"It could be 5 p.m. right now," I mutter to a car clock that shows it’s 7:30 in the morning. Chloe and I are driving through yet another gray snowstorm, sleep-deprived, with drained legs and puffy eyes. We're headed for Salmon, Idaho, to visit our good friend Addy Gesteland.

We roll up to Addy's house at 8:44 a.m. A wood-paneled great room with the kind of natural light a house-hunter dreams about welcomes us in. Addy caretakes this place for a man in his nineties who has clearly loved it. It’s immaculate, all the way down to the pink shag-carpeted bathroom.

Addy throws her gear in and we cruise to a touring spot with views over the river drainages where we spend our summers guiding, but rarely visited in the winter. The early wake-up was worth it—by the time we get skis on at 10 a.m., it has turned into a golden-hour day. Clouds rich with depth and dimension roll across the sky, the sun never quite breaking through except in rays of soft golden light. We lap run after run of open-faced pow fields into a landscape I can't stop looking at. The light inspires us. Listening to her photographer mind, Chloe asks, "Dawn patrol tomorrow? It’s supposed to be clear.” Addy agrees.

I find time together in the skin track is the best way to sync up with friends who live far away. "I've been substitute teaching. It feels like a great way to connect to the community,” Addy says. Her summers on the Middle Fork are based in Salmon. When her first season in Salmon came to a close, she couldn't fathom returning to the hustle and bustle of Salt Lake City, so she decided to find a way to stay.

Salmon feels like home to Addy. She's in her second winter here and just returned from a month-long Japan trip. She likes the flexibility to pursue big trips like this, so her work schedule is more at-will than most. She works at the town's well-loved bakery, Odd Fellows’, when she's around for a few months. In this town of 3,000, it feels like everyone stops in for a coffee or a loaf of bread. Addy likes the early mornings, partly because they give her the rest of the day to play and pursue other interests.

This winter, Addy's big project is starting an artist collective and river supply store in Salmon. She's working with her river company, Wilderness River Outfitters, to establish it. She’s an artist herself and adept at bringing out the best in everyone around her, so I can't imagine a better person to build this space.

After a later-than-intended night catching up around the kitchen island, our 4:30 a.m. alarms come fast. At this moment, after 12 days on the road, there is nothing I want more than to snuggle even harder into my sleeping bag. Good friends make all the difference though—there's fun to be had. We leave the house by 5 a.m. and boot up in the dark, laughing the whole way.

We set out at a clip, moving fast to warm up. Crisp constellations, like Orion and the Big Dipper, gently fade into a brightening sky. We gain the ridge just in time to catch an incredible sunrise. The dawn sky breaks blue, and Chloe and I are elated for our first bluebird day since leaving Salt Lake City.

On the tour up the ridge, we make frequent stops to admire the vastness of this place and gaze into the skyline for our favorite river canyon landmarks. Something about being out this early feels like cheating.

There isn't any avalanche forecasting for Salmon, and we hope to ski a steep line, so we take the time to dig a pit at the top of our run. We observe stability and feel especially good about how the new snow has bonded.

The skiing is amazing. At this point in the trip, it feels like a given that we will have perfect powder snow wherever we ski—how insanely lucky.

We set out on this trip with the hopes of connecting more deeply with our summertime friends’ lives. It’s been a success—moving together in the mountains forms, forges and reinforces our bonds. It has been so special to see the more balanced picture of Madeline, Tara, Lara, and Addy’s innovative and unique lives in the mountains.

We’re leaving this trip exhausted but inspired, and so grateful for these clever, captivating and caring people in our lives. But at the moment I-15 bends into Salt Lake City, and all we can think about is crawling into our own beds to recharge our happily spent spirits for the next adventure.