Why I’m Skiing in Gulmarg, Kashmir in 2026 (Despite the Risks)

In February 2026, I’ll be traveling to Gulmarg, Kashmir for a guided backcountry ski trip. This post explains what led to that decision, how I’m preparing for it, and why this trip carries personal meaning.

Having recently placed a sizable deposit with Gulmarg Powder Guides in Kashmir, India, what follows is my attempt to ease the minds of a few understandably concerned family members and friends. Most of them assumed I had backed out of my original plans after the summer 2025 attack in nearby Pahalgam.

I’ll admit, I hit the pause button hard when the news first broke. My two ski buddies from Colorado, who had tentatively signed on, canceled outright. But after a lot of thought and careful consideration over the ensuing months, I quietly pushed my chips back in, secured my deposit, and booked my flights.

As I write this in October, ahead of my February 2026 trip, I’ll be flying solo. At least until I meet up with a group of like-minded ski adventurers (who I haven’t met but believe are from Australia) who also signed up with Gulmarg Powder Guides during the same week.

With the exception of a few close friends, most people back home don’t yet know I’ve decided to go through with it. So, Mom and Dad, if you’re reading this, this one’s for you.

And maybe it’s also for me. A way to reflect on a decision that involves more risk than your average ski trip, but also offers the kind of experience I’ve chased for most of my life.

As I started organizing my thoughts, I kept returning to a memory from the early days of Facebook, setting up my first profile. Back then, people actually spent time thinking about how to describe themselves in the “About Me” section.

Along with some favorite books and TV shows, I added a few quotes. At the time, I probably thought they made me sound cool and adventurous. But they also reflected the kind of life I hoped to live.

“All we can do is use the present well.”

The Dalai Lama, Ancient Wisdom, Modern World

“Eventually, I sickened of people, myself included, who didn’t think enough of themselves to make something of themselves—people who did only what they had to and never what they could have done. I learned from them the infected loneliness that comes at the end of every misspent day. I knew I could do better.”

Mark Twight, quoted in Between a Rock and a Hard Place by Aron Ralston

“If there’s no risk, there’s no adventure. I think adventure; it’s a great part of life. For me it’s ‘why am I living?’ You know, gee, it’s to have some adventure.”

Bill Briggs, ski mountaineering pioneer, quoted in the ski film “Steep”

Looking back roughly 25 years later, I probably didn’t intend those quotes to become guiding principles. But they’ve held up. They helped shape the choices that led me to quit a promising PR job in my hometown of Vail, Colorado to travel the world, return for a year or two, and then set out again to teach English in South Korea, where I still live today.

Clearly, the wanderlust was already there. But the skier in me never left. Sure, I no longer log 80 to 100 days a season like I used to, but I’ve found a way to merge my two passions: skiing and travel.

Now, as I prepare for a ski trip to Kashmir (one that not everyone will understand or support) I find myself thinking about those quotes again.

This is my way of talking through the decision for anyone who wants to follow along. Or maybe it’s just a way to sort out my own thoughts.

Why Kashmir? Why now? Why solo?

I’m writing this to answer those questions, for others and for myself.

If you’re not totally clear on where Kashmir is, you’re not alone. For a lot of people, the closest association might be smoking doobs in college while listening to the Led Zeppelin classic inspired by its mysterious name.

If I’m being honest, that was about the extent of my own knowledge too, aside from a long-standing curiosity that had been quietly building as I searched for powder skiing alternatives in Asia beyond Japan.

I first started digging into new destinations after my third winter trip chasing Japow in Hokkaido. Japan still delivers, and I continue to encourage people to experience it, especially if they’ve never been.

But the secret has been out for a while. Over the years, I’ve watched it evolve from a relatively quiet powder paradise into a heavily trafficked hotspot, fueled in part by its inclusion on multi-resort passes like Epic and Ikon.

That shift got me thinking about what else was out there that were a little less on the international radar. I started exploring options from Gulmarg to Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and even China, and eventually pulled those thoughts together into a full breakdown: Skiing in Asia 2026: Where I’m Going Next.

