You’re standing on the jagged spine of Lone Mountain. The wind is howling at forty miles per hour, whipping crystals of ice against your goggles until you can barely see the tips of your skis. Below you, the world simply disappears. There is no gradual roll-in, no friendly "blue square" transition, just a violent tilt of limestone and frozen scree. This is the North Summit Snowfield at Big Sky, and honestly, if your heart isn't trying to escape through your ribs, you probably don't understand what you're looking at.
It's steep. Really steep.
Most people talk about Big Sky Resort in terms of its massive acreage or the high-tech Lone Peak Tram, but the North Summit Snowfield—often just called the "North Side"—is a different beast entirely. It isn’t just a ski run; it’s a high-alpine commitment that requires a sign-out at the patrol shack and a level of respect that most resorts don't demand. You don't just "stumble" into this terrain. You earn it through a mix of technical skill, gear requirements, and a weirdly specific type of Montana bravery.
The Technical Reality of the North Side
Let’s get the numbers out of the way because they actually matter here. We’re talking about a pitch that hovers between 40 and 50 degrees depending on the snowpack and where exactly you drop. In the world of lift-accessed skiing, that’s vertical. If you fall on the upper pitches, you aren't stopping for a few hundred feet. Gravity doesn't negotiate on Lone Peak.
The North Summit Snowfield at Big Sky is basically a massive, tilting triangle of snow perched above a series of cliff bands and technical exit couloirs. Because it faces north, it holds cold, chalky powder long after the rest of the mountain has turned to spring slush. But that same orientation means it catches the brunt of the weather. It’s raw.
To even get here, you have to check in with the Big Sky Ski Patrol. This isn't a formality. They want to know you have a partner. They want to know you have an avalanche beacon, a shovel, and a probe. More importantly, they want to see if you look like you know how to use them. If the visibility is low or the wind is nuking, they’ll shut the gate without a second thought. They’ve seen enough "hero" skiers get humbled by the variable crust and the sheer exposure of the traverse.
Getting In and Getting Down
The entry is a psychological test. You hop off the Tram—the new one is a marvel, by the way, but it doesn't make the mountain any softer—and you head toward the patrol station. Once you're cleared, you begin the traverse. It’s narrow. It’s rocky. It feels like you’re walking a tightrope on the edge of a skyscraper.
You’ll see the "Great Falls" and "The Wave" below you. These aren't just names; they describe the fluid, terrifying motion of the terrain. When you finally point your tips down, the first few turns are everything. If the snow is good, it feels like flying. If it's "Big Sky Bone" (that hard, wind-scoured surface), it feels like survival.
One of the weirdest things about the North Summit Snowfield is the exit. You don't just finish the run and hop on a chairlift. You have to navigate the lower "fringe" areas, often weaving through tight chutes or over frozen waterfalls if you take a wrong turn. You usually end up down at the Moonlight Basin side—now part of the unified Big Sky—feeling like you’ve just traveled to another planet. It’s a long way back to the Mountain Village.
Why It’s Not Just Another "Double Black"
Labels are kinda useless at Big Sky. A double black diamond at a resort in the Midwest is a warm-up in Montana. The North Summit Snowfield gets a triple black diamond rating some years, or at the very least, an "extreme terrain" warning that actually means something.
What sets it apart is the "no-fall" zones. In most places, if you wipe out, you slide a bit, get snow down your neck, and laugh it off. Here, a slide can take you over a limestone band. The rock at Big Sky is notoriously sharp. It’s called "tacoing" your skis for a reason. Professional freeriders like the late, great Jeremy Nobis spent time on these faces because they mimic the big mountain lines of Alaska.
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There's also the oxygen factor. You’re starting at 11,166 feet. Your lungs are screaming before you even make your first turn. Every movement feels heavier, every decision a bit more labored.
Gear, Timing, and Reality Checks
Don't show up on 70mm carving skis. You need something with a bit of girth underfoot to handle the variable wind-buff, but not so wide that you can’t hold an edge on the icy bits. 100mm to 110mm is usually the sweet spot.
And for heaven's sake, check the forecast. People think because they can see the peak from the base area that the weather is the same. It’s not. It can be 20 degrees and sunny at the lodge and -10 with 50 mph gusts at the summit. The "North Summit Snowfield at Big Sky" is a weather maker. It creates its own microclimate.
If you’re a local, you know the drill: wait for the "Bluebird" days after a north-northwest flow has filled in the chutes. If you're a visitor, don't be afraid to hire a guide. Seriously. The Big Sky "Tramsmit" guides or the Lone Peak Guides are worth every penny because they know exactly which pocket has the softest snow and which exit won't leave you bushwhacking through Montana forest for three hours.
The Mental Game
Skiing the North Side is 20% physical and 80% mental. You have to trust your edges. The moment you hesitate on a 45-degree slope is the moment your form breaks down. It’s about finding a rhythm in a place that wants to throw you off beat.
There's a specific silence up there. Away from the hum of the lifts and the chatter of the base area, the North Summit Snowfield feels ancient. You feel small. That’s the real draw, isn't it? In a world where everything is sanitized and safe, this place still feels a little bit dangerous.
It’s one of the last places where the mountain still has the final say.
Actionable Steps for the North Summit
If you are actually going to do this, don't just wing it.
- Beacon Practice: Don't let the first time you turn on your transceiver be at the patrol shack. Go to the practice park at the base and make sure you and your partner are dialed.
- The 11:00 AM Rule: Sometimes the Snowfield doesn't open until later in the morning once the sun has had a chance to soften the entry or the patrol has finished mitigation. Don't rush the gate.
- Hydrate or Die: High altitude dehydration is real. It turns your legs to jelly. Drink twice as much water as you think you need the night before.
- Scout from Below: If you’re skiing the Headwaters earlier in the day, take a look across at the North Summit. You can often see the "creep" of the snow and where the rocks are poking through.
- Sign Out: You MUST sign out with patrol. If you don't, and you get stuck, nobody is coming to look for you until the sweeps at the end of the day. Don't be that person.
The North Summit Snowfield isn't about bragging rights, though you'll certainly have them. It’s about the quiet realization that you can handle one of the most technical pieces of lift-served terrain on the planet. Just remember to breathe. And maybe don't look straight down until you've finished your first turn.