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Welcome to the Storm’s short-form, news-focused podcast. Don’t worry, I will still write newsletters too. To browse a podcast transcript, click the “transcript” button above - click on any block of text and the audio will jump to that point in the conversation. Paid subscribers can leave a comment in the article below, or by joining The Storm’s chat (also below). I’ll respond to some comments in the next episode, which is scheduled for Monday, Sept. 14.

Stuff referenced in the pod:

The Storm Skiing Journal and Podcast is a reader-supported publication. The only way to interact with the podcast is to upgrade to The Storm’s paid tier. Thank you for supporting independent ski journalism.

Welcome to the Storm’s short-form, news-focused podcast. Don’t worry, I will still write newsletters too (I blasted out this post on Smuggs joining Indy Pass this morning). To browse a podcast transcript, click the “transcript” button above - click on any block of text and the audio will jump to that point in the conversation. Paid subscribers can leave a comment in the article below, or by joining The Storm’s chat (also below). I’ll respond to some comments in the next episode.

Stuff referenced in the pod

Welcome to the Storm’s short-form, news-focused podcast. Don’t worry, I will still write newsletters too. To browse a podcast transcript, click the “transcript” button above - click on any block of text and the audio will jump to that point in the conversation. Paid subscribers can leave a comment below - I’ll respond to some in the next episode. Thank you for supporting independent ski journalism.

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Who

John Kelly, CEO of Taos Ski Valley, New Mexico

Recorded on

November 13, 2025

About Taos Ski Valley

Click here for a mountain stats overview

Owned by: Louis Bacon (since December 2013)

Located in: Taos Ski Valley, New Mexico

Year founded: 1955

Pass affiliations:

* Ikon Pass – 7 days, no blackouts

* Ikon Base Pass – 5 days, holiday blackouts

* Ikon Session Pass – 1-4 days, holiday blackouts

* Mountain Collective – 2 days, no blackouts

* Ski New Mexico True Pass – 2 days, holiday blackouts

Base elevation: 9,350 feet

Summit elevation: 12,450 feet lift-served, 12,481 hike-to

Vertical drop: 3,100 feet lift-served, 3,131 hike-to.

Skiable acres: 1,294 (some hike-to)

Average annual snowfall: 300 inches claimed on website; calculated 36-year average using data sourced from Taos’ 2010 master development plan, Ski New Mexico tallies, and media reports is 233 inches. The 10-year average falls to 166 inches. Here’s the year-by-year breakdown:

Trail count: 110 (24% beginner, 25% intermediate, 51% expert)

Lift count: 13 (1 pulse gondola, 2 high-speed quads, 2 fixed-grip quads, 4 triples, 1 double, 3 carpets)

Why I interviewed him

Let’s start with a superficially troubling number: Taos’ long, steady decline in average annual skier visits:

That doesn’t look so good, especially when laid alongside the long-term increase in national skier visits:

Taos not only declined in the context of national skier visits, but also among its peers. In winter 1983-84, Taos drew more skiers (241,000) than Telluride (132,460), Big Sky (136,000), Jackson Hole (177,000), Whitefish (I’m lacking an estimate for that winter, but the ski area then known as “Big Mountain” logged 209,000 skiers in 1980-81 and 170,581 in 1985-86). Taos (dark blue line below), continued to out-duel this group through about the mid-90s before falling off a cliff:

So what happened? 1995 Taos, a freeride mecca before freeride was cool, should have been perfectly suited to flourish in a cultural moment when skiers began demanding more interesting terrain than the groomed superhighways that had become the industry’s default setting. Sure, Taos was remote and a bit harder to access than, say, Keystone or Park City, but so were Jackson and Whitefish and Big Sky and Telluride. A partial explanation: Taos stopped modernizing. After replacing the Lift 2 double with a fixed-grip quad in 1994, Taos didn’t install another new chairlift for 19 years. The first detachable didn’t arrive until 2018. The resort banned snowboards until 2008. Meanwhile, Big Sky laced a tram to the summit of Lone Peak in 1995 and started pushing detachable quads up the mountain; the first high-speed quads arrived at Telluride in 1986 and Whitefish in 1989.

It’s not a perfect narrative – while Jackson Hole rolled out its short Sublette detach in the mid-90s, the mountain didn’t install an upper-mountain high-speed chairlift until Casper in 2012. Skier visits went up and up and up all that time, probably due in large part to aggressive improvements at the Jackson Hole airport.

Maybe, though, it’s as simple as this: banger snow years descended upon Taos – and New Mexico in general – from the late ‘80s through mid-‘90s. It’s little surprise that attendance ups-and-downs largely mirror snowfall patterns:

But, as the corresponding trendlines show, Taos’ skier visits have not declined at the same rate as the mountain’s average annual snowfall. And while Jackson’s long-term average snowfall has remained relatively constant, attendance has crept steadily upward. Attendance spiked at both mountains when the 2018-19 season brought both plentiful snow and the introduction of the Ikon Pass:

Unfortunately, Taos stopped reporting skier visits after the Covid-shortened 2019-20 season, so we have less concrete insight into whether the mountain’s recent investments in a reconfigured beginner area and a second detachable on the backside have insulated it from two historically poor snow years. This is why it’s nice to have basic visitation data, and why I’m pushing the ski industry to again publicize annual attendance for ski areas occupying public lands (since going live with a chart of 2,406 years of skier visit data for 97 ski areas with 10 or more years of attendance available, I’m up to 2,822 years across 108 ski areas, and I have a total of 3,802 years of data across 184 active U.S. ski areas for which I could find at least one year of attendance).

We do know this: Taos doesn’t want to return to the world of 300,000-plus skier visits. Somewhere between 250,000 and 275,000 is the “right number for the experience we want Taos to have,” Kelly tells us on the pod. Meaning: fewer skiers spread via a modern lift network is a better business than 364,000 skiers funneling onto double chairs. This flips the busiest-equals-best narrative that made skier-visit counts a 20th-century bragging point. I’ve heard the same logic articulated by the leaders of Killington, Waterville Valley, and other ski areas that have created a better business even with fewer skiers on their mountains. Jackson Hole, too, halted its relentless upward surge – that 2020-21 dip was deliberate, as the mountain exited Ikon Base and implemented a reservation system.

This approach makes sense to me. With U.S. skier visits surging (until this year) and an Ikon or Epic pass in every pocket, no one wants to brag about being busy anymore. Space is the new volume. Social media can still transform one bad liftline into an eternal meme, but at least most skiers on the ground will have a better day most of the time than they probably would have 30 years ago.

What doesn’t make sense to me is why, in a less-is-more era, ski area operators have suddenly decided that skier visits should be guarded like Fort Knox. If fewer skiers is a good thing and a stated goal, why hide the numbers? The resorts ought to just say “Hey we’ve deliberately reduced our annual skier count from 300,000 to 250,000 [or whatever] to create a better mountain for you.” Instead, this secrecy around volume just looks cagey - if national skier visit numbers are up, then why should skiers just believe ski areas when they say “trust us, it’s better now,” and offer no data to support it? Perception is reality, and today’s skiing zeitgeist, as channeled by social media, tells us that American skiers perceive busier mountains today than they did a decade ago.

But I’m getting off track. Since Louis Bacon bought Taos in 2013, he’s funded an almost-complete renovation of what had become America’s most decrepit destination ski resort. I don’t think any mountain operating on U.S. Forest Service lands has more completely remade itself in the past decade (rapidly changing Big Sky, Deer Valley, and Powder Mountain operate on private property). Glimmering new but reset to 1970s volume, Taos is beautifully positioned to tap a skiing public that’s burned-out on Colorado and Utah crowds but accustomed to modern lifts and snowmaking.

What we talked about

Taos as a family ski mountain; last winter’s Chair 7 upgrade and custom terminals; owner Louis Bacon’s mission to “improve everything without changing a thing”; why Taos changed from Skytrac to parent company Leitner-Poma for its newer lifts; Taos’ great base-area reorganization; the story behind the Free Tacos run; a green run from the top of every lift other than the fierce Kachina triple; Taos’ massive evolution since 2015; whether the mountain is committed to long-term independence; the founding Blake family’s legacy and presence at Taos today; executing rapid development on Forest Service land; [VIDEO BONUS: Cat photobombing]; running Taos with the context of having worked at also-independent Telluride; becoming a skier growing up in Nashville, Tennessee; Telluride’s evolution from semi-affordable to gigantic housing puzzle; employee housing at Taos; the logic behind the proposed base-to-base gondola and navigating local opposition; thoughts on the evolution of lifts 2 and 8; preserving parts of the hike-to ski experience; Taos’ evolution after the Kachina Peak lift; lift 7A; the Minnesotas glades from the masterplan; avalanche mitigation; old-school boot-packing; parking lot evolutions; an ideal annual skier visit number and why that number is below historic highs; and getting to Taos.

What I got wrong

* When we discuss the wood-paneled terminals on Taos’ new Lift 7, I ask if they’re thematically related to the “wood RFID gates.” This is a reference to an earlier conversation that I cut, about Taos finally installing RFID for the 2025-26 ski season (the gates carry a wood theme).

* I said that the trees skier’s left of the Pioneer chair were not a named run, but they in fact are, and “Free Tacos” has a pretty awesome story behind it.

* I accidentally asked Kelly to, “lay out the housing landscape for Telluride” but meant to say “Taos.” I didn’t catch this in real time, but Kelly – who spent several years at Telluride before moving to Taos in 2015 – caught it and course-corrected.