So, where exactly is Kashmir, and what is Gulmarg all about?

Kashmir lies in the far north of the Indian subcontinent, tucked into the western Himalayas. The region shares borders with both Pakistan and China, and its status has long been the subject of territorial disputes and political tension.

Today, the Indian-administered side (where Gulmarg is located) is part of the newly reorganized union territory of Jammu and Kashmir.

The map below shows a few city names that might raise eyebrows, especially for those who know the region only through headlines or action movies like Zero Dark Thirty. If I’m honest, until a few months ago, I probably fit into that category too.

Despite the political complexity, Kashmir is widely regarded as one of the most beautiful mountain regions on Earth. Its dramatic landscapes include snow-capped peaks, deep valleys, and alpine meadows.

It’s earned comparisons to both the Alps and the Rockies, but it carries a personality all its own. This is more than just a ski destination. It’s a cultural, geographical, and emotional crossroads unlike anywhere I’ve been.

Gulmarg Ski Resort itself is a high-altitude resort town known for its massive vertical drop, deep seasonal snowpack, and access to serious backcountry terrain. At the heart of it all is one of the world’s highest gondolas, reaching nearly 4,000 meters.

From the top, avalanche-controlled zones and guide-led runs open up a vast amount of skiable terrain, the kind that would be off-limits in most other parts of the world.

I’ll get into the risks and the decision to move forward with this trip in the next section. But since I already spoiled the ending (I’m going), maybe I should explain what I’ve signed up for up front.

After researching several ski operations in the area, I landed on Gulmarg Powder Guides for a few key reasons. First, and most importantly, I wanted to support a business that was locally owned and invested in the community.

Many of the outfits I found in Gulmarg were run by foreign expats. GPG, on the other hand, is led by Billa Majeed Bakshi, a longtime Kashmiri guide and the director of Kashmir Heliski. From everything I read, they’ve built a reputation for safety, terrain knowledge, and deep respect for the mountains they call home.

Their guiding model is flexible, offering everything from group tours and private packages to options for solo travelers like me, all focused on expert-level backcountry access. The reviews I found were consistently strong, not just about the snow or the lines, but about the local guides and the overall experience.

While reading through their website one afternoon, I watched the ten-minute video below. When it ended, I started mentally packing my bags. After skiing in Korea and Japan over the past 20 years, I knew this was a place I needed to add to my skier’s bucket list in Asia.

I encourage you to watch it. And if you don’t come away at least a little stoked and curious, then odds are the rest of this post isn’t going to be your thing.

Here’s the package I ultimately booked through GPG:

• 6 nights at Hotel Rosewood (single occupancy, breakfast and dinner included)
• 1 night on a traditional houseboat on Dal Lake in Srinagar
• 6 days of guided backcountry skiing (3–4 people per guide)
• 6-day gondola pass
• Avalanche airbag, transceiver, shovel, and probe
• Taxi transfers to and from Srinagar Airport
• Avalanche safety instruction
• Heli-rescue support

The full package cost listed was $1,950 USD, but I got in early and received a 15% early-bird discount, bringing the total to $1,657. I put down a $1,000 deposit to hold my spot.

Bonus: Having skied backcountry terrain in Colorado for years, I know how essential it is to take proper safety precautions. GPG builds that into their package, which gave me confidence from the start.

On top of that, Billa offered me free use of a pair of K2 Pontoons from their shop. They’re not the newest powder skis on the market, but they’re the exact same ones I’ve been skiing for years, and the same skis I brought with me from Colorado to Korea.

Not having to lug them all the way to India is a huge relief.

Added bonus: GPG is affiliated with Kashmir Heliski, and there’s an option to add heli-skiing for $200 per lap. I haven’t committed yet, but I’m tentatively eyeing two or three laps depending on the conditions and what’s left in the budget. The flexibility to tack it on without advance booking definitely has me intrigued.

