There was something unforgettable about my very first snowmobile ride
The Story of Kelly Jahner-Byrne
I was 9 years old when my best friend, Laure, invited me to go snowmobiling with her family. We rode behind her parents on a trail ride that probably lasted an hour and a half, but to me it felt like freedom, adventure, and pure exhilaration all rolled into one. By the time we got home, I was absolutely hooked. I begged my dad for a snowmobile.
My dad was a carpenter, and my parents didn’t have a lot of extra money. But Dad was resourceful. One day at a job site, he met a man who needed to sell an old sled, and somehow Dad made it happen. That sled became my first love: a 1973 Polaris Colt 295.
I rode that machine for years.
Too small to load it into the back of Dad’s pickup truck, we’d pull right up to a snowbank and load it there. That was all I needed. The second those skis hit the snow, I was gone.
Snowmobiling became more than a hobby—it became a mission. I shoveled snow, did chores, sold things door-to-door, and saved every dollar I could. By around age 11, I had managed to save $300 to buy my very first two-place snowmobile trailer from Hallberg Marine. Dad was pretty shocked when I started calling around comparing trailer prices like a seasoned negotiator.
Back then, my dream sled was a 1979 Polaris Galaxy. I couldn’t afford one, so I kept riding the Colt until Dad eventually sold it. Later, while I was in college, I bought another sled and kept going.
And I never stopped.
Now, as I near 60, I ride a Polaris Switchback XC 850. I still love powder — there’s nothing quite like breaking fresh snow, finding a little speed, and laughing like you’re a teenager again. But I’ve also come to deeply appreciate groomed trails. They allow me to ride all day with my husband, my son, and fellow club members—and still sneak off now and then to carve through powder.
If mountain powder was the only kind of riding available, I probably couldn’t do it anymore. That’s why I’m incredibly grateful for the vast trail systems we have across North America. Those trails have given me decades of adventure, connection, and memories with the people I love most.
The thrill of snowmobiling doesn’t disappear with age.
The body may slow down a little, sure—but the passion doesn’t.
As long as I’m able to ride, I will.
A 130-mile day on the trails still feels like a great day to me. A quick race across a frozen lake and a little powder spray still remind me that there’s plenty of fuel left in this 59-year-old tank.