Questions I wished I’d asked

Taos’ 2010 USFS masterplan proposed a 7,045-foot-long, 2,363-vertical-foot detach quad that would have run parallel to Lift 1 to the top of Lift 2:

We did, however, discuss the proposed 545-vertical-foot, 991-foot-long Ridge Lift off of Lift 8, and why Taos nixed that machine from its latest MDP:

Why you should (or shouldn’t) ski Taos

Taos, like Jackson Hole or Snowbird or Palisades Tahoe, has a toughguy reputation. The place ripples with hike-to chutes and glades. To calm visitors shocked by the vertical bump run rocketing skyward beneath Chair 1, Taos to erected this base-area sign decades ago:

The sign refers to the infamous Al’s Run, which typically ripples with moguls, but was closed on my last visit, in March 2025 (Lift 1 was open):

Taos certainly has plenty of nasty. The terrain ripping off the Kachina Peak triple is among the steepest inbounds terrain I’m aware of in America.

But what shocked me about the place was how approachable it was for my then-8-year-old son, a solid but very intermediate skier. Every chair other than Kachina offers a top-to-bottom green – and some mostly mellow blues – making Taos one of the better family mountains in America.

A lot of the solid-black terrain sits above the lifts, and requires a short, easy hike. If you’ve ever humped up Catherine’s at Alta or Spanky’s Ladder on Blackcomb, the ascent off of Lift 2 over to Highline Ridge or West Basin Ridge isn’t much longer, and it flattens out considerably after the short incline. Unlike East Wall at A-Basin or Highlands Bowl at Aspen Highlands, this is hike-up terrain that’s approachable for people who (like me), live at sea level and only like going up the mountain on machines. The runs are steep, and solo missions are discouraged, but the easy-in and proximity to lifts means a strong skier could reasonably expect to tuck a half-dozen hike-up laps into an afternoon. Here I am huffing and puffing right off Chair 2:

Dang those trees are steep even right off the jump. Crunch crunch crunch:

Go up a bit higher, and things get Lord of The Rings pretty fast:

Taos’ only real buyer-beware statistic is its insane base elevation of 9,350 feet, which makes everything, especially sleep, a bit more challenging. That altitude is actually a bit lower than the bases at Copper (9,712) or Breck (9,600). I start to have trouble functioning around 8,000 feet, which is the Vail (8,120), Snowmass (8,110), Snowbird (7,760), and Mammoth (7,953) range. So maybe see how you do at one of those burners before leveling up above 9,000 feet. Or at least arrive knowing that Taos will try punching you in the face. Hydrate and lay off the beer bongs for a day or two. You’ll be fine.

Podcast Notes

On Stadeli lifts

We’ve got 16 of these guys left across 10 U.S. ski areas, including Lift 7A at Taos:

On the character of old chairlifts

I wrote last year that U.S. ski lifts’ overall design aesthetic has deteriorated with the decline in number of manufacturers and a tacit emphasis on technology over beauty.

And I love old Riblets and Halls and Yans, but sentimentalism that locks skiing in a time capsule ultimately stalls long-term growth and invites disaster-by-disintegration. Rather than fight to live in a museum, I’ve adopted a quest mentality to ride as many of these dinosaurs as I can before they go extinct:

On Taos’ base-area fliparound

On Taos’ current masterplan

Here’s the conceptual overview of Taos’ 2021 U.S. Forest Service master development plan:

The major unrealized part of this is the base-to-base gondola - here’s the most recent plan for that lift:

On “class A avalanche mountains” with more than 200 slidepaths

Kelly mentioned that Taos’ more than 200 slidepaths earn it the designation of a Class A avalanche mountain. I of course went looking for a list of U.S. ski areas so classified, and of course did not find one. In a rare exercise in self-restraint, however, I also did not create one. A quick Google search suggests that that such a list would include Alta, Kirkwood, and Stevens Pass alongside Taos. I would also assume that Alpine Meadows, Palisades, Mammoth, Snowbird, Big Sky, Silverton, and Crested Butte are among the most avy prone. That is not a complete list or an attempt at one so please don’t write that I “forgot about” some particularly avalanche-prone mountain that I’m not trying very hard to remember.

On The Storm’s first Taos podcast

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Who

Dan Skelton, President and Chief Operating Officer of Blue Mountain, Ontario

Recorded on

October 27, 2025

About Blue Mountain, Ontario

Click here for a mountain stats overview

Owned by: Alterra Mountain Company

Located in: The Blue Mountains, Ontario, Canada

Year founded: 1941

Pass affiliations: Unlimited on Ikon and Ikon Base

Base elevation: 229 feet/750 meters

Summit elevation: 1,480 feet/451 meters

Vertical drop: 730 feet/223 meters

Skiable acres: 364 acres/147 hectares

Average annual snowfall: 154 inches/391 centimeters

Trail count: 43

Lift count: 11 (5 six-packs, 1 fixed-grip quad, 1 triple, 4 carpets – view Lift Blog’s inventory of Blue Mountain, Ontario’s lift fleet)

Why I interviewed him: A Very Dumb Story About a Very Dumb Person, Volume I

In the winter of 1995-96, I developed Vertical Fever, a syndrome in which the afflicted believes, in a way that is beyond reason and immune from contrary arguments, that the skiing will be better if the ski hill is taller.

This was a problem. Because in 1995, I lived, as I had all my life up to that point, in Michigan. Specifically, Sanford, a flat town in a flat county in what may be the flattest region of the country, the Tri-Cities area of Michigan’s Lower Peninsula. Fortunately for a skier, Michigan is cold and full of ski areas. Unfortunately, these ski areas are small or short or both. The tallest of the 33 ski areas inventoried on the 1995 Michigan Downhill Skiing Guide is Boyne Highlands, which then and today promotes a probably made-up vertical drop of 550 feet. Right across the street was 427-vertical-foot Nub’s Nob, one of six Lower Peninsula ski areas to exceed 400 vertical, along with Caberfae (485 feet), Shanty Creek Schuss Mountain (450 feet), Sugar Loaf (500 feet), and Boyne Mountain (495 feet).

I’d skied all of these and I’d skied them all many times since my first real ski season, which was the previous winter, 1994-95. But once I’d stopped summersaulting down the hill and learned to carve and to land jumps, I grew bored. Skiing in 1995 was not like skiing in 2026. Terrain parks were rare and, anyway, off limits to skiers. Jumping was forbidden. There were signs all over saying so. Everything was groomed and everything was about carving turns, even though grooming was inconsistent and the shaped skis that would transform the average skier into a carver were years away from mass market distribution.

So I scoured maps and guidebooks for ski areas of any size in any direction that I could reasonably drive to. To the south lay Ohio and Indiana. Useless. To the north, at the far western end of the Upper Peninsula, lay several 600-ish footers (Mount Bohemia did not open until 2000), but Michigan is a deceptively large state made larger by the inconvenience of driving around gigantic lakes – those UP ski areas were 10 hours away. But also to the north, east instead of west and just over the Canadian border, lay Searchmont: 750 vertical feet of ungladed bananas skiing, with little cliffs and rocks and glades all over. It was a glorious real-life validation of the less-stuffy Canadian ski-area management culture that I’d read about in Skiing and Powder. And it was only a four-hour drive each way, an easy daytrip on the cruise-control-empty interstates of northern Michigan. This is what a Canadian 700-plus-footer is like, I decided, and I searched for more of them.

That’s when I became obsessed with Blue Mountain, this mysterious guidebook mapdot floating south of Lake Huron. Stat-line, as listed in contemporary guide books: 720 vertical feet, 13 chairlifts and two T-bars, 920 skiable acres (this was, um, not accurate). A Midwest hack, a backdoor to a secret mini-New England unknown to Michiganders. As with Searchmont, I would rise at 4 and arrive by lifts-on and soar all day among the woodsy wide-open drop-step terrain of Ontario yahoo skiing.

Yeah it didn’t work out like that. The first time I tried to drive to Blue Mountain, I wound up at Mount Brighton, 273 miles away in Southeast Michigan. A blizzard had forced course correction to a more achievable destination. But the second time, I made it. Here’s how it went, per a journal entry I wrote few days later:

Monday, March 25th, 1996 – 11:53 p.m.

Let’s just call Friday the day that didn’t quite flow. In fact, it didn’t flow like no day on skis ever hasn’t. First off, I only slept four hours. Normally , I wouldn’t give a f**k, but that was directly following three hours the night before, which didn’t help my status in an already exhausting week. Then there was the drive. I figured four, maybe five hours at the most, 250 miles, give or take. Wrong. I only realized this somewhere well over the Canadian border. Six hours, 350 miles. Then there’s the mountain.

I knew Blue was big, but I was not, I’ll admit, in any way, shape, or form prepared for what I found Friday. The place is enormous by Midwest standards, though not as mammoth as I’d originally thought coming up the road, scoping out the two private resorts. Notice I said “enormous,” not necessarily “good.” Which is sad, cause, for one thing, they’re trying pretty hard to make a good hill, and, #2, I drove a long f****n’ way to get there. The whole thing bore a striking resemblance to western skiing – enormous base lodges, hugely wide runs, high-speed chairs. Which I suppose makes it ideal for families. Then there’s the fifty miles or so of safety fence, zero ungroomed runs, and as many jumps as a Fat Albert convention. This, I surmise, makes it extremely unideal for Stuarts. In fact, I really didn’t enjoy it at all. It was bland, repetitive, and almost sickening in its nature. I was tired, pissed, and lonely. The highlight of the day was jumping off the cornice which was the subject of much inner conflict. But I did it, and I’m glad, and then I drove home, and I’m glad for that too.

I only skied four-and-a-half hours. My ticket was good til’ ten, but I considered a lot of things. For starters, it only cost me twenty bucks; second, I told Clint I was gonna make it a point to get out of there by four [to hang out], so I sorta tried; third, I’d skied the whole f****n’ place anyhow, and I really didn’t feel like getting home at four AM. It’s not like I didn’t ski well, cause I was actually carving and reacting magnificently (to the terrain, not the carving). I was fluid, but I needed more variety, and they just didn’t deliver.

