Western Massachusetts—specifically Berkshire County—lies within the Appalachian range, in a region locally known as the Berkshire Hills. Within these hills are numerous ski resorts, but at the center of Berkshire County lies a lesser-known, yet unique and historic resort: Bousquet Mountain. As the ski resorts are all within an hour of each other, they share many of the same skiers and riders. Racing leagues, annual events, and overlapping friend groups connect these mountains into a tight-knit community.
Bousquet Mountain is located within the city limits of Pittsfield, Massachusetts, and in 1936 became the first mountain in North America to offer night skiing. For generations, families and friends have skied, raced, socialized, and served as the strong, beating heart of Bousquet. The mountain may be small and offer only 200 skiable acres and 750 vertical feet, but to me, it holds some of the biggest memories. Looking back on my childhood here, I realize now just how deeply those days and nights skiing with friends shaped me.
One such memory was on a Friday after school, as I waited by the window for my friend to pick me up for a night of skiing. I tossed my boot bag and skis into his mom’s car, and we drove seven minutes through town to get to the mountain. She dropped us off at the entrance. We quickly grabbed our gear and ran into the lodge. Inside, we found three of our friends already there. One was playing the arcade fighting game Tekken while the others watched, splitting a comically oversized cookie. Unfortunately, button-mashing didn’t cut it, and he lost the first match—game over. We searched under the wooden tables for 50 cents to play again, but no luck. Finally, we geared up and headed outside to ski.
Nico was out front—the beautiful, fluffy white Samoyed that roams the mountain all day looking for attention. He got plenty of well-earned pets before we hopped on the lift. There were only two two-person lifts, a mid mountain beginner lift and a summit lift, (now there’s one three-seater!) so we rotated who would ride solo. I volunteered. I scooped snow onto my skis before loading the lift ahead of my friends, ready to launch snowballs over my head at the duo behind me—headshot. At the summit, we were lucky to catch the last bit of daylight. Looking out over the valley, we pointed out our houses and other familiar landmarks before our first run.
“JPR?” I asked—Jewett, Parker, Russell—a classic top-to-bottom Bousquet run. Everyone agreed.
As the night went on, our group grew as we linked up with more local kids. We cycled between terrain park laps, full-tuck top-to-bottom runs, and countless Bousquet “classics” like JPR. Even though Bousquet is a low elevation mountain at only 1,818 feet, every run was overflowing with stoke.
After a full night of skiing, we headed back to the lodge, where our parents had been hanging out for the past couple of hours, enjoying drinks at the bar and catching up with lifelong mountain friends. There was only one thing left to do before heading home: grab a “fry the freezer”—a basket filled with every fried food they offered. Fries, onion rings, chicken tenders, pizza bites, mozzarella sticks—the stuff of childhood dreams. We indulged, said our goodbyes, and went our separate ways, knowing we’d be back the next day to do it all over again.
It is one of my favorite memories of Bousquet, as it just had everything a young skier could ask for: friends, laughter, stoke, and snow.
What Bousquet lacks in vertical and terrain, it more than makes up for in community, one that fosters a deep love for the sport. I may have left Bousquet, but I wouldn’t trade anything for the friends, memories, and passion it gave me.
