Deadly Descent: The Winter Trail That Changed Everything

“You always have to be first, don’t you, Kade?” Julie’s voice cut through the cold with just enough teasing to mask the edge underneath. The train rumbled beneath us, its rhythm fighting with the pounding in my chest. I glanced at the snow-dusted window, watching the endless pine trees whip past, and tried to laugh it off.

“Somebody has to keep you all alive,” I shot back, flashing my best quarterback grin. The guys—Mark, Tyler, and Chris—burst out laughing. Gabe just smirked, eyes flicking from me to Julie, and back. I snuck a glance at her, heart tripping over itself, and felt the old guilt crawl up my spine. She was my best friend’s girlfriend. I should’ve kept my distance. But that’s the thing about winter trips and too much whiskey—boundaries blur, secrets get slippery.

We were supposed to be celebrating. First semester of med school down, a weekend at my family’s cabin in the Rockies, and a fresh dump of snow. Mom’s texts buzzed in my pocket every hour, reminders about avalanche warnings and weather reports. She worried too much, but that’s what moms do. Dad just asked if I was keeping my GPA up so he could brag next poker night.

The train screeched to a halt at Pine Ridge. Gabe was first off, wrestling his snowboard from the rack with a practiced, single-shoulder swing. I helped Julie with her skis, hands brushing. She flinched, or maybe I imagined it. Mark whooped and took a running leap into the snow, collapsing in a spray of white powder. For a second, everything felt simple.

We trekked up to the cabin, packs biting into our shoulders, breath puffing out in clouds. The place was just as I remembered: logs dark with age, the porch sagging a little more each year, the air tinged with pine and woodsmoke. Inside, we dumped our stuff, and Tyler cranked up the Bluetooth speaker. Someone found the tequila. Someone else found my parents’ old weed stash. By nightfall, we were sprawled in a jumble of sleeping bags by the fire, laughing about nothing and everything.

That night, I caught Julie’s eye across the flames. Her smile faded. Gabe was passed out, Mark and Chris deep in a debate about the best way to splint a broken femur. I wanted to say something—about us, about the way things had shifted since college started—but the words stuck. I’d always been the golden boy, the fixer. If I messed this up, it wouldn’t just break me. It’d shatter the group.

Morning brought blue skies and biting cold. We geared up, checking weather apps and avalanche reports, just like my mom would’ve wanted. Gabe wanted to hit the Black Diamond run, the one locals called Dead Man’s Drop. The warnings were clear: unstable snowpack, closed trail. I tried to play it cool, but my gut twisted.

“We’ll stick to the marked trails,” I said, trying to sound casual. Gabe rolled his eyes. “Scared, pretty boy?”

Julie frowned. “Let’s not be idiots.”

But Mark was already halfway to the boundary rope. “Come on, Kade! You gonna let him show you up?”

So I did what I always do: I led. We ducked the rope, laughing nervously, the powder spraying up around our boots. The world went quiet, just the hiss of skis and the whoop of adrenaline. For a few glorious minutes, we flew.

Then it happened. The snow shifted with a sound like the world breathing in. Gabe was ahead, carving hard. I heard Julie shout—my name, I think. The ground gave way. White roared up and swallowed everything.

I don’t remember falling. I remember cold. The kind that seeps into your bones, that wants to keep you forever. I clawed at the snow, lungs screaming, until I broke through. Mark’s face was streaked with blood, Chris limped, Julie was there, sobbing, but Gabe—

He was gone. Swallowed. We screamed, dug, called 911. The rescue team came hours later. They found him, finally, but it was too late. Hypothermia. They said it was quick. I still hear his voice.

The aftermath was worse than the avalanche. Gabe’s parents blamed me. My mom couldn’t look at me. Dad just said, “You had one job, son.” Our group shattered. Chris transferred to another college. Mark started drinking too much. Julie—God, Julie—she came to see me once, eyes hollow. “He loved you like a brother, you know?” she whispered, then walked away for good.

I dropped out after that semester. Couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Gabe’s grin, heard his laugh echoing off the mountains. Therapy didn’t help. My parents tiptoed around me, my dad’s pride curdling into disappointment, my mom’s hugs stiff with fear. I got a job stocking shelves at the local grocery, numb to everything.

Last week, on the anniversary, I went back to the cabin. The snow was just as deep, the silence just as heavy. I stood at the edge of Dead Man’s Drop and let myself remember. Not just the accident, but all of it—the bravado, the need to prove something, the way I let everyone down trying to be the center of it all.

Sometimes I wonder if any of us ever really know who we are, or if we just play the roles people expect until something breaks. If I hadn’t led them past that rope, if I’d listened to Julie, would Gabe still be here? Would I still be me?

Tell me—what would you have done? How do you live with a choice you can’t ever undo?