It would have been nice to have the internet in 1996 (it existed, but almost no one used it, partly because there was almost nothing on it, including driving directions, maps, or trailmaps).

Great endorsement of Blue Mountain, Stu. You managed to convince people not to go and make the people who do ski there feel bad about it all at once. Slow clap for aggressive transparency.

But my message here is hardly “Blue Mountain sucks don’t go.” Blue Mountain is, as it was 30 years ago, exactly what it needs to be: a rapid-fire lap machine optimized to provide a consistent ski experience to the residents of Canada’s densest metro area, Toronto. Blue is, historically and probably still, the third-busiest ski area in Canada after Tremblant and Whistler. It is a low-altitude, variable-weather, high-volume business tasked with the twin burdens of being the sole public outpost for recreational skiing in a ridgeline of upscale private clubs and being a profitable enterprise. It is, from a dollar-generating and Ikon Pass-dispersal-to-the-West point of view, probably one of Alterra’s most important ski areas.

The problem, then, is not that every ski area isn’t like Searchmont. The problem is that, in 1996, I thought every ski area should be like Searchmont. It was like walking into a pizza parlor and complaining that they didn’t sell tacos. I was young and dumb, and it didn’t occur to me until arrival that a 700-ish-vertical-foot ski area dangling off the far eastern end of the Lake Superior wilderness (Searchmont), would, by custom and by necessity, offer a far different ski experience than a 700-ish-vertical-foot satellite orbiting metro Toronto (Blue). I thought every ski area should be for me and for people like me, like the people I read about in ski magazines who toured B.C. in rusty pickup trucks and never took bathroom breaks and who viewed skiing as a constant level-up challenge.

Thirty years later, I view Blue Mountain differently, for two reasons. The first is that I’m sure that Blue, like nearly all North American ski areas, is a more interesting mountain in 2026 than it was in 1996. Freeski culture and snowboarding really did loosen up skiing’s stodgier tendencies, most visibly with the widespread building of come-one-come-all terrain parks. The second is that I no longer approach ski areas by asking if they are the best possible experience for me, but if they are the best possible version of themselves for the demographic of skiers who are most likely to ski there. And with Blue – which I will admit, I never visited again - the answer appears to be, always and ever upward, yes.

What we talked about

Oh Ontario; being a Canadian ski area owned by a U.S. company; “one of the beauties of being part of Alterra is our emphasis on honoring and preserving the uniqueness of each resort and each mountain community”; Blue Mountain’s Reserve Pass; fixing up Blue’s disordered lift mazes; growing up at the base of Blue Mountain; the amazing evolution of ski area technology; Blue’s wacky, charismatic founder; preserving the mountain’s independent character after it’s been absorbed by a conglomerate; Blue in the ‘70s; building Blue’s snowmaking system; big leaps forward in snowmaking during the 1990s; the rise of HKD; Alterra’s point of view on snowmaking; the hit-or-miss Lake Huron and Georgian Bay lake-effect snowbelts; snowmaking in the era of climate change; how snow-depth technology impacts snowmaking volumes; living through the transition from independence to Intrawest and ultimately to Alterra; how the village transformed Blue; “we come to the table scrappy, inventive, entrepreneurial” to this company of mega-resort destinations; the impact of the Ikon Pass; Blue’s amazing lift fleet and how the six-pack became the mountain’s workhorse; building chairlifts in-house; 15,000 skiers on Blue’s busiest days; “we’re not going to cut any new trails, so we gotta squeeze every little bit out and make sure we have a balanced experience”; whether Blue could upgrade to an eight-place lift; operating as the only substantial public ski area amid a huge number of private ski areas; and Blue’s history owning and operating the neighboring Georgian Peaks ski area.

What I got wrong

I mentioned that HKD President Charles Santry had told the same side of a story that Skelton shared on a previous podcast recording, which he had. The problem is that as of now, I still haven’t released that pod with Santry. Stand by.

Podcast Notes

On Intrawest

A brief history of Intrawest:

On “Rusty” in the Alterra/Ikon transition

Skelton was referring to Rusty Gregory, Alterra CEO from 2018 to ’22.

On Blue’s 1980 trailmap

The Storm explores the world of lift-served skiing year-round. Join us.

Who

Tim Smith, President and General Manager of Waterville Valley, New Hampshire

Recorded on

November 12, 2025

About Waterville Valley

Click here for a mountain stats overview

Owned by: The Sununu Family

Located in: Waterville Valley, New Hampshire

Year founded: 1966

Pass affiliations:

* Indy Pass, Indy+ Pass: 2 days, no blackouts

* White Mountain Super Pass: unlimited, no blackouts

* Indy Learn-to-Turn: 3 days, includes rentals, lesson, lift ticket; limited lift access

* Ski New Hampshire Kids Passport: 1 day with holiday blackouts

* Uphill New England: no lift access

Base elevation: 1,984 feet (highest in New Hampshire, 3rd in New England)

Summit elevation: 4,004 feet (2nd-highest in New Hampshire, 5th in New England)

Vertical drop: 2,020 feet (4th-highest in New Hampshire, 14th in New England)

Skiable acres: 265

Average annual snowfall: 148 inches

Trail count: 62 (14% novice, 64% intermediate, 22% advanced)

Lift count: 10 (1 six-pack, 1 high-speed quad, 2 triples, 2 doubles, 2 T-bars, 2 carpets)

Why I interviewed him

Well no one wants to hear this but we got to $300 lift tickets the same way we got to $80,000 pickup trucks. We’re Americans Goddamnit and we just can’t do stickshifts and we sure as s**t ain’t standin’ up on our skis to ride back up the mountain. It’s pure agony you see. We need us a nine-pack chairlift with a bubble and a breakroom and a minibar and surround sound and Lazy-Boy seats and hell no we ain’t ridin’ it with eight strangers we’ll hold back and take a whole chair to our ownselves. And it needs to move fast, Son. Like embarrass-the-Concord fast because God help us we spend more than 90 seconds with our own thoughts.

I’m not aiming to get kicked out of America here, but if I may submit a few requests regarding our self-inflicted false price floors. I would like the option of purchasing a brand-new car with a manual transmission and windows rolled up and down with a hand-crank. I would like to keep pedaling my bicycle. I would like to cut the number of holidays with commercial mandates by 80 percent. I would prefer that we not set the air-conditioners to 60 when it’s 65 degrees outside. This doesn’t mean I want to get rid of all the air-conditioners but could we maybe take it easy on the frostbite-in-July overkill of it all?

My Heretic Wishlist for American Skiing includes but is not limited to: more surface lifts, especially to serve terrain parks, high-altitude exposed terrain, and expert pods; on-resort lodging that does not still require a commute-by-personal-vehicle to reach the lifts; and thoughtful terrain management that retains ungroomed sections for skiers who like things about skiing other than going fast.

Waterville Valley is doing all of these things. It is perhaps the only major American ski area in decades to replace a chairlift with a surface lift on a non-beginner terrain pod, and the only one to build two new T-bars this century. A planned gondola would connect Waterville Valley the town with Waterville Valley the ski area, correcting an only-in-America setup that separates these inseparable places by two miles of road. The glade network grows annually in both subtle and obvious ways.

This is not a ski area going in reverse. Waterville is modern and keeps modernizing. The four-year-old Tecumseh bubble six-pack, though bookended with T-bars, is one of the nicest chairlifts in America. Skiers still go groomer-kaboom on morning cord. Suburban office-park dads with interstate commutes and a habit of lecturing the Facebook Commons about the virtues of snow tires can still park their 42-wheel-drive Abrams-Caterpillar-F-15,000 Tanktruck in sub-parking lot 42Z and walk uphill to the lifts. But Waterville Valley is one of a handful of American ski areas, along with Killington and Deer Valley and Winter Park, that is embracing all of our luxe cultural excesses while pursuing the very un-American ambition of putting more skiers close to skiing.

No ski area is perfect. For all the cash saved on those T-bars, peak-day Waterville lift tickets still hit $145. The mountain’s season pass is the second-most expensive single-mountain season passes in New England – more than a top-line Epic Pass (an adult WV pass includes a free pass for a kid age 6 to 12, which is great if you have one of those). That’s bold pricing for the 22nd-largest ski area in New England, especially one that still spins three Stadeli chairlifts that predate the extinction of the dinosaurs. And two high-speed chairlifts is not a lot of high-speed chairlifts for a 2,000-vertical-foot ski area (though about half of New England’s 2,000-footers run just two or fewer detaches).

Yeah I know. Sick burn from someone who was waxing about surface lifts four paragraphs ago. I may have collected too many ski area Lego blocks in my mental bucket, and they don’t always click together back here on planet Earth. “More villages,” I say while dismissing Aspen as a subsidized simulacrum of itself. “Big fast lifts rule,” I say while setting off fire alarms as first-generation chairlifts disintegrate and the cost of their most basic replacements escalates. “No-grooming, all-glades makes the best ski area,” I say, while condemning resort operators for $356 lift tickets that dam the masses. “Vail is too expensive,” I say. “Vail is too cheap,” I also say. “Modernize our chairlifts,” I say while celebrating the joy of riding an antique Riblet double. I endorse ski areas splitting off from conglomerates and ski areas joining them. These narratives can feel contradictory at best and schizophrenic at worst.

But that tension is part of what draws me to lift-served ski areas, where two things central to my worldview – wild nature and human invention – merge. Or perhaps more accurately, collide. Both forces act at all times not only to extinguish one another, but themselves: above-freezing temps trash two feet of new snow; bad liftline management cancels out the capacity benefits of a $12 million lift upgrade. Making a ski area function, then, requires continual tweaking, of both the nuanced and look-at-us-press-release variety. A ski area is a business, sure, but that’s almost a coincidence. The act of building and running a ski area is foremost an art, architecture, and engineering project that requires a somewhat madcap conductor to succeed.