As for flights, my wife works for Cathay Pacific, so I’ll be using her crew travel privileges to get to Delhi at a discounted rate. From there, I booked roundtrip flights to Srinagar for approximately $172 USD.

Once I factor in domestic flights, extra nights in Delhi, and maybe a side trip or two, I’m estimating my total trip cost will land somewhere between $2,500 and $5,000 USD. Given the scope of the experience, that feels like a bargain.

My brother and his friends (who aren’t poor English teachers, unlike yours truly) have spent north of $15,000 on heli-skiing trips in British Columbia. Sure, they probably had a more luxurious setup, but when it comes to powder turns, we’ll see if the difference is really worth it.

This short film from Salomon Freeski TV offers a beautiful look at the region and introduces Billa Majeed Bakshi, the man behind Gulmarg Powder Guides and Kashmir Heliski.

If you’re curious about the terrain, the local operation, or just want a better sense of what drew me to this place, this is a good place to start.

Just so you know: This isn’t a paid promotion for Gulmarg Powder Guides. I’m not affiliated with them in any way beyond being a paying customer booked for February.

Let’s start with the official stance from the U.S. State Department and many other government travel advisories around the world: it’s not advised.

For the Union Territory of Jammu and Kashmir, the U.S. has issued a Level 4 – Do Not Travel warning. That designation leans heavily on the region’s long history of political unrest, which intensified after the attack in Pahalgam in April 2025.

While I won’t get into graphic detail, a group of tourists was targeted during what should have been a peaceful pilgrimage, and several lives were lost. The story briefly made international news before fading from the headlines, as these kinds of tragedies often do.

At the time, I had just started making concrete plans for this trip. I’d even secured verbal commitments from two ski friends in Colorado. When I saw the first news alert pop up on my phone, my stomach sank. Not just for the victims and the region, but also because I knew the trip I had been getting excited about might no longer be in the cards.

Sure enough, a couple of days later, I got a message from my two friends backing out. I didn’t blame them. I replied back that I’d probably be pulling the plug too. However, I decided to wait, watch, and see how the situation developed.

In the following weeks, tensions between India and Pakistan eased slightly after both sides agreed to a diplomatic de-escalation. I kept an eye on the headlines and eventually sent a feeler email to Billa at Gulmarg Powder Guides to ask if they still planned to operate during the 2026 season.

He told me they were, and that while the situation had been extremely serious, things had returned to “normal” and that tourists had already started coming back.

That was encouraging to hear, but I wanted to go deeper. One question kept coming to mind, one I think more travelers should ask: Do the locals even want us there?

From what I read and the conversations I had, the answer seemed to be yes. Tourism is a major part of Gulmarg’s economy, and operators like GPG have built long-standing, respectful relationships with the community and the surrounding terrain.

So is it safe?

That depends on your risk tolerance. For more on my take on that, keep reading.

In putting this together, it was important to me to write from the heart and let my secret writing partner, ChatGPT, serve only as an editor and a sounding board for ideas.

There was, however, one burning question I needed help answering from someone a bit more knowledgeable and less mathematically challenged than myself. I suspected I knew the answer, but I needed some data to back it up.

So, without leading it in one direction or the other, I put ChatGPT on the task of compiling real-world statistics to answer this question:

Should anyone really be more concerned about me going to Gulmarg in Kashmir than visiting a random U.S. city like Houston? Or better yet, what if I was just heading back to Denver to visit my brother?

Here’s what it found:

While Kashmir carries a reputation for political instability, the day-to-day risk of violent death in the region is, statistically speaking, much lower than in most major U.S. cities.

More specifically:

• Houston sees about 13.8 homicides per 100,000 residents per year
• Denver averages around 8.9
• Jammu & Kashmir (including Gulmarg and Srinagar) has a combined rate of about 0.82 per 100,000, even when terrorism-related deaths are included

If you scale those numbers to the odds of a tourist encountering a violent incident during a seven-day visit:

• In Houston, a tourist’s chance of being killed in a given week is about 1 in 380,000.
• In Denver, it’s around 1 in 585,000.
• In Kashmir, the risk is closer to 1 in 8.7 million.

