I couldn’t believe it. Had we really skied five runs already? Where had the day gone? The heli settled into the LZ, our now familiar little niche high in Governor’s Basin, and we made our methodical exit, crouching and huddling alongside the chopper’s exterior as it lifted back into the sky. A spray of rotor wash whirled with it, followed closely by the quiet of the backcountry as it peeled away, out of sight. Clicking into our skis and adjusting our packs, we traversed out into the pristine powder and assessed our route for the final descent of the day. With a string of effortless and creamy runs under our belts already, we felt confident this one would be no different.

Despite waking up with plenty of time, it had been an utter scramble to get out of the house that morning (babysitter in order, gear together, baby gear together, etc.), but the minute I sat down to fill out the waiver form at the Telluride Helitrax office in Mountain Village (albeit, a good 20 minutes late), I forgot about the gazillions of pressing responsibilities that had been weighing on my brain for weeks. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the forecast on that Mid-March day was for quintessential spring skiing…not a breath of wind and temperatures, even at 8 a.m., only calling for a lightweight jacket. And I was going heliskiing.

Not only was I going heliskiing, but I was going with my four dearest girlfriends, one of whom was going to be our guide…ensuring an even tighter-knit posse. We were all weathered skiers, out for a fun day together in our big backyard. The guides and pilot chose an area north of Telluride, Yankee Boy and Governor’s basins, as our playground for the day. Although a place I often visit in summer, I hadn’t spent time there in the winter in years. Wow, was it spectacular…the craggy peaks, untouched snow, and no one around but us (and the two other heliski groups partaking that day). On account of the blazing sun overhead, we thought we might encounter some crusty, funky conditions, but every inch we touched was soft and dreamy, bouncy and effortless…the stuff that, well, the stuff that people heliski for.

On that last run, we nosed off a steeper face at the top. It was quite a few turns, but the pitch made them blow quickly by and the rollover halfway down stirred a few butterflies. For the finale, we cut around to a lower apron and put the rockered skis (that I was trying for the first time, and must say, was head over heels for) on autopilot for a series of “hero” turns to the bottom. Then the heli swooped in and just like that, it was back to civilization…the Peaks Hotel to be exact, for margaritas, consumed by all except, yours truly. Yes, I quaffed a cold and somewhat tasty N/A beer because as I failed to reveal earlier, I was four months pregnant at the time. Can’t wait to tell my little one some day….in-utero heliskiing, how many can say they’ve done that?