As with any artform, there is no one correct and final way to build a ski area. The variety is central to skiing’s appeal. But there are operator/artist attributes - flexibility, inventiveness, consistency tempered by openness to change - that contribute to the overall quality and cohesion of the individual ski area experience in the context of competing ski areas. In the current version of Waterville Valley, we find one of our best contemporary examples of a ski area evolving toward the best version of itself under the stewardship of owners and managers possessing exactly these traits.

What we talked about

The return of World Cup training and events to Waterville; drifting away from and back toward freeskiing culture; the best terrain parks in New England; why terrain parks are drifting away from mega-features; what happened to all the halfpipes?; and ramps?; no really no one wore helmets in the ‘90s; building terrain parks before institutional knowledge and the internet; the lost Hidden Valley, Wisconsin ski area; the rise of the high-speed ropetow; why Waterville replaced one T-bar and one Poma with a new T-bar (rather than a chairlift); why Waterville installed night skiing; the return of the Exhibition terrain park; self-installing the World Cup T-bar; Waterville’s ops blog; why the Tecumseh Express sixer needed new bubbles after just a couple of seasons; why bubbles cost so much and how Waterville manufactured a less expensive one; Tecumseh’s incredible wind resistance; MND lifts as an alternative to the two large U.S.-based lift manufacturers; a chairlift’s “infancy” and how different 2020s lift technology is from early detachable tech; how Waterville’s masterplan would reorient the mountain and skier traffic with an expansion and new lifts; Waterville’s declining skier visits and whether that’s a bad thing; how the resort’s 1994 bankruptcy changed Waterville’s trajectory; what stoked the Green Peak expansion; “we’ve been on a track to try to rebuild that energy we saw in the 1990s”; why Waterville turned away from discounting; “the right quantity of skiers on the right amount of surface”; building more terrain diversity; and a gondola connection from town to mountain.

Should someone tell them they’re running it backwards? Video by Stuart Winchester.

What I got wrong

* I said that the “High Country double chair was still standing” – what I meant was that parts of it were still in place. The top terminal remains, sans bullwheel, and the base terminal and motor room remain as a patrol shack:

* I said that Waterville hadn’t been known for terrain parks until recently, but Smith recalled that the ski area was more freestyle-centric from the ‘70s through the ‘90s, before pulling back during the first part of this century.

* I said that 1,100 skiers per hour was “a little less than what a double chair would move,” thinking standard capacity for a double was 1,200 per hour. Smith says it is 900. Exact capacity varies from lift-to-lift, however. Lift Blog itemizes hourly capacities of between 800 and 1,200 for four of Smugglers’ Notch’s double chairs, between 1,000 and 1,200 for four of Mt. Spokane’s fleet of Riblet doubles, and 1,000 for Waterville’s Lower Meadows double. We all know, however, that the hourly capacity for a double chair is however many people are in line minus the number not paying attention minus singles who refuse to ride with anyone. So I don’t know maybe 50.

Podcast Notes

On other mentioned podcasts

* World Cup competition returning to Sun Valley:

* Heavenly backing out of mega-parks features:

* Killington and the cost of bubbles:

* Waterville part 1, from 2021:

On Partek and each lift being different

On Waterville’s ownership history

Founder Tom Corcoran owned Waterville Valley from 1966 until 1994, when he sold to American Skiing Company (ASC) antecedent S-K-I. The feds made ASC dispense with Waterville and Cranmore when they merged with LBO Enterprises in 1996. Booth Creek (more on them below), bought the ski area and held it until 2010, when they sold it to the Sununu family. This makes Waterville one of just a handful of ski areas to ever enter a multi-mountain pass portfolio and then exit to independence - though Killington and Ragged recently did exactly that, and Eldora may follow.

On Mt. Holiday, Michigan

This is just a little 200-footer, but it’s still around on the outskirts of Traverse City, Michigan:

That trailmap doesn’t really communicate the ski area’s essence. A little better are these pics I took on a summertime swing-through a few years back:

I never skied there though, always preferring the far-larger Sugar Loaf, right down the road (which Smith and I also discussed):

Until it was abandoned around 2000, this was one of the better ski areas in Michigan’s Lower Peninsula. After a succession of owners - one of whom stripped all the chairlifts off the bump - failed to bring skiing back, the Leelanau Conservancy recently took ownership of the property. Skiing will return as an officially sanctioned activity, though unfortunately without a lift or snowmaking. I would have at least liked to have seen a ropetow. Here’s their vision:

On midwestskier.com

Yes, Kids, the internet really did used to look like this:

On Hidden Valley, Wisconsin

Here’s a little ski hill that didn’t make it. Smith spent time at Hidden Valley, Wisconsin, which opened in 1956 and closed forever in 2013. The chairlift appears to have been moved to nearby, county-run Kewaunee Winter Park, where it awaits installation.

On high-speed ropetows

I am a huge fan of high-speed ropetows, which are a cheap and effective means to isolate users of terrain parks or other specialized, intensive-use zones from the broader ski area. Here’s one at Spirit Mountain, Minnesota in 2023 (video by Stuart Winchester):

On Waterville Valley’s masterplan

This is perhaps the best angle of how Waterville’s expansion would connect the legacy trail network to the town:

Here’s the Forest Service masterplan slide:

Neither of these images, however, show how the gondola would eventually connect down into town, which is the crucial element of transforming Waterville Valley from a ski-area-that-says-it’s-a-ski-resort into an actual ski resort. Here’s a look at that connection:

Waterville set up an excellent microsite detailing the hoped-for evolution.

On Booth Creek

At the mid-90s height of American Skiing Company dominance, a former Vail executive assembled a cross-country ski area portfolio with ambitions of creating a hub-and-spoke network:

Booth Creek ultimately sold off most of its properties, but still own Sierra-at-Tahoe. Grand Targhee GM Geordie Gillett was involved in the whole saga and broke it down for us in 2024:

On Waterville going from one of the oldest lift fleets in New England to one of the most modern

While Waterville runs some of the last Stadeli lifts in America (I count 16), the ski area has modernized extensively over the past decade:

On U.S. Forest Service ski areas in the East

Most (109) of the 119 active U.S. ski areas on United States Forest Service leases sit in the West; two are in the Midwest, and eight are in the East: Bromley, Mount Snow, and Sugarbush, Vermont; Waterville Valley, Loon, Attitash, and Wildcat, New Hampshire; and Timberline, West Virginia. None, as far as I know, sit entirely within the boundaries of a national forest, but even partial overlap triggers the requirement to submit an updated masterplan each decade.

The Storm explores the world of lift-served skiing year-round. Join us.

Who

Susan Cross, Vice President of Operations at Aspen Skiing Company (and former Mountain Manager of Snowmass)

Recorded on

November 14, 2025 - which was well before I traveled to Snowmass and chased Cross around a bit in the pow. There she is tiny in the distance:

About Aspen Skiing Company

Aspen Skiing Company (Skico) is part of something called Aspen One. Don’t ask me what that is because even though they rolled it out two years ago I still have no idea what they’re talking about. All I know or care about is that they own four ski areas and here is what I know about them:

Don’t be fooled by the scale of the map above - at 3,342 acres, Snowmass is larger than Aspen Mountain, Buttermilk, and Aspen Highlands combined. The monster 4,400-foot vert means these lifts are massively shrunken to fit the map - Snowmass operates three of the 10 longest chairlifts in America, and seven chairlifts over one mile long:

You can’t ski or ride a lift between the four mountains, but free shuttles connect them all. Aspen Mountain, Highlands, and Buttermilk are all bunched together near town, and Snowmass is a short drive (15 to 20 minutes if traffic is clear and dependent upon which base area you want to hit):

Why I interviewed her

American ski areas will often re-use chairlifts or snowcats that other operators have outgrown. Aspen Mountain re-used a whole town.

In 1879, Aspen the city didn’t exist, and by 1890 more than 5,000 people lived there. They came for silver, not snow. In less than a decade they laid out the Victorian street grid of brick and wood-framed buildings using hand tools and horses, with the Roaring Fork River as their supply road.

Aspen’s population collapsed in the economic depressions of the 1890s and didn’t rebound to 5,000 for 100 years. The 1940 Census counted 777 residents. That was 16 years before the first chairlift rose up Ajax, a perfect ski mountain above an intact but semi-abandoned town made pointless by history.

It was an amazing coincidence, really. Americans would never build a ski town on purpose. That’s where the parking lots go. But hey it all worked out: Aspen evolved into a ski town that offset its European walk-to-the-chairlifts sensibility with a hard-coded American refusal to expand the historic street grid in favor of protectionism and mansion-building. The contemporary result is one of the world’s most expensive real estate markets cosplaying as a quaint ski town, a lively and walkable mixed-use community of the sort that we idealize but refuse to build more of. Aspen’s population is now around 7,000, most of whom live there by benefit of longevity, subsidy, inheritance, or extreme wealth. The city’s median household income is just over $50,000. The median home price is $9.5 million. Anyone clinging to the illusion that Aspen is an actual ski town should consider that it took 25 years to approve and build the Hero’s chairlift. Imagine what the fellows who built this whole city in half a decade without the benefit of electricity or cement trucks or paved roads would make of that.

The illusory city, however, is a dynamic separate from the skiing. Aspen, despite its somewhat dated lift fleet, remains one of America’s best small ski mountains. But it is small, and, with no green terrain and barely any blues, the ski area lacks the substance and scale to draw tourists west of Summit County and Vail.