Those numbers don’t erase the real concerns that come with visiting a region like Kashmir, but they do show that the odds of getting swept up randomly in a violent incident are far lower there than in most American cities, including one in my home state where my brother currently lives (and where I’ve visited countless times without anyone ever expressing concern).

To put that in perspective, the average visitor to Kashmir is roughly ten times safer from violent harm than someone spending the same amount of time in Houston or Denver.

That’s not to say that visiting Kashmir is without risk, but the danger is rare and more concentrated. It tends to spike during specific incidents or flashpoints rather than simmer as a constant background threat.

I’m not trying to downplay what happened in Pahalgam or pretend the risks aren’t real. But I’ve flown into Denver dozens of times without a single raised eyebrow. Statistically, those visits have carried more personal risk than this one.

So, is there risk? Of course. But I believe it’s a calculated one. Sometimes the greater danger is the one we assume we understand simply because it’s familiar.

To help manage that risk, I’ll be taking some practical precautions. I’ll be met at the airport in Srinagar and driven directly to the resort. Once there, I’ll be skiing with professional guides who know the terrain well and who have every reason to keep their guests safe and informed.

I’m also traveling with two insurance policies: one from SafetyWing for general travel coverage, and another through the Austrian Alpine Club (Alpenverein) that includes off-piste and backcountry skiing, heli-skiing, mountain rescue, emergency evacuation, and more.

So is it dangerous? It could be. But I’m going in with open eyes, solid preparation, and the flexibility to pivot if the situation changes. If it does, I’ll make the hard call.

At this point, I’m placing my trust in the local guides of GPG, their knowledge of the landscape and the intricacies of the region, and my own gut instinct that most of us fear the unknown far more than the real dangers at home.

And honestly, what has me most concerned is whether my (now) flatlander lungs and aging skier’s knees and back can handle the high-altitude terrain of the epic yet unforgiving Himalayas.

I’ve recently started a “dry-land” training regimen cobbled together from memories of my old ski-racing days, and let’s just say it’s a work in progress. If I’m going to get the most out of the Gulmarg experience, I’ll need to stick with it.

After wrestling with the safety question and concluding that the risk felt manageable, I turned to the bigger questions I posed at the beginning of this piece:

Why Kashmir? Why now? Why solo?

Looking for those answers led me into a bit of self-reflection, a process of looking back at how I got here, what shaped my way of thinking, and why certain places continue to pull me in.

I realized I’ve always been drawn to remote corners of the world that don’t show up on everyone’s top ten list. The kind of trips that make people pause and ask, “Wait, where?”

And, for reasons that may require a therapist, I’ve also been drawn to places that intimidate me. There’s a part of me that seeks out these edges of comfort as a way to test my own assumptions and push back against fear itself.

I’ve always tried to cultivate curiosity rather than settle into the norms. I’ve been shaped by my upbringing, inspired by public figures like the late Anthony Bourdain, and encouraged by ordinary people I’ve stumbled across online whose stories keep me chasing the idea of a life well-lived.

As I pondered those thoughts, the following reflections began to take shape.

When my parents hear about this trip to Kashmir, I’m guessing their first reaction will be serious concern. And honestly, I get it. That’s what parents do. And in this case, there may be real reasons to worry.

But here’s the thing. When I was seven, they packed up our family (my sister was six, my brother ten) and moved us to a remote island called Punlap in Micronesia. It took a three-day boat ride just to reach it from the main island of Truk.

We lived without electricity in thatched-roof huts, although we lucked out with the island’s only tin shack. It was basically a real-life Swiss Family Robinson. Not to make light of it, but we still laugh to this day about several stories that nearly killed me.

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That move, and everything that followed, shaped the way I see the world. It taught me to be curious rather than fearful of unfamiliar places. Eventually, that curiosity took hold and led me to leave a comfortable PR job in Vail, Colorado, and move to the other side of the world.

