Report from February 20, 2026
The zone at Les Arcs, France, that I rolled up to yesterday morning was cut off from the rest of the resort thanks to a massive storm and 5/5 EXTREME avalanche danger.
Perfect.
The drive the mountain was rowdy up dozens of switchbacks up skinny French roads.
There was even a “Route Barrée” sign that I’m very glad I drove past.
Miles house hucking. Image: SnowBrains
I arrived at 9:00 a.m. to find the lift slightly delayed due to weather and avalanche mitigation.
It had snowed 65 cm (26″) overnight.
The forest was buried and ripe for harvest.
Miles & Pierre. Image: SnowBrains
There was simply no one around to start the day.
I inhaled vicious amounts of fresh powder.
Illegal amounts of powder.
Church in town. Image: SnowBrains
More fresh snow than can possibly be healthy for one human in a single day.
This lift climbs 3,062 vertical feet and delivers nothing but insane tree skiing directly to the vein.
After one top-to-bottom run, I was freaking out.
After two, I was on cloud nine.
After three, I couldn’t believe what was happening.
After four, I thought maybe it was just a dream.
After five, I crashed, packed snow down my pants, and confirmed it was in fact not a dream.
After nine, I was plumb tuckered out, having skied what felt like more untouched powder lines than I’ve ever experienced in a single day.
These houses need hucking. Image: SnowBrains
The snow was dreamy and light up high, heavier and rippable down low.
On run number three, I met a local named Pierre who showed me around for the rest of the day.
A super strong skier, full of good vibes, big smiles, cigarette smoke, and excellent English.
Pierre showing the way. Image: SnowBrains
We laughed a lot.
He was born and raised in Bourg-Saint-Maurice, and I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous.
Some of the big lines he described skiing straight off the chairlifts absolutely blew my mind.
Les Arcs is as legit as they come.
Merci, la France.