Sand Mountain
In late November 2024, the mountains around Lake Tahoe sat dry—windswept, waiting and bare. We watched with anxious optimism, but the forecast refused to show hope. So, in true snowboarder fashion, we took matters into our own hands and chased the glide into the Nevada desert.
A hundred miles east of Truckee, CA, Sand Mountain rose from the horizon like a misplaced alpine range, formed by the remnants of ancient Lake Lahontan, which dried up nearly 9,000 years ago. What was left behind were 600-foot-tall sand dunes, stretching 3.5 miles across the desert floor. If it wasn’t going to snow, this would have to do the trick.
Ashley Epis and I buckled into our splitboards at the car and started the unusual ascent. Heat radiated off the sand as it gave way beneath us, each step sinking like a sloppy bootpack in sun-rotted corn. Grains of sand slid underfoot, wedging into buckles and straps, giving our bindings a fresh crunch with every stride. Surprisingly, our skins held just enough traction to keep us climbing toward the summit. The air was bone-dry—the kind that chaps your lips and scorches your throat. No trees. No shade. Just wide-open dunes and relentless sun. We paused at the top. It was time to test our secret formula.
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