It was a job that let me ski as much as I wanted, but I gave it up to travel. That first year abroad included a full ski season in New Zealand. It marked the start of a path I’m still following today, one that now has me writing this from my home in South Korea.

So while I doubt my parents will be thrilled about this particular trip, I also know they’ve surprised me before. They’ve always supported my decisions, even the ones that added a few more gray hairs. My hope is that once they know I’m committed, they’ll shift from nervous worry to hoping for the best and praying for a safe return.

The truth is, they raised me for this kind of life. You don’t spend a formative year on a remote Pacific island and grow up dreaming of a white picket fence. At least I didn’t. My brother and sister seemed to adjust more easily in that regard than this rebellious middle child with a stubborn, independent streak.

For me, that early experience planted something deeper. It made me curious, a bit restless, and willing to say yes to things that don’t always make sense on paper.

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I’ll try not to sound too self-congratulatory, but this isn’t the first time I’ve headed off on my own and left friends and family wondering what I was thinking.

After leaving that PR job for what I thought would be a one-year, round-the-world backpacking sabbatical, I figured the trip would cure my growing wanderlust. Instead, it had the opposite effect. Traveling solo for a year only deepened it, turning curiosity into something more like compulsion.

That journey began in the South Pacific (Tahiti, the Cook Islands, and Fiji) before I settled into Queenstown, New Zealand, on a working holiday visa. From there, I spent three months working my way up Australia’s east coast, then flew to South America, where I trekked in Chile’s Torres del Paine National Park. By the time I returned home and back to work, I was already plotting my next escape.

Over the next several years, my boss indulged my growing addiction by granting extended vacations. I used the first to return to South America, exploring Peru and Bolivia, then spent another in Asia: six weeks split between Malaysian Borneo, Thailand, and Myanmar. I returned to Myanmar several more times as it briefly opened up to tourism before closing again in recent years.

Visiting Myanmar in 2006 was still widely discouraged since the country was under military rule. I debated whether my visit might indirectly support that regime but decided I could minimize the impact by supporting local communities directly. It turned out to be one of the most meaningful experiences of my life. I shared quiet, careful conversations with locals who spoke freely only when they were sure we weren’t being overheard. I even traveled to the country’s northeast, a region still affected by civil conflict, where I trekked with a local guide through hill tribe villages, celebrated his niece’s birthday with grilled meat and laughter, and drank coffee with a Shan rebel who suspiciously wanted to know why I was there.

In Borneo, I took a small plane into the Kelabit Highlands, where I stayed with a local family and joined two hunters for what was billed as a “jungle trek” but turned out to be a few days of wild boar hunting and longhouse living. It remains one of my most vivid travel memories.

Later, while climbing Mount Kinabalu, the highest peak in Southeast Asia, I met a Canadian traveler who had just finished a year teaching English in South Korea. Her stories stuck with me, and within a year I’d left my job again, this time permanently, to try my hand at teaching abroad. I’ve been living and teaching in South Korea ever since.

Looking back, every one of those trips shaped who I am today. Each adventure built confidence and resilience, giving me the experience and mindset to take on this next challenge: skiing in Kashmir, India.

Lately, I’ve been following a young family online called Project Wild Earth. They’re traveling the world in a vehicle with their two blond-haired kids, on an epic adventure that reminds me of the unique education my siblings and I received out in remote parts of the South Pacific. It doesn’t hurt that their kids have similar blond hairstyles to those we were rocking out on that island back in the 80s.

I first came across them while they were exploring Kyrgyzstan, a country I seriously considered switching my ski trip to after the Pahalgam attack.

As their journey recently took them through the remote mountains of Pakistan, they took time to reply to a DM I sent on Instagram. Their message offered reassurance and encouragement that Kashmir was, in their words, safe and incredible.

Here’s a look at that exchange:
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Watching their story unfold and the places they go, the people they meet, and the kind of life they’re giving their kids, reminds me what a real education that is. It keeps my fears in check and helps me see the bigger picture.

