On March 14, 2023, a blizzard blanketed snow across New England, with parts of the region getting as much as 30 inches of accumulation. From coastlines to mountains, the severe weather canceled school, trapped people indoors, and otherwise made the week of St. Patrick’s Day look more like the setting of a Hallmark holiday movie.
Along Vermont’s Catamount Trail, a natural funnel vacuumed the precipitation into an impenetrable impediment at the Lincoln Gap, a mountain pass that reaches 2,424 feet. The weather had made life difficult for even those who could shelter inside, but among the trails, trees, and increasing snowfall outside, Torey Brooks weighed the necessity of halting an adventure. She was well into a 317-mile northbound trek across the state, from the southern border of Massachusetts to the Canadian province of Quebec.
Risk is a rite of passage that many outdoors enthusiasts and athletes take to logical extremes—and often beyond—but Brooks turned to her decade-plus of accumulated knowledge of nature to know when enough snow was literally enough.
“If it’s a foot, or a foot and a half [of snow], I’m confident I can get through it,” she says, “But the snow was two feet and it wasn’t stopping. It was knee deep, [then] thigh deep. You can only make so much progress.”
It was a level-headed decision, the type that is often seen as detached from people willing to take life-threatening risks in the first place, whether hiking a remote trail, soloing a mountain face, or jumping out of a plane. In hiking the Catamount, the greatest threats are rooted in isolation. Getting hurt in these backwoods—with a lack of cell service and roads—make getting help a dangerous (or unlikely) endeavor in case of injury, and grueling New England winters paired with multiple water crossings pose the possibility of hypothermia, too.
But for Brooks, a challenge isn’t worth taking if there's a high probability of success, so great ambition means a great reward.
“It’s part of what draws me to this entire thing,” she says, using ”thing” as an overly casual way to describe her journey. The goal was to do it in one trip, but intense March weather would force Brooks to pause, go home, and complete her journey in April instead. People like to say there are no “moral victories” in sport, but given the challenge in distance and environment, it’s hard to see Brooks’ eventual completion of the trail—which takes some people a lifetime—as a failure.
The trek across the Catamount Trail was just one of Brooks’ many pursuits that have pitted her against Mother Nature, imbued by a passion for the outdoors and the kind of space she can only find by leaving the four walls of home.
Three distinct mountain ranges pushed their ways skyward millions of years ago in what is now New England: the Berkshire Mountains, along the western part of Massachusetts, the Green Mountains of Vermont, and the White Mountains, which stretch across most of northern New Hampshire into western Maine and have some of the highest peaks in the eastern U.S.
In the shadows of the White Mountains (and its 48 locations across New Hampshire that reach 4,000-feet) is Waterville Valley, a place Brooks and her family called home most winter weekends beginning in 1995 when she was “a baby.”
“I started skiing when I could walk. The ski programs at Waterville became the daycare for my brother and I so my parents could ski on the weekends.”
“I started skiing when I could walk,” she says. “The ski programs at Waterville became the daycare for my brother and I so my parents could ski on the weekends.”
Away from the more formal instruction, Brooks and her brother, Chase, were told to use their time however they saw fit while their parents stayed on the slopes. The only caveat was the siblings had to be outdoors.
“My parents always framed it as, ‘As a family, we spend time outside. It doesn’t matter if you ski or snowboard or race or just sit outside and drink hot cocoa. The deal is that we spend time outside,’” she recalls.
Chase explains the familial understanding with a bit more bluntness and humor: “I don't remember learning how to ski … I came to consciousness and there were skis on my feet.”
“It wasn’t the lifestyle, it was an expectation,” he adds. “We were always supposed to figure out something productive to do outside.”
[Editor’s note: Chase Brooks handles product development and innovation for Feel Goods, Good Beer Hunting's parent company and creative agency.]
Even now, when the Brooks family has their biannual vacation—one in the winter, one in the summer—her mother Vaune, along with Torey and Chase, typically hit the slopes or dance across a wake on water skis on Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire. The draw to nature, though technically mandated early on, instilled in Brooks a love for sharing the outdoors with others, whether trips with her family or competing against strangers.