Sister mountain Snowmass does that. And while Snowmass did not benefit from an already-built town at its base, it did benefit from not having one, in that the mountain could evolve with a purpose and speed that Ajax, boxed in by geography and politics, never could. Snowmass has built 13 new aerial lifts this century, including the two-station, mountain-redefining Elk Camp Gondola; the Village Express six-pack, which is the fourth-longest chairlift in America; and, in just the past two years, a considerably lengthened Coney high-speed quad and a new six-pack to replace the Elk Camp chairlift.

I’ve focused on Aspen’s story a bit over the years (including this 2021 podcast with former Skico CEO Mike Kaplan), but probably not enough. The four Aspen mountains are some of the most important in American skiing, even if visitation doesn’t quite match their status as skiing word-association champion among non-skiers (more on that below). Aspen, a leader not just in skiing but in housing, the environment, and culture, carries narrative heft, and the company’s status as favored property of Alterra part-owner Henry Crown hints at deeper influence than Skico likely takes credit for.

Aspen, like Big Sky and Deer Valley and Sun Valley, is rapidly emerging as one of the new titans of American skiing, unleashing a modernization drive that should lead, as Cross says in our conversation, to an average of at least one new lift per year across the portfolio. Snowmass’ 2023 U.S. Forest Service masterplan envisions a fully modern mountain with snowmaking to the summit. Necessary and exciting as that all is, forthcoming updates to the dated masterplans at Aspen Highlands (2013) and Buttermilk (2008), could, Skico officials tell me, offer a complete rethinking of what Aspen-Snowmass is and how the ski areas orbit one another as a unit.

And they do need to rethink the whole package. Challenging Skico’s pre-eminence in the Circle of American Ski Gods are many obstacles, including but not limited to: an address that’s just a bit remote for Denver to bother with or tourists to comprehend; a rinky-dink airport that can’t land a paper plane; an only-come-if-you-have-nine-houses rap on the affordability matrix; a toxic combination of one of America’s most expensive season passes and most expensive walk-up lift tickets; and national pass partners who do a poor job making it clear that Aspen is not one ski area but four.

A lot to overcome, but I think they’ll figure it out. The skiing is too good not to.

What we talked about

“I thought I had found Heaven” upon arrival in Aspen; Aspen in the 1990s; $200 a month to live in Carbondale; “as soon as you go up on the lifts, the mountain hasn’t changed”; when Skico purchased formerly independent Aspen Highlands; Highlands pre-detachable lifts; four ski areas working (and not), as one ski resort; why there is “minimal sharing” of employees between the four mountains; why “two winter seasons, and then I was going back to Boston” didn’t quite work out; why “total guilt sets in” if Cross misses a day of skiing and how she “deliberately” makes “at least a couple of runs” happen every day of the winter and encourages everyone else to do the same; Long Shot in the morning; the four pods of Snowmass; why tourists tend to lock onto one section of the mountain; “a lot of people don’t realize their lift ticket is good for the four mountains”; “there’s plenty of room to spread out and have a blast” even at busy Snowmass; defining the four mountains without typecasting them; no seriously there are no green runs on Aspen Mountain; the new Elk Camp six-pack; why Elk Camp doesn’t terminate at the top of Burnt Mountain; why Elk Camp doesn’t have the fancy carriers that came with 2024’s new Coney Express lift; why Snowmass opted not to add bubbles to its six-packs; how Coney Express changed how skiers use Snowmass; why Coney is a quad rather than a six; why skiers can’t unload at the Coney Express mid-station (and couldn’t load last season); how Coney ended up with a mid-station and two bends along the liftline; the hazards of bending chairlifts and lessons learned from Alta’s Supreme debacle; why Snowmass replaced the Cirque Poma with a T-bar (and not a chairlift); which mountain purchased the old Poma; Aspen’s history of selling lifts and how the old Elk Camp wound up at Powderhorn ski area; where Skico had considered moving the Elk Camp quad; “we want everybody to stay in business”; why Snowmass didn’t sell or relocate the Coney Glade lift; prioritizing future chairlift upgrades; the debate over whether to replace Elk Camp or Alpine Springs first, and why Elk Camp won; “what we’re trying to do is at least one lift a year across the four mountains”; a photobomb from my cat; why the relatively new Village Express lift is a replacement candidate and where that lift could move; why we’re unlikely to see the proposed Burnt Mountain chairlift anytime soon; and the new megalift that could rise on Aspen Mountain this summer.

What I got wrong

* I said that Breck had “T-bars serving their high peaks,” which is incorrect. In fact, Breck runs chairlifts close to the summits of Peak 8 (Imperial Superchair, the highest chairlift in North America), and Peak 6 (Kensho Superchair). I was thinking, however, of the Horseshoe T-Bar, an incredible high-alpine machine that I rode recently (it lands below Imperial Superchair on Peak 8).

* I said that Maverick Mountain, Montana, was running a “1960-something” Riblet double. The lift dates to 1969, and is slated for replacement by Aspen Mountain’s old Gent’s Ridge fixed-grip quad, which Skico removed in 2024.

* I referred to the Sheer Bliss chairlift as “Super Bliss,” which I think was fallout from over-exposure to Breck, where 12 of the chairlifts are named [SOMETHING] Superchair or some similar name.

Why you should ski Aspen-Snowmass

Why do we ski Colorado? In some ways, it’s a dumb question. We ski Colorado because everyone skis Colorado: the state’s resorts account for 20 to 25 percent of annual U.S. skier visits, inbounds skiable acreage, and detachable chairlifts. Colorado is so synonymous with skiing that the state basically is skiing from the point of view of the outside world, especially to non-skiers who, challenged to name a ski resort, would probably come up with Vail or Aspen.

But among well-traveled skiers, Colorado is Taylor Swift. Talented, yes, but a bit too obvious and sell-your-kidneys expensive. There’s a lot more music out there: Utah gets more snow, Idaho and Montana have fewer people, B.C.’s Powder Highway has both of those things. Europe is cheaper (well, everywhere is cheaper). Colorado is only home to 26 public, lift-served ski areas, and only two of the 10 largest in America. Only seven Colorado ski areas rank among the nation’s 50 snowiest by average annual snowfall. Getting there is a hassle. That awful airport. That stupid road. So many Texans. So many New Yorkers. Alternate, Man!

But we all go anyway. And here’s why: Colorado ski areas claim 14 of the 20 highest base areas in North America, and 16 of the 20 highest summits. What that means is that, unlike in Tahoe or Park City or Idaho, it never rains. Temperatures rarely top freezing. That means the snow that falls stays, and stays nice. Even in a mediocre Rocky Mountain winter – like this one – Colorado is able to deliver a consistent and predictable trail footprint in a way that no other U.S. ski state can match. Add in an abundance of approachable, intermediate-oriented ski terrain, and it’s clear why America’s two largest ski area operators center their multi-mountain pass empires in Colorado.

Which brings us back to the thing most skiers hate the most about Colorado skiing: other skiers. There are just so many of them. And they all planned the same vacation. For the same time.

But there is a back door. Around half of Colorado’s 12 to 14 million annual skier visits occur at just five ski areas: Vail Mountain, Breck, Keystone, Copper, and Steamboat – often but not always strictly in that order. Next comes Winter Park, then Beaver Creek. And all the way down at number eight for Colorado annual skier visits is Snowmass.

Snowmass’ 771,259 skier visits is still a lot of skier visits. But consider some additional stats: Snowmass is the third-largest ski area in Colorado and the 11th-largest in America. From a skier visits-to-skiable-acreage ratio, it comes in way below the state’s other 2,000-plus-acre ski areas (save Telluride, which is even more remote than Aspen):

Why is that? The map explains it: Snowmass, and Aspen in general, lost the I-70 sweepstakes. They’re too far west, too far off the interstate (so is Steamboat, but at least they have a real airport).

Snowmass is worth the extra drive time. I-70 through Glenwood Canyon is slow-going but gorgeous, and the 40 miles of Colorado 82 after the interstate turnoff barely qualify as mountain driving – four lanes most of the way, no tight turns, some congestion but only if you’re arriving in the morning. A roundabout or two and there you are at Snowmass.

And here’s what that extra two hours of driving gets you: all the benefits of Colorado skiing absent most of its drawbacks. Goldilocks Mountain. Here you’ll find the fourth-highest lift-served summit in American skiing, the second-tallest vertical drop, and a dizzying, dazzling modern lift fleet spinning 20 lifts, including 9 detachables and a gondola. You’ll find glorious ever-cruisers, tree-dotted and infinite; long bumpers twisting off High Alpine; comically approachable green zones at the village and mid-mountain. If Campground double is open, you can sample Colorado skiing circa 1975, alone in the big empty lapping the long, slow lift. And since the Brobots hate Snowmass, the high-altitude Hanging Valley and Cirque Headwall expert zones are always empty.

That’s one of four mountains. Towering, no-greens-for-real Aspen Mountain and Aspen Highlands are as rugged and wicked as anything a Colorado chairlift can drop you onto. And Buttermilk is just delightful – 2,000 vertical feet of no-stress-with-the-9-year-old, with fast lifts back to the top all day long.

Podcast Notes

On Sugarbush and Mad River Glen

I always like to make this point for western partisans: there is eastern skiing that stacks up well against the average western ski experience. Most of it is in northern Vermont, and two of the best, terrain-wise, are Alterra-owned Sugarbush - home of the longest chairlift in the world - and co-op-owned Mad River Glen, which still spins the only single chair in the lower 48. Here’s Sugarbush:

Mad River Glen is right next door. Just keep going looker’s right off Mt. Ellen:

On pre-Skico Highlands

Whoa that’s a lot of lifts. And they’re almost all doubles and Pomas.

On Joe Hession

Hession is founder and CEO of Snow Partners, which owns Mountain Creek ski area, the Big Snow indoor ski ramp in New Jersey, Snow Cloud resort-management software, the Snow Triple Play Pass, and the Terrain Based Learning concept that you see in beginner areas all over America. He’s been on the pod a few times, and he’s a huge fan of Susan’s.