I think about the stories their children will grow up telling, and I’m grateful for the ones I already can. I’m even more grateful to my parents for giving me the kind of start that made all of this feel not just possible, but natural.

That education didn’t come from a classroom. It came from movement, curiosity, and risk. It came from saying yes. And it still shapes the way I live.

I’ve spent nearly two decades traveling across much of Asia, from the mountains of Nepal, Korea, and Japan to the islands of Thailand, Vietnam, and Indonesia. Yet India has somehow always remained on the second page of the bucket list, the one marked “we’ll get to that later.”

Well, later has officially arrived.

It’s not that I didn’t want to visit India earlier. It’s just that India always felt like a lot of work. Friends from home who went in their younger years all say it was life-changing, but also that it took some mettle.

Not to mention, the country is enormous, and it’s been hard to decide where to start. Kashmir, of all places, is where I’ve chosen to begin.

I can’t really say why. Maybe it’s just one of those places that’s lingered in the back of my mind. Mountainous, poetic, complicated. A place with an unforgettable name, a rock tribute, and a bit of a rough-and-tumble reputation.

Whether it matches the image that’s lived in my head for years is anyone’s guess, but that uncertainty is part of the draw.

If all goes to plan, I’ll tack on a few stops before or after skiing in Gulmarg. The Taj Mahal seems like a must, and I’m curious to get a glimpse of Delhi. Goa might have to wait, but then again, India isn’t the kind of place you visit just once.

For now, though, it’s Kashmir that’s calling. And this time, I’m finally answering.

I began this section talking about being a seven-year-old in the South Pacific. That was in 1983, and I’m about to turn fifty this year. Time has a funny way of sneaking up on you.

There’s something about hitting fifty that makes you pause and take stock. You start to feel the wear in your knees a little more. The aches after a long day on the mountain linger a little longer.

I’m still a strong skier. The skills that come from more than thirty years of growing up, living, and skiing in Vail don’t just vanish with time. Still, after climbing the tallest mountain in South Korea and skiing Japow in Hokkaido over the past year, my knees have started to remind me that Father Time catches up with us all, one joint at a time.

Sure, I’ve still got plenty of cruiser runs in South Korea left in me, but a trip of this magnitude may not be on the table for too much longer.

It’s not a midlife crisis. There’s no sports car waiting in the driveway. Just a ski trip to the Himalayas that I’ve been quietly daydreaming about for years.

There’s also a personal layer to this decision. When my grandmother passed away, she left me a collection of silver coins with the hope that I’d use them for something meaningful. I cashed them in a while ago, but the money just sat in savings, waiting, I suppose, for something that felt worthy.

I don’t think she would have fully understood this trip or why anyone would go halfway around the world to ski in a place most people have barely heard of. But I do think she would’ve been glad to know the money went toward something memorable. Something that matters to me.

So here I am. I’m not throwing caution to the wind. I’m choosing to go, fully aware of the risks and responsibilities that come with it. This trip is a gift, a marker, and a reminder that I’m not done doing hard things just yet.

I’m old enough to remember when Facebook still felt new, when building your profile took some real thought, and the “About Me” section was an opportunity to define who you were, or at least who you wanted to be.

I remember setting up my first profile in the office of that small PR agency in Vail, with the help of a younger intern fresh out of college who was quick to point out that at twenty-five, I was already “old” and a little late to the party.

Within a few years, everyone’s parents and grandparents were online too. I still keep my account active to stay in touch with old friends while living overseas, but I rarely use it anymore and can’t recall the last time I clicked on someone’s profile to see what they wrote about themselves.

However, when I sat down to write this, the memory of adding those quotes way back when, was one of the first things that came to mind. This felt like it might be an appropriate time to check back in on them, some 20 years later, and see how my life has measured up.

“All we can do is use the present well.”
The Dalai Lama, Ancient Wisdom, Modern World

Buddhism has always interested me, though I’ve never followed it beyond basic admiration. I first read this book by the Dalai Lama during a year-long, around-the-world sabbatical when I was living out of a backpack, and every day felt like a chance to do something amazing with my life.

