowl Weekend, President’s Week, Memorial Day.
Put egos aside. Start with the busiest person in the group’s schedule, find out when they have a gap, and work around that.
Hold each other accountable. Make missing the meet-up a legit regret. Create FOMO, not out of pettiness, but to underscore the importance of these rare opportunities.
It makes perfect sense that making new memories together—rather than simply reliving old ones—keeps friendships fresh and evolving rather than frozen under nostalgia’s glass. But witnessing this in real time, as I am privileged to do in my work, is something else entirely. It’s a reminder that adult friendships are worth the effort and that getting outside together strengthens bonds in a way that feels organic, almost effortless.
People come and go, and the crew may take on many configurations as years wane, but its existence points to something rare and vital—something increasingly difficult to find in an age of social media and drifting ties. And yet, it’s still there for those willing to seek it out: in the mountains, on the water, in the open spaces where time falls away, and all that remains is the simple joy of moving through it together.