I still remember the exact feeling of that first run in Hakuba.
Not the technique — I didn’t really have any back then. Not the speed, or the line I took, or whether I made it to the bottom cleanly. What I remember is the snow. The way powder felt was completely different from anything I had experienced on a snowboard before. The silence of it. The softness. Something that felt less like a sport and more like a sensation I couldn’t quite put into words.
I had no idea that moment would change everything.
Mountains Were Just Scenery
I grew up in the countryside, so nature was always close by.
The mountains were right there — reachable if I wanted them. But going hiking as a family on weekends, loading up the car and heading for the trails — that wasn’t how I grew up. Mountains were scenery to me. Something beautiful to look at, nothing more.
My first time snowboarding didn’t change that either.
In my first year in university, I joined a snowboarding trip with my friends to the closest resort to my hometown — because everyone was going, because it seemed fun, because why not.
I spent the whole day falling over, cold and frustrated. Towards the end, I hit my head and we decided to call it a day. Nothing serious, but the headache ruined what was left of the trip. After that I went a few more times, but only because friends invited me along.
I didn’t hate snowboarding. But I didn’t feel anything either. It just didn’t seem like my thing.
Hakuba Changed Everything
A few years later, after moving to Tokyo, I got a chance to go to Hakuba.
It was a work trip — I was at an agency at the time, and we were running an event at a ski resort for a client. Through that, I got to meet some pro snowboarders who had been invited along too. (Looking back, that was pretty lucky.)
As soon as we arrived, one of the riders suggested going for some laps, and I tagged along — with no real idea how different the conditions were about to be.
I didn’t even own a board at that point, so I rented a powder board from the shop.
We headed to a black run. Wide, but with at least 50cm of fresh powder. I had never experienced anything like it — hadn’t even really heard what powder snow meant before that day. I was still barely in control of my edges, and here I was hesitating at the top of a run that the others dropped into without a second thought.
I took a breath and went for it.
Almost immediately, I tried to turn and fell — deep into the powder. I was completely buried, snow all over me, my goggles knocked off and packed with snow.
One of the snowboarders saw me, came over, and pulled me out. She put her own goggles on my head and said, “Try mine. It changes everything.” First lesson learned: get decent goggles.
Then she said, “That’s a good board you’ve got. Just trust it — look way further ahead than you think you need to, point it straight down, and go.” I stood up, trusted her, and went straight down the slope.
That moment changed my life.
It was a little scary — I’d never gone that fast before — but at the same time, it made me feel so high.
The powder was unlike anything I’d ridden before: deep, light, almost weightless.
I got back home and immediately started looking for the next trip.
Tokyo Winters and Chasing Snow
Looking back, I was completely obsessed.
At the time, I was working more than full-time in Tokyo — the kind of job where taking the last train home was normal, and weekends weren’t always your own. The kind of workplace people would call a “black” company in Japan. And yet, every weekend the snow was good, I was on a night bus heading to the mountains. Leave Tokyo late, sleep on the bus, arrive at the resort just before the lifts open, ride all day, take the night bus back, show up to work Monday morning still feeling it in my legs.
I couldn’t imagine doing it now, honestly.
It was exhausting. But those hours felt like the only part of the week that was completely mine.
From Winter Mountains to Summer Mountains
Every season ends at some point.
When the snow melted, I found myself restless in a way I hadn’t expected.
So I started hiking.
At first, it was practical — I wanted to understand the terrain I’d been riding under the snow, to train for backcountry, to build fitness that snowboarding alone couldn’t give me. But somewhere along the way, it became something else entirely.
Hiking showed me a different side of the same mountains. The slopes that had been buried under snow in winter revealed their shapes in summer — a completely different character. Different wildflowers at different altitudes. The way the air changes above the treeline. Every mountain has its own rocks, ridges, and gorges, so no two views are ever quite the same. And the feeling of reaching the top makes every bit of effort feel more than worth it.
As I pushed toward higher peaks, new mountains kept appearing on the list. Tokyo made it easy to plan weekend trips, and without really noticing, hiking had become my summer rhythm.
Wherever I Moved, I Found the Mountains
Just as snowboarding and hiking had really become part of my life, I moved to Hong Kong — mainly for my career, and partly because I was ready for a change. Japan was only a four-hour flight away. I could visit whenever. I wouldn’t miss it, I told myself.
Surprisingly, Hong Kong turned out to be a great place to hike.
I hadn’t expected so many trails to exist in such a small, dense city. Within an hour or two you can completely escape the pace of urban life — out to a ridge with a sweeping view, or down to a quiet, beautiful beach that feels like a different world entirely. I hiked almost every weekend the weather allowed.
[Trails in Hong Kong]
7 Best Hiking Trails in Hong Kong (Beginner to Intermediate Guide)
Hong Kong’s 4 Long Hiking Trails: A Complete Guide
And each winter I made my way back to Hakuba. That was the rhythm for a few years.
Then COVID changed things.
A lot shifted personally during that time too, and it eventually led me to rethink not just where I was living, but the kind of life I was building.
After moving to Europe and transitioning to freelance work, I found a different kind of freedom — the ability to decide for myself where and when I go. The range of mountains and trails here, not just in the Alps but across the whole continent, expanded what felt possible. Where I used to do single-day hikes, I started exploring multi-day hut-to-hut routes and long-distance backpacking trails. My riding moved from groomed pistes toward freeriding and backcountry. Gradually, the way I related to the mountains kept deepening.
[Trails in Europe]
My Experience on Scotland’s Iconic Hiking Trail: The West Highland Way
Tour du Mont Blanc Itinerary (10 Days): Complete TMB Hiking Guide & Experience
How the Mountains Became Part of Who I Am
I still think about that first run in Hakuba sometimes.
The person who stepped off that night bus, fumbled into her snowboard boots, and unknowingly started reorganising her entire life around the mountains.
She had no idea she was becoming a mountain person. She just knew the snow felt different there.
The mountains have always been constant. They were there before I found them, and they’ll be there long after. What changed was me — what I prioritise, what moves me, what I reach for when things get hard.
Through every high and low, the mountains were somewhere I could always return to and feel like myself again. They kept me energised, kept me curious, quietly reminding me of who I am and where I’m headed.
Before I even noticed, they had become one of the most important parts of my life.
I’m certain they always will be.
Have you had a moment or a place that started it all for you? I’d love to hear about it in the comments.
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