On Timberline’s wonky vert

Measuring vertical drop is a somewhat hazardous game. Potential asterisks include the clandestine inclusion of hike-up terrain (Aspen Highlands), ski-down terrain with no return lift access (Sunlight), or both (Arapahoe Basin). Generally, I refer to lift-served vert, meaning what you can ski down and ride back up without walking. But even that gets tricky, as in the case of Timberline Lodge, Oregon, home to the tallest vertical drop in American lift-served skiing. We have to get mighty creative with the definition of “lift” however, since Timberline includes a 557-vertical-foot lift-served gap between the top of the Summit chairlift (4,290 feet) and the bottom of the Jeff Flood high-speed quad (4,847 feet). This is the result of two historically separate ski areas combining in 2018:

Timberline’s masterplan calls for a gondola from the base of Summit up to the top of Jeff Flood:

For now, skiers can ski all the way down, but have to ride back up to Timberline from the Summit base via shuttle. To further complicate the calculus here, the hyper-exposed Palmer high-speed summit quad rarely runs in winter, acting mostly as a summer workhorse for camp kids. When Palmer’s not running, a snowcat will sometimes shuttle skiers close to the unload point.

Anyway, that’s the fine print annotating our biggest lift-served vertical drop list:

On Big Sky’s new lifts and pod-sticking

Snowmass’ recent lift upgrade splurges are impressive, but Big Sky has built an incredible 12 aerial lifts in the past decade, 11 of them brand-new. These are some of the most sophisticated lifts in the world and include two six-packs, two eight-packs, a tram, and two gondolas. This reverse chronology of Big Sky’s active lifts doubles as a neat history of the mountain’s evolution from striver importing other resorts’ leftovers to one of the top ski areas on the continent:

Big Sky still has some older chairs spinning along its margins, but plenty of tourists spend their entire vacation just lapping the out-of-base super lifts (according to on-the-ground staff). The only peer Big Sky has in the recent American lift upgrade game is Deer Valley, which has erected nearly a dozen aerial lifts in just the past two years to feed its mega-expansion.

On the Ikon Pass site being confusing as to mountain access

I just find the classification of four separate and distinct ski areas as one “destination” confusing, especially for skiers who aren’t familiar with the place:

On the new Elk Camp chairlift

The upside of taking nine years to distribute this podcast is that I was able to go ride Snowmass’ gorgeous new Elk Camp sixer:

On my Superstar lift discussion with Killington

On Aspen’s history of selling lifts

I somewhat overstated Aspen’s history of selling lifts to smaller mountains. It seemed like a lot, though these are the only ones I can find records of:

However, given Skico’s enormous number of retired Riblets (28, all but two of which were doubles), and the durability and ubiquity of these machines, I suspect that pieces – and perhaps wholes – of Aspen’s retired chairlifts are scattered in boneyards across the West.

On the small number of relocated detachable lifts

Given that the world’s first modern detachable chairlift debuted at Breckenridge 45 years ago, it’s astonishing how few have been relocated. Only 19 U.S. detaches that started life within the U.S. are now operating elsewhere in the country, and only nine moved to a different ski area:

On Powderhorn’s West End chair

The number of relocated detachables is set to increase to 10 next year, when Powderhorn, Colorado repurposes Snowmass’ old Elk Camp quad to replace this amazing, 7,000-foot-long double chair, a 1972 Heron-Poma machine:

Elk Camp is already sitting in a pile beside the load station (Powderhorn officials tell me the carriers are also onsite, but elsewhere):

Powderhorn’s existing high-speed quad, the Flat Top Flyer, also came used, from Marble Mountain in Canada.

On Snowmass’ masterplan and the proposed Burnt Mountain lift

Snowmass’ most recent U.S. Forest Service masterplan, released in 2022, shows the approximate location of a future hypothetical Burnt Mountain chairlift (the left-most red dotted line below):

Unfortunately, Cross and the rest of Skico’s leadership seem fairly unenthusiastic about actually building this lift. Right now, skiers can hike from the top of Elk Camp chair to access this terrain.

On Aspen’s Nell-Bell Proposal

Oh man how freaking cool would it be to ride one chairlift from Aspen’s base to the top of Bell? Cross and I discuss Aspen Mountain’s Forest Service application to do exactly that, with a machine along roughly this line parallel to the gondola:

The new detachable would replace two rarely-used chairs: the Nell fixed-grip quad and the Bell Mountain double chair, which, incredibly, dates to 1957 (with heavy modifications in the 1980s), making it the fourth-oldest standing chairlift in the nation (after Mt. Spokane’s 1956 Vista Cruiser Riblet, Mad River Glen’s 1946 American Steel & Wire single chair, and Boyne Mountain’s Hemlock Riblet double, moved to Michigan in 1948 after starting life circa 1936 as America’s first chairlift – a single standing at Sun Valley).

I lucked out with a gondola wind hold when I was in Aspen a few weeks back, meaning Nell was spinning:

Sadly, Bell was idle, but I skied the liftline and loaded up on photos:

On the original Lift 1 at Aspen

Behold Lift 1 on Aspen Mountain, a 1946 American Steel & Wire single chair that rose 2,574 vertical feet along an 8,480-foot line in something like 35 or 40 minutes. Details on this lift’s origin story and history vary, but commenters on Lift Blog suggest that towers from this lift ended up as part of Sunlight’s Segundo double following its removal from Ajax in 1971. That Franken-lift, which also contained parts from Aspen’s Lift 3 – which dated to 1954 and may have been a Poma or American Steel & Wire machine, but lived its 52-year Sunlight tenure as a Riblet – came down last summer to make way for a new-used triple – A-Basin’s old Lenawee chair.

On the Hero’s expansion

At just 826 acres, Aspen Mountain is the most famous small ski area in the West. The reason, in part, for this notoriety: a quirky, lively treasure chest of a ski area that rockets straight up, hiding odd little terrain pockets in its fingers and folds. The 153-acre Hero’s terrain, a byzantine scramble of high-altitude tree skiing opened just two years ago, fits into this Rocky Mountain minefield like a thousand-dollar bill in a millionaire’s wallet. An obscene boost to an already near-perfect ski mountain, so good it’s hard to believe the ski area existed so long without it.

Here’s a mellow section of Hero’s:

And a less-mellow one (adding to the challenge, this terrain is at 11,000 feet):

The Storm explores the world of lift-served skiing year-round. Join us.

Who

Shaun Sutner, snowsports columnist for the Worcester Telegram & Gazette and Telegram.com

Recorded on

November 24, 2025

Why I interviewed him

Hey Man, we do this every year:

What we talked about

The psychology of injury recovery; the power of being there; the “gladiatorial atmosphere” of ski racing; the East’s strong winter; a Canadian facepalm; the Black Mountain, New Hampshire co-op; Hermon Mountain, Maine for sale; how to make a crappy old ski area into a modern-seeming ski area without big infrastructure upgrades; is every ski area closing a tragedy?; Lost Valley, Maine; lost Berkshires ski areas that make great backcountry ski spots; new owners at Ragged, New Hampshire; Magic Mountain, Vermont and the four-year lift installation; would Vail Resorts purchase Smugglers’ Notch, Vermont?; assessing Killington’s independent owners one year in; the Super Star six-pack upgrade at Killington; is it worth buying a new lift if it doesn’t improve capacity?; why Loveland, Colorado’s only detachable lift is also one of its shortest; expectations and potential from Berkshire East buying Burke, Vermont; is the demise of the good ol’ boy overstated?; Wachusett’s new six-pack; locals hate everything; priorities for New England lift upgrades; will Cannon ever replace its decommissioned tram (and should it be with a gondola)?; should New Hampshire lease out Cannon?; Whaleback’s chairlift woes; thoughts on the Boston Ski Show moving to Connecticut; and BOA boot buckles.

What I got wrong

Most of these aren’t “wrong,” so much as outdated:

* We recorded this as Sutner was still recovering from an injury, and he said he wouldn’t be able to get back to skiing until, um, February. Which is now I guess.

* We talked about the “budding winter,” which started strong in November, but has kept banging away to be one of the best ski seasons in recent New England history.

* We discuss since-resolved drama at Black Mountain around a withheld liquor license for the mid-mountain champagne shack.

* Sutner didn’t get this wrong – he was prescient, however, in saying Pacific Group Resorts would do something “big” after selling Ragged – the company purchased Silver Star, British Columbia shortly after we spoke:

Then there were these:

* I didn’t really understand the point of Hermon Mountain, but between recording and releasing this episode, I was able to visit it. Stand by for that write-up, which helped me understand it as a teen holding pen for Bangor Maine.

* I said that Pacific Group Resorts “may have” purchased Powderhorn after its Flat Top Flyer high-speed quad installation – that is the case; the lift arrived in 2015, and PGR bought the ski area in 2018.

* Sure enough, Burke joined the Berkshire Summit Pass - a season pass for sister resorts Berkshire East and Catamount, as well as Bousquet. Here are the details:

I said the Mohegan Sun Arena held 6,000 to 8,000 people – it’s about 8,000 for basketball games, which is what I was referring to.

Podcast Notes

On the closing of Four Seasons ski area in New York

On the new owners at Ragged and Killington

On Geoff Hatheway at Magic Mountain, Vermont

My pods with Geoff are both a bit dated, but you can keep up with Magic by subscribing to Hatheway’s Alpine Update emails, which is one of the most transparently honest ski area newsletters in America.

On Wachusett’s Clueless Construction Updates

Well done, Stimpson:

On other pods mentioned

The Storm explores the world of lift-served skiing year-round. Join us.

