Lost In Tahoe Live- The Biggest Party Of The Year

I jam my toe into the foot imprints beneath me. The trail, winding up directly from Palisades Tahoe's Gold Coast, is vaguely reminiscent of steps. Some of the footprints are black or blue at the bottom. The base is thin, the top of the snow crusty, chunky at times, completely smooth at others.

Despite the conditions, the air is undeniably crisp, the sky almost bluebird, and the air is heavy with determination as the line of boot packers rhythmically moves upwards.

I slog my skis over my shoulder after pausing to watch someone tomahawk down to the base just above the mini glade beneath the first little bowl.

The skier in question was in the air for at least a couple seconds before exploding in spectacular fashion. His line is reminiscent of Allen Riley in The Hedonist (1994), down to the monochromatic jumpsuit and goggles with a hat.

The history of the resort flashes through my mind: McConeky, hucking it off something, somewhere, probably naked. Glen Plake’s mohawk. The countless films shot using the terrain as the studio, rocks softened with 16mm grain.

All of these actions are in focus to everyone within the rolling ridges of the resort. Siberia Bowl and Mainline Pocket meet in the middle, their ridges bending together to roll into one sloping bowl. Everyone skiing in bounds off Gold Coast is cradled by the giant mountain.

The snow is low, so the difficulty of any chosen line today is about 3 or 4 points higher, if you care about that sort of thing. Not that I’m planning on hitting anything big.

Somewhere in the distance, all the way down the Funitel in the parking lot, low, hypnotic techno pulses between yellowed white vans and Forerunners with caps on the back. Skiers with goggles still covering their eyes sit in the back of their trucks, eyes on the mountain, ground slushy, the air heavy with anticipation.

It is the meeting of two similar pursuits. DJ-ing combines different parts of songs and chooses a way through. Often in advance. Skiers inspect the line on the way up, map out their moves in their heads, and mix features together for one continuous experience. The best line is like the best mix: so fluid no one notices it changing, but exciting and different with every turn.

It goes without saying that the crowds are similar, too. Many of the best EDM venues are near ski areas: Red Rocks in Colorado. Snow Park Outdoor Amphitheater. Lake Tahoe. The exposed nature and Hollywood vibe of Olympic Valley makes for the perfect après scene.

I’m smoked as I unload from the Funitel, but people are rocking out at the Cham just a hundred feet away. Tonight is going to be big.

As the evening eases gently into the night, “TAHOE LIVE” is projected onto Palisades Tahoe's iconic 'Tram Face'. Below, heads bob and blur within the gates of the festival in the fading light. People are pouring in from the second parking lot at this point.

Tonight, NBA Hall of Famer Shquille O'Neal is is headlining under his stage name DJ Diesel. Last night was Canadian DJ REZZ.

My friend Emma from Maine sits to my right. We’re crammed into a little hotel room next to the festival, the beginning of Nostalgix’s set wafts in through the open window.

Our friends drove up from Santa Cruz for the weekend, and they sit on the floor in a circle, stringing neon beads onto clear twine.

“I was right about…. There when it happened,” Emma points to a picture I took of Mainline earlier today. She’s out for a few weeks; twisted her knee running through tracked out snow after dropping a decent sized cliff the other day.

“Bummer.” I take a sip of my IPA. Emma ski instructs for Palisades, and she’s out of work until she gets her MRI.

The girls on the floor are discussing who is the hottest of tonight’s lineup. The decision is Disco Lines, and someone passes around a sticky iPhone with his Instagram page pulled up, and a smirking Thadeus Labuszewski appears, eyes squinty under a blue Jiberish hat.

Jiberish is a rowdy freestyle skiing brand with a loaded team from Colorado. If you didn’t know better, you could almost mistake Thadeus for being on the team himself, with his curly brown hair and glint of unpredictable energy behind his eyes.

We pass the phone back and head out the door, yipping and yewing through the parking lot. The smoke and lasers flash below the mountains, contorted drum beats echoing through the valley. There is an energy of celebration. Terrain is opening. My feet tinge with the slightest cramps, my mind calm from a day spent at elevation.

The crowd is thick, almost impassable even when shoving yourself up against the wall of jacketed, warm bodies. In a group, it becomes completely impossible.

I have a line laid out in my mind: from here to the stage, shoot through the break in the crowd, traverse across to the right, stop for security.

It is hot and loud and chaotic and the air smells sweet and heavy, like pine and cloves and vape juice all in one breath. Behind the flimsy black wall, there is a stillness, like the top of the ridge earlier today, silent above the rush of the groomers below.

People cluster on a stage behind the DJ booth. Nostalgix saunters over to the photo wall, hair shining under the rave lights. I catch her, not even stopping to think about whether she wants to talk to some no-name ski journalist running around with a fisheye.

“How did it feel to perform at the sickest ski rave ever?” I ask.

“It was incredible. It felt like a dream. I hadn’t played on a mountain before, so that was sick.”

“How was the crowd?”

“Amazing. I feel like shredders just know how to party, you know?”

“Totally.” Sure enough, the crowd is raging. People are on each others shoulders. Someone is holding up a cross studded with Christmas lights.

The music is pumping, the stage shaking with every beat drop. People pile back onto the ground where a wet, neon parking lot is lined with pale, white trailers. Disco Lines and Ship Wrek are sharing a lounge space. They pour out onto the pavement.

I see Disco Lines. He’s calm, but looks focused. I recognize him from the photo earlier today. “Hey!” I call out in an attempt to fight the thumping music.

He comes over and we walk over to a quiet spot in the parking lot. I have a minute. I want to know about his skiing.

“Have you been to Palisades before?”

“Yeah. I had a bunch of buddies who lived in Pasadena. We’d do road trips to come here. So I’m fired up!”

“You’re a skier?”

“Yeah. I ski and snowboard. But I used to teach kids how to ski at Eldora. I was a ski instructor for 8-10 year olds. Some of the best winters of my life. We have to fly out tomorrow, but we’ve been up here for the past few days just ripping.”

We shoot the breeze about the snow quality for a minute and then his manager whisks him away. He goes on in 10 minutes. Man, forget the crowd up at Gold Coast… talk about an audience.

It’s time to get back to my group. The crowd is thicker than ever. Losing yourself in the excitement is the beauty of the mountain. You forget your personal worries, swimming through the crowd, eyes grazing the lines of the mountain behind the stage.

Disco Lines controls the crowd, smiling, lost in the energy behind his camo jacket.

My mind flashes back to the top of the ridge. The steepness of the lines are lost on the upwards view. Looking down is the only way to truly do it justice.

I’d fallen just walking up. The ground was slick. But I had a plan, visualized each turn in my head while walking up, studying the speed and flow of those who laid down tracks right before me.

There’s no good in thinking about it any more.

3, 2, 1… dropping. A sensation of weightlessness engulfs me for a second before my gravity switches to my other leg.

The song switches up, bass deepening. This close to the rail, we’re all pushed together there’s no getting out. Lose yourself and enjoy the sensation, or trap yourself in the intensity of the moment.

Letting go is the scary part. After that, you are free to enjoy.

Related: Palisades Tahoe's "Nicest Guy In The Valley" Throws Huge Double Backflip

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