The quote took on a renewed significance year later when I quit drinking and had to come to terms with living one day at a time. I don’t attend recovery meetings anymore, but I still try to live by the lessons I was taught in those early days of learning to live life without regretting the past or worrying about the future.

Putting the frenzy of day-to-day addictive behavior behind me also made space for gratitude. Life is slower now, and I’m grateful for that. I find peace in the calm of most days and in knowing that all I can really do is use the present well.

Though I’m certainly no Buddhist, the man was onto something. When I considered canceling the trip to Gulmarg after the Pahalgam attack, I realized I’m not in a place where I can keep putting things off for “someday.” We can’t live in our fears or hold ourselves hostage to the past.

All we can do is use the present well.

“Eventually, I sickened of people, myself included, who didn’t think enough of themselves to make something of themselves—people who did only what they had to and never what they could have done. I learned from them the infected loneliness that comes at the end of every misspent day. I knew I could do better.”
Mark Twight, quoted in Between a Rock and a Hard Place by Aron Ralston

I’ll concede this one reads a bit dramatic now, but the line “People who did only what they had to and never what they could have done” still hits hard.

After college, I stayed in Minneapolis for a girlfriend and took a marketing job that had me wearing a tie and sitting in traffic for two hours a day. I lasted six months before heading back to Vail, where I found a PR job that let me ski nearly every day. It was a good job, but I still felt restless. That restlessness led to a year of travel and, later, a life overseas in South Korea.

I’ve never been accused of being overly ambitious in a traditional sense, and I stopped climbing the corporate ladder on the second rung, not because I don’t value success, but because my definition of success was never tied to titles or paychecks.

Lately, my TikTok feed seems to know I’m approaching fifty. It’s full of elderly people reflecting on what they wish they’d done differently, and not one of them ever says, “I wish I’d spent more time at work.”

Like those reflections, I hope I can do better than looking back on a life of missed chances. Waiting for the “right” time to visit Kashmir felt like something I’d regret later.

“If there’s no risk, there’s no adventure. I think adventure is a great part of life. For me, it’s ‘Why am I living?’ You know, gee, it’s to have some adventure.”
Bill Briggs, ski mountaineering pioneer, quoted in Steep

My version of adventure has been a bit gentler than Bill Briggs’, who made the first ski descent of the Grand Teton, but the spirit of his words still defines how I live.

Adventure is a personal thing. For me, it’s meant going places and doing things that others may never know. It’s mine alone, something I can take with me when my time’s up.

Adventure, for me, is about travel: seeing as much of this beautiful world as I can before checkout time, experiencing things others might only dream of. For someone else, adventure might mean taking a chance on a career leap or a relationship.

It all boils down to pushing your limits and avoiding regret. Adventure is why I keep saying yes to the things my cautious side might talk me out of.

And though this one wasn’t on my original Facebook profile, but if I were to set it up today, I’d be remiss to not include one of my favorites, from one of my favorite people:

“Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay. The journey changes you; it should change you. It leaves marks on your memory, on your heart, and on your body. You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind.”
Anthony Bourdain, No Reservations

Bourdain has long been a compass for how I want to move through the world: curious, open-minded, kind to others regardless of circumstance, and unafraid of complexity.

If this trip to Kashmir leaves a few marks, I’ll count that as a gift. That’s the point of it all isn’t it? To find a journey that changes you, and to carry something forward, and, if I’m lucky, to leave something worthwhile behind.

So here I am. I’m not trying to prove anything or chase danger for its own sake. I’m simply following the path I started a long time ago.

And for now, that path leads to Kashmir.

This post isn’t sponsored by Gulmarg Powder Guides or anyone else. I included an affiliate hotel link mainly for reference, but the story itself was written to get a few things off my chest and, hopefully, inspire someone to chase their own version of Gulmarg, wherever that may be.

If you enjoyed the read and want to support future writing and adventures, you can buy me a coffee or click the image below. Every bit of support helps keep this blog alive and growing.