Who

Jimmy Ackerson, General Manager of Corralco, Chile

Recorded on

July 24, 2025

About Corralco

Click here for a mountain stats overview

Located in: Curacautín, Araucanía, Chile

Year founded: 2003, by Enrique Bascur

Pass affiliations: Indy Pass, Indy+ Pass – 2 days, no blackouts

Base elevation: 4,724 feet (1,440 meters)

Summit elevation: 7,874 feet (2,400 meters) top of lifts; 9,400 feet (2,865 meters) hike-to

Vertical drop: 3,150 feet (960 meters) lift-served; 4,676 feet (1,425 meters) hike-to

Skiable acres: 2,475 acres lift served; 4,448 acres (1,800 hectares), including hike-to terrain

Average annual snowfall: 354 inches (899 cm)

Trail count: 34

Lift count: 7 (1 high-speed quad, 1 double, 5 J-bars)

Why I interviewed him

The Andes run the length of South America, 4,300 miles from the southern tip of Argentina north to Venezuela. It is the longest continental mountain range on Earth, nearly six times the length of the Alps and 1,300 miles longer than the Rockies. It is the highest mountain range outside of Asia, topping out at 22,841 feet on Mount Aconcagua, more than a mile higher than the tallest point in the Rockies (14,439-foot Mount Elbert) or Alps (15,772-foot Mont Blanc).

So this ought to be one hell of a ski region, right? If the Alps house more than 500 ski areas and the Rockies several hundred, then the Andes ought to at least be in the triple digits?

Surprisingly, no. Of the seven nations transected by the Andes, only Argentina and Chile host outdoor, lift-served ski areas. Between the two countries, I’m only able to assemble a list of 37 ski areas, 33 of which skiresort.info categorizes as “temporarily closed” – a designation the site typically reserves for outfits that have not operated over the past several seasons.

For skiers hoping to live eternal winter by commuting to the Upside Down each May through October, this roster may be a bit of a record scratch. There just aren’t that many ski areas in the Southern Hemisphere. Outside of South America, the balance – another few dozen total - sit in Australia and New Zealand, with scattered novelties such as Afriski lodged at the top of Lesotho. There are probably more ski areas in New England than there are south of the equator.

That explains why the U.S.-based multimountain ski passes have been slow to move into the Southern Hemisphere – there isn’t much there to move into. Ikon and Mountain Collective each have just one destination on the continent, and it’s the same destination: Valle Nevado. Epic offers absolutely nothing in South America.

Even with few options, Vail moved south a decade ago with its purchase of Perisher, Australia’s largest ski area. That English-speaking nation was a logical first pass frontier, but the five Kangaroo resorts claimed by the Epic and Ikon passes are by far the five largest in the country, and they’re a 45-year flight from America. New Zealand is similarly remote, with more but generally less-developed ski areas, and Ikon has established a small presence there.

But South America remains mostly wide open, despite its obvious appeal to North Americans: the majesty of the Andes, the novelty of summer skiing, and direct flights with no major timezone hopping required. Mountain Capital Partners has dropped anchor in Chile, purchasing Valle Nevado in 2023, neighboring La Parva the following year, and bidding for also-neighboring El Colorado in 2025 (that sale is pending regulatory review).

But perhaps it’s time for a broader invasion. Last March, Indy Pass added Corralco as its first South American – and first Southern Hemisphere – ski area. That, as Ackerson and I discuss in the podcast, could be just the start of Indy’s ambitions for a continent-spanning (or at least, Argentina- and Chile-spanning) resort network.

So this is a good time to start getting to know Chilean skiing. And Ackerson, longtime head of the Chilean Ski Areas Association, former leader of Chilean giants Portillo and Valle Nevado, and a Connecticut-born transplant who has been living the upside-down life for more than 50 years, is probably better suited than anyone on the planet to give us that intro.

What we talked about

Reverse ski seasons; why Corralco draws (and retains) so much more snow than any other ski area in Chile; no snowmaking; Corralco as training ground for national ski teams; the logistics of moving a high-speed quad from Holiday Valley, New York to the Chilean Andes; rebuilding a lift as a longer machine; how that lift transformed Corralco; new lift, new alignment; the business impact of replacing a double chair with a high-speed quad; how a dude who grew up in Connecticut with non-skiing parents ended up running a ski area in South America; Chile’s allure; Portillo; Chilean skiing past and present; Corralco’s founding and evolution; shrinking South American ski areas; Mountain Capital Partners (MCP) buying four more ski areas in Chile after purchasing Valle Nevado in 2023 and La Parva in 2024; the Americans are coming; why La Parva, Valle Nevado, and El Colorado “have to be consolidated” for the benefit of future skiing in Chile; MCP’s impact on Chilean skiing so far; “the culture is very different here” both on the hill and off; MCP’s challenges as they settle into Chilean skiing; why Corralco joined Indy Pass; a potential Indy Pass network in South America; and getting to Corralco from the U.S., from airplane to access road – “we have no switchbacks.”

What I got wrong

* In the intro, I said that it was the “heart of ski season in South America.” This was true when we recorded this conversation in July 2025. It’s not true in January 2026, when the Chilean ski season is long over.

* I said the highest peak in Chile only received a few inches of snow per year and didn’t retain it, but I couldn’t remember the name of the peak – it is 22,615-foot Ojos del Salado.

* I gave new stats for Corralco’s high-speed quad, but did not mention where those stats came from – my source was skiresort.info, which catalogues a 4,921-foot length and 1,148-foot vertical drop for the lift, both substantially longer than the 4,230-foot length and 688-foot vertical rise that Lift Blog documents for the antecedent Mardi Gras lift at Holiday Valley, New York. We discuss the logistics and mechanics of moving this machine from North to South America and extending it in the pod. Here are a few pics of this machine I took in New York in January 2022:

Podcast Notes

On Corralco’s evolving footprint

Corralco is a new-ish ski area, at least insofar as public access goes. The 2008 trailmap shows a modest vertical drop served by surface lifts:

But growth has been rapid, and by 2022, the ski area resembled modern Corralco, which is now an international training center for athletes:

On Camp Jewel, Connecticut

Ackerson learned to ski on a two-tow bump called Camp Jewell, a YMCA center in Connecticut. NELSAP has some fun info on this defunct ski area, including photos of what’s left of the lifts.

On Sigi Grottendorder

Ackerson’s conduit to South American skiing came in the form of Austrian-born Sigi Grottendorfer, who led the ski schools at both Sugarbush, Vermont and Portillo, Chile. He passed away in 2023 – The Valley Reporter ran an obituary with more info on Grottendorfer’s expansive and colorful life.

On Chile “five years after the coup had occurred”

We reference past political instability in Chile, referring to the 1973 coup that launched the military dictatorship of the notorious Augusto Pinochet. The nation transitioned back to democracy in 1990 and is considered safe and stable for tourists by the U.S. State Department.

On Portillo

We discuss Portillo, a Chilean ski area whose capacity limits and weeklong ski-and-stay packages result in Windham-is-private-style (it’s not) confusion. Skiers can visit Portillo on a day pass. Lift tickets are all of $68. Still, the hotel experience is, by all accounts, pretty rad. Here’s the bump:

On previous podcasts

We mention a few previous podcast guests who had parallels to Ackerson’s story. Bogus Basin GM Brad Wilson also left skiing for several years to run a non-ski resort:

Longtime Valle Nevado GM Ricardo Margolis appeared on this podcast in 2023:

On the shrinking of Volcán Osorno and Pillán

I won’t reset the entire history here, but I broke down the slow shrinkage of Volcán Osorno and Pillán ski areas when Mountain Capital Partners bid to purchase them last year:

On Kamori Kankō buying Heavenly

For a brief period, Japanese company Kamori Kankō owned Steamboat and Heavenly. The company sold both to American Skiing Company in 1997, and they eventually split owners, with Heavenly joining Vail’s roster in 2002, and Steamboat now part of Alterra by way of Intrawest. Today, Kamori Kankō appears to operate five ski areas in Japan, all in Hokkaido, most notably Epic Pass partner Rusutsu:

On MCP’s free season passes for kids 12 and under

One pretty cool thing that Mountain Capital Partners has brought to Chile from its U.S. HQ is free season passes for kids 12 and under. It’s pretty incredible:

On Sugarbush

Ackerson worked for a long time at Sugarbush, an Alterra staple and one of the best overall ski areas in New England. It’s a fully modern resort, with the exception of the knockout Castle Rock terrain, which still spins a double chair on all-natural snow:

On skiing El Colorado

We discuss the insane, switchbacking access road up to El Colorado/La Parva/Valle Nevado from Santiago:

The route up to Corralco is far more suited to mortals:

The Storm explores the world of lift-served skiing year-round. Join us.

Who

Ryan Brown, Director of Golf & Ski at The Mountaintop at Grand Geneva, Wisconsin

Recorded on

June 17, 2025

About the Mountaintop at Grand Geneva

Click here for a mountain stats overview

Owned by: Marcus Hotels

Located in: Lake Geneva, Wisconsin

Year founded: 1968

Pass affiliations: None

Closest neighboring U.S. ski areas: Alpine Valley (:23), Wilmot Mountain (:29), Crystal Ridge (:48), Alpine Hills Adventure Park (1:04)

Base elevation: 847 feet

Summit elevation: 962 feet

Vertical drop: 115 feet

Skiable acres: 30

Average annual snowfall: 34 inches

Trail count: 21 (41% beginner, 41% intermediate, 18% advanced)

Lift count: 6 (3 doubles, 1 ropetow, 2 carpets)

Why I interviewed him

Of America’s various mega-regions, the Midwest is the quietest about its history. It lacks the quaint-town Colonialism and Revolutionary pride of the self-satisfied East, the cowboy wildness and adobe earthiness of the West, the defiant resentment of the Lost Glory South. Our seventh-grade Michigan History class stapled together the state’s timeline mostly as a series of French explorers passing through on their way to somewhere more interesting. They were followed by a wave of industrial loggers who mowed the primeval forests into pancakes. Then the factories showed up. And so the state’s legacy was framed not as one of political or cultural or military primacy, but of brand, the place that stamped out Chevys and Fords by the tens of millions.