Brooks’ time outside wasn’t meant to just be about sports, but that became inevitable when she got very good, very fast. She recalls her first ski races around 6 or 7-years old, with training and competitions across New England and then the country. While chasing wins, Brooks was “consistently fighting to move up in the racing world without a whole lot of glory.”
A demanding schedule eventually got her bounced from public high school: “Too many absences even though I had all A’s,” she laughs. After an unhappy year at a “stereotypical” New England prep school, Brooks moved out west to Steamboat Springs, Colorado where she attended the Lowell Whiteman School (now Steamboat Mountain School) to find an academic program more commensurate to her academic schedule.
Brooks calls herself a “serious” and “elite” skier, but “no superstar.” Still, Lowell Whiteman fit what she needed. The program was small and challenging, but surrounded her with other winter athletes in an environment that was accommodating to the unusual demands necessary for high levels of training. At her peak, she was spending as many as 30-40 hours a week dedicated to skiing—time on hills, weight training, film sessions, or fine tuning equipment. Brooks admits this amount of attention to athletics was not something a “normal school could accommodate.” She had classes in the morning, trained all afternoon, and a tutor accompanied the team when they traveled for competitions. “We made up the rest of our class time in the spring once the season was over in an intensive month of classes,” Brooks says.
Brooks went as far as to compete under the Federation of International Skiing points system, the premier ranking in ski racing, and the same one used on the sport’s World Cup. The wear and tear on her adolescent body resulted in multiple torn ligaments. She had bilateral ACL replacement using her own patellar tendon. In her senior season, she “blew the tendons” in her left knee, but since the other knee was so compromised, the surgeon just fixed both.
With necessary recovery time, Brooks planned to take two gap years. The first would let her rest and rehab. The second would offer the chance to regain a form that had her competing internationally and get the attention of college programs where she could continue her career. But in the 2013-14 season, she blew out her left knee again. Still in training, she hit the slopes in fresh snow, hit a rut, and tore her meniscus, as well as some other ligaments for good measure. That was the end of it.
“Ski racing was important to me, but it wasn’t the only thing,” she says.
In 2014, Brooks enrolled at University of New Hampshire in Durham. A new academic rigor helped shift intensity learned going down a mountain dodging slalom gates into classes on engineering and international affairs. But eventually, that focus shifted from the classroom back outside. Increasingly, rock climbing, hiking, backcountry skiing, and other mountain adventures took up her time. The outdoors were calling again, but in a different way.
“[Exploring New England] gave me the opportunity to not be competitive, to explore other friend groups that weren’t just Type A super competitive athletes, and do other things in the outdoors and just be outside and think to myself, ‘This is what I loved.”
A search on Spotify for music playlists with the term “working out” yields countless results: hip hop, classic rock, and upbeat pop music offer plenty of variations across decades, artists, and how fast someone wants their heart rate to go. When an athlete is trying to crank out those final grueling miles or lift one more rep, this can be the motivation they need. Not Brooks.
“When I’m running or doing what I’m doing in Vermont, I actively choose to not begin my day with headphones in,” she says. “Otherwise I just never really feel like I will get to be present.”
Brooks spent over 300 hours navigating the Catamount Trail, much of it with a musical vow of silence. On the occasion she opted for something to audibly accompany her while she sliced through snowy terrain, Brooks was more likely to listen to audiobooks on Kindle than Katy Perry. Toward the end of each afternoon on the trail, when she felt “physically over it” by 4-5 p.m., this was the immersive experience—and push—she needed. She counts “The Sun is a Compass” by Caroline Van Hemert as a favorite. The book, subtitled “A 4,000 Mile Journey into the Alaskan Wilds,” weaves personal narrative together with science and adventure. The lessons within are some she’s taken to heart.
“[Van Hemert is] so observant about what’s going on around her with the animals and the planet, but in a very observational way and not a judgmental way,” she says. “It’s not like a statement. She makes these parallels in what she sees [in the wild] and talks about events in her own life. It makes you realize that you gain so much perspective in life and how you can approach things when you’re in the outdoors.”
Part of that understanding, when she’s on the face of a rock wall or skiing over a sheet of ice, is knowing the threat of harm that comes from going one-on-one with nature. Surviving the outdoors during athletic competition or recreation is not about outsmarting wildlife or outrunning ominous clouds headed your way. Surviving, in large part, is about humility and luck.
“When you try to [outmaneuver] is generally when you get into trouble,” she says. “Mother Nature will always win. When you need humbling, she will humble.”
“Mother Nature will always win. When you need humbling, she will humble.”
Brooks wants to be active and outdoors for the rest of her life, which means to keep these encounters ongoing there’s a constant examination of risk in activities that have caused her serious injury and even claimed the lives of others. In her mind, it’s an accepted part of evaluating whether to go so fast or climb so high. She calls herself a “low risk person that operates in high risk situations.”
“[Risk assessment] is a constant reflection on your whole life,” she says.
Risk, after all, is a moving scale, highly subjective, and weighted with the risk and reward. Some people drive slightly over the speed limit. Others climb Mount Everest. For the former, getting caught means maybe there’s a speeding ticket; For the latter, mess up and it could be an eternal residency on the Lhotse Face.
Going 300 miles through rough terrain in the winter may seem impossible to an average person, but Brooks says it wasn’t anything she couldn’t manage, whether skiing downhill while towing supplies behind her, hiking across patches of muddy land, or dealing with the elevation changes from one to the other. She says she’s not “a risk-seeking person … despite my choices” which creates its own unique duality.
“It’s crazy to explain to other people what she’s doing,” Chase says. “They’re always like, ‘What the fuck?’ What is she doing? Why?’ “A lot of people worry about her because what she’s doing sounds intense and really hard on the body, but she’s up for it. She’s really good at knowing her limits.”
“A lot of people worry about her because what she’s doing sounds intense and really hard on the body, but she’s up for it. She’s really good at knowing her limits.”
Prodded as to why he feels this way—and what many may see as a normal reaction toward a loved one who puts their body and life at risk—Chase shows an intense belief in his sister.
“She is really good at thriving in the elements,” he says. “She’s naturally driven by self-improvement, and measures herself in isolation.”
Torey’s friend and marketing coordinator at Fischer Sports, Christian Eaton, says that Brooks thrives in what they call the “pain cave,” the time during a rugged adventure where things hurt, but in a way that that hurt becomes something to conquer.
“I have seen her at very high highs, and very low lows,” he says. “I have taken big skiing trips where you’re pushing yourself deep into the pain cave. The way she manages that discomfort, it is no surprise she's able to accomplish all she has accomplished.”
For Fischer Sports, Brooks’ lifestyle and personality provide a perfect balance that shows her as a rounded, personable, and uniquely accessible athlete. These also became reasons for a 2021 ambassador partnership with non-alcoholic beer maker Athletic Brewing. Fischer Sports represents former Olympians, social media influencers, and top-class ski racers, but Eaton says what makes Brooks’ special to have as a representative is the way she carries herself and builds community.
“We wanted an athlete who would represent the brand well, who doesn’t have a big ego,” says Eaton, also a close friend. “When you talk to Torey, you come away thinking, ‘I feel like she’s seeing me and hearing me.’”
Even more, for Brooks, like Eaton, the outdoors community isn’t just about getting outside with your friends. It runs much deeper.
Despite regularly having to consider the sobering threats of bodily harm, the seriousness of Brooks’ time outdoors is buoyed by an authenticity and gregariousness that gives you disarming confidence in her success.
Many people who choose hobbies or careers that are viewed as “extreme” or “dangerous” tend to fall into the generic tableaus of personalities running toward or away from something. “Free Solo” climber Alex Honnold actively seeks the rush of being alone on the face of a cliff; “Into the Wild” protagonist Chris McCandless ran off to Alaska to escape the comforts of modern society. In Brooks’s case, it’s neither.
“I just love seeing wild places,” she says, “especially places that are right under our noses and out of our backdoors. I love how small and insignificant being in the mountains, or deep in the woods can make you feel. [I love] how simple life becomes when your focus is being fully in nature. When you are navigating in these places, you have to really know yourself.”
“I love how small and insignificant being in the mountains, or deep in the woods can make you feel ... how simple life becomes when your focus is being fully in nature. When you are navigating in these places, you have to really know yourself.”
That kind of self-reflection has helped guide Brooks toward people, places, and causes she holds dear, especially related to climate change. For Brooks, nature doesn’t exist to be willed to human needs. Mountains aren’t just for climbing or skiing, but offer a symbiotic relationship. Humans can’t tame those spaces, especially when we’re “just this teeny, tiny, little dot in the world.”