To understand the Midwest, then, we must look for what’s permanent. The land itself won’t do. It’s mostly soil, mostly flat. Great for farming, bad for vistas. Dirt doesn’t speak to the soul like rock, like mountains. What humans built doesn’t tell us a much better story. Everything in the Midwest feels too new to conceal ghosts. The largest cities rose late, were destroyed in turn by fires and freeways, eventually recharged with arenas and glass-walled buildings that fail to echo or honor the past. Nothing lasts: the Detroit Pistons built the Palace of Auburn Hills in 1988 and developers demolished it 32 years later; the Detroit Lions (and, for a time, the Pistons) played at the Pontiac Silverdome, a titanic, 82,600-spectator stadium that opened in 1976 and came down in 2013 (37 years old). History seemed to bypass the region, corralling the major wars to the east and shooing the natural disasters to the west and south. Even shipwrecks lose their doubloons-and-antique-cannons romance in the Midwest: the Great Lakes most famous downed vessel, the SS Edmund Fitzgerald, sank into Lake Superior in 1975. Her cargo was 26,535 tons of taconite ore pellets. A sad story, but not exactly the sinking of the Titanic.

Our Midwest ancestors did leave us one legacy that no one has yet demolished: names. Place names are perhaps the best cultural relics of the various peoples who occupied this land since the glaciers retreated 12,000-ish years ago. Thousands of Midwest cities, towns, and counties carry Native American names. “Michigan” is derived from the Algonquin “Mishigamaw,” meaning “big lake”; “Minnesota” from the Sioux word meaning “cloudy water.” The legacies of French explorers and missionaries live on in “Detroit” (French for “strait”), “Marquette” (17th century French missionary Jacques Marquette), and “Eau Claire” (“clear water”).

But one global immigration funnel dominated what became the modern Midwest: 50 percent of Wisconsin’s population descends from German, Nordic, or Scandinavian countries, who arrived in waves from the Colonial era through the early 1900s. The surnames are everywhere: Schmitz and Meyer and Webber and Schultz and Olson and Hanson. But these Old-Worlders came a bit late to name the cities and towns. So they named what they built instead. And they built a lot of ski areas. Ten of Wisconsin’s 34 ski areas carry names evocative of Europe’s cold regions, Scandinavia and the Alps:

I wonder what it must have been like, in 18-something-or-other, to leave a place where the Alps stood high on the horizon, where your family had lived in the same stone house for centuries, and sail for God knows how many weeks or months across an ocean, and slow roll overland by oxen cart or whatever they moved about in back then, and at the end of this great journey find yourself in… Wisconsin? They would have likely been unprepared for the landscape aesthetic. Tourism is a modern invention. “The elite of ancient Egypt spent their fortunes building pyramids and having their corpses mummified, but none of them thought of going shopping in Babylon or taking a skiing holiday in Phoenicia [partly in present-day Lebanon, which is home to as many as seven ski areas],” Yuval Noah Harari writes in Sapiens his 2015 “brief history of humankind.” Imagine old Friedrich, who had never left Bavaria, reconstituting his world in the hillocks and flats of the Midwest.

Nothing against Wisconsin, but fast-forward 200 years, when the robots can give us a side-by-side of the upper Midwest and the European Alps, and it’s pretty clear why one is a global tourist destination and the other is known mostly as a place that makes a lot of cheese. And well you can imagine why Friedrich might want to summon a little bit of the old country to the texture of his life in the form of a ski area name. That these two worlds - the glorious Alps and humble Wisconsin skiing - overlap, even in a handful of place names, suggests a yearning for a life abandoned, a natural act of pining by a species that was not built to move their life across timezones.

This is not a perfect analysis. Most – perhaps none – of these ski areas was founded by actual immigrants, but by their descendants. The Germanic languages spoken by these immigrant waves did not survive assimilation. But these little cultural tokens did. The aura of ancestral place endured when even language fell away. These little ski areas honor that.

And by injecting grandiosity into the everyday, they do something else. In coloring some of the world’s most compact ski centers with the aura of some of its most iconic, their founders left us a message: these ski areas, humble as they are, matter. They fuse us to the past and they fuse us to the majesty of the up-high, prove to us that skiing is worth doing anywhere that it can be done, ensure that the ability to move like that and to feel the things that movement makes you feel are not exclusive realms fenced into the clouds, somewhere beyond means and imagination.

Which brings us to Grand Geneva, a ski area name that evokes the great Swiss gateway city to the Alps. Too bad reality rarely matches up with the easiest narrative. The resort draws its name from the nearby town of Lake Geneva, which a 19th-century surveyor named not after the Swiss city, but after Geneva, New York, a city (that is apparently named after Geneva, Switzerland), on the shores of Seneca Lake, the largest of the state’s 11 finger lakes. Regardless, the lofty name was the fifth choice for a ski area originally called “Indian Knob.” That lasted three years, until the ski area shuttered and re-opened as the venerable Playboy Ski Area in 1968. More regrettable names followed – Americana Resort from 1982 to ’93, Hotdog Mountain from 1992 to ’94 – before going with the most obvious and least-questionable name, though its official moniker, “The Mountaintop at Grand Geneva” is one of the more awkward names in American skiing.

None of which explains the principal question of this sector: why I interviewed Mr. Brown. Well, I skied a bunch of Milwaukee bumps on my drive up to Bohemia from Chicago last year, this was one of them, and I thought it was a cute little place. I also wondered how, with its small-even-for-Wisconsin vertical drop and antique lift collection, the place had endured in a state littered with abandoned ski areas. Consider it another entry into my ongoing investigation into why the ski areas that you would not always expect to make it are often the ones that do.

What we talked about

Fighting the backyard effect – “our customer base – they don’t really know” that the ski areas are making snow; a Chicago-Milwaukee-Madison bullseye; competing against the Vail-owned mountain to the south and the high-speed-laced ski area to the north; a golf resort with a ski area tacked on; “you don’t need a big hill to have a great park”; brutal Midwest winters and the escape of skiing; I attempt to talk about golf again and we’re probably done with that for a while; Boyne Resorts as a “top golf destination”; why Grand Geneva moved its terrain park; whether the backside park could re-open; “we’ve got some major snowmaking in the works”; potential lift upgrades; no bars on the lifts; the ever-tradeoff between terrain parks and beginner terrain; the ski area’s history as a Playboy Club and how the ski hill survived into the modern era; how the resort moves skiers to the hill with hundreds of rooms and none of them on the trails; thoughts on Indy Pass; and Lake Geneva lake life.

What I got wrong

We recorded this conversation prior to Sunburst’s joining Indy Pass, so I didn’t mention the resort when discussing Wisconsin ski areas on the product.

Podcast Notes

On the worst season in the history of the Midwest

I just covered this in the article that accompanied the podcast on Treetops, Michigan, but I’ll summarize it this way: the 2023-24 ski season almost broke the Midwest. Fortunately, last winter was better, and this year is off to a banging start.

On steep terrain beneath lift A

I just thought this was a really unexpected and cool angle for such a little hill.

On the Playboy Club

From SKI magazine, December 1969:

It is always interesting when giants merge. Last winter Playboy magazine (5.5 million readers) and the Playboy Club (19 swinging nightclubs from Hawaii to New York to Jamaica, with 100,000 card-carrying members) in effect joined the sport of skiing, which is also a large, but less formal, structure of 3.5 million lift-ticket-carrying members. The resulting conglomerate was the Lake Geneva Playboy Club-Hotel, Playboy’s ski resort on the rolling plains of Wisconsin.

The Playboy Club people must have borrowed the idea of their costumed Bunny Waitress from the snow bunny of skiing fame, and since Playboy and skiing both manifestly devote themselves to the pleasures of the body, some sort of merger was inevitable. Out of this union, obviously, issued the Ultimate Ski Bunny – one able to ski as well as sport the scanty Bunny costume to lustrous perfection.

That’s a bit different from how the resort positions its ski facilities today:

Enjoy southern Wisconsin’s gem - our skiing and snow resort in the countryside of Lake Geneva, with the best ski hills in Wisconsin. The Mountain Top at Grand Geneva Resort & Spa boasts 20 downhill ski runs and terrain designed for all ages, groups and abilities, making us one of the best ski resorts in Wisconsin. Just an hour from Milwaukee and Chicago, our ski resort in Lake Geneva is close enough to home for convenience, but far enough for you and your family to have an adventure. Our ultimate skier’s getaway offers snowmaking abilities that allow our ski resort to stay open even when there is no snow falling.

The Mountain Top offers ski and snow accommodations, such as trolley transportation available from guest rooms at Grand Geneva and Timber Ridge Lodge, three chairlifts, two carpet lifts, a six-acre terrain park, excellent group rates, food and drinks at Leinenkugel’s Mountain Top Lodge and even night skiing. We have more than just skiing! Enjoy Lake Geneva sledding, snowshoeing and cross-country skiing too. Truly something for everyone at The Mountain Top ski resort in Lake Geneva. No ski equipment? No problem with the Learn to Ride rentals. Come experience The Mountain Top at Grand Geneva and enjoy the best skiing around Lake Geneva, Wisconsin.

On lost Wisconsin and Midwest ski areas

The Midwest Lost Ski Areas Project counts 129 lost ski areas in Wisconsin. I’ve yet to order these Big Dumb Chart-style, but there are lots of cool links in here that can easily devour your day.

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