“My biggest pet peeve is when people see the mountain as something to overcome or something to conquer,” Brooks says. She used her time on the Catamount Trail to highlight what’s at stake if others don’t better understand and respect that relationship, hiring a film crew to follow her and tell the story of her trek through the lens of climate change.
Connor Davis, founder of Portland, Maine-based creative agency Eastern Adventure, initially balked at the idea of having a film crew follow Brooks as she skied and hiked along a 317-mile trail. He was persuaded, as he puts it, by the intense pride he had in his home state of Vermont. Davis then worked alongside five outdoor sports companies and environmentally-focused non-profits to secure funding for the endeavor. Eastern Adventure’s three person crew included Davis, film director Ansel Dickey, and videographer Gaelen Kilburn.
Showcasing Brooks’ adventure offered a way to highlight how New England’s outdoor recreation is threatened because of climate change. Davis believes New England is forgotten in conversations about climate change, particularly as it relates to the region’s outdoor culture. As people experience extreme heat, severe weather, and daunting winters, it’s the latter that shows what’s happening in this section of the northeast, where it’s now common to get several “three-foot snow storms” between barely-there wintry precipitation.
“In the northeast, we don’t have a lot of the other indicators of climate change,” Brooks says. “No wildfires. No hurricanes. Just snowmelt. And ticks. Lots of ticks.”
Throughout her Vermont trek, and where cell service allowed, she posted updates to Instagram Stories to share photos and respond to followers who asked questions about climate change. Videos showed her flying downhill, hiking along wet earth damp from melted snow, and camping overnight. The effort is archived in over 50 posts, leading up to the final day. On April 9, Easter Sunday, Brooks reached the end of the Catamount Trail, touching a stone marking the Canadian border. But after hundreds of miles, it wasn’t some dramatic moment. Brooks says she flashed “a goofy smile,” saying aloud, “We did it.”
A week later, she texts a message of how thankful she was “for my body, for my crew and for a new community of people who cheered me on the entire way.”
“I set out on March 5th to see Vermont and how far my legs could take me, all while telling a story and speaking to the importance of environmental protection. This journey was not a statement in pushing myself to my limits (though I do think I got pretty close), but instead of sharing an adventure and personal growth that happens during every mile, every section and every day. That feels a lot bigger than a dramatic finish line moment to me.”
As with most physical triumphs, the ultimate trophy tends to be the intrinsic reward. Carrying a 40-pound sled through backcountry terrain on skis while navigating snow, ice, and mud made “only a few days where it truly felt efficient to move.”
“My biggest win was how well my mind held up,” she says. “I truly expected to have emotional breakdowns, kinda par for the course when you push yourself this hard. But really only had a few singular tears when the conditions were really bad. I never got spooked at night or doubted myself too hard. Even when I faced challenges with conditions or physical limits I felt like I was able to keep a pretty objective view on it.”
Brooks is spinning-off this inspiration for continued roles as an ambassador and climate change advocate through a series of outdoor tasks. They include skiing, climbing, and running “Goals for Good,” like finishing 12 rock climbs above an intermediate level of skill and tracing every trail in southern New Hampshire. Her website, Summit 4 Something, documents her adventures and the organizations for which she undertakes the challenges. Her goal is to raise $100,000 for causes like the Kismet Rock Foundation, which helps provide greater access to the outdoors. Along with these goals, she’s raising money for the Access Fund, which aims for “sustainable access and conservation of the climbing environment,” and has a partnership with Protect Our Winters, a company fueled by the desire to protect the places and outdoors lifestyle from climate change.
“My adventures may be able to draw people in,” she says, “and then begin to pay attention to the environment here in New England from a perspective of someone they can relate to. And then hopefully begin to make their own impact.”
The effort and skill necessary to pull this off is no small feat. Whether running, skiing, or climbing, Brooks is pushing herself as a way to push others, tasking everyone to be more aware of what matters now and even more so in the future. There's a long list of adventure to-dos, with hundreds of miles to explore and mountains to scale to get there. So, for now, on to the next thing.
Words by Matt OsgoodPhotos by Ansel Dickey
