Grays On Trays

If you still have some disposable income, now’s the time to take advantage of the recession, with companies offering up new deals.

The Aspen Ski Co, for example, has teamed up with the local lodging establishments to entice you to visit during March with the “Kids Ski and Stay Free in March” promotion.

There is, as you might expect, as asterisk. Here’s how an article in the Aspen Times put it: “Families that purchase a minimum of four days of lift tickets and five nights of lodging get free skiing and accommodations for kids between 7 and 12 years of age any time in March 2010.”

Large families won’t benefit as much, as the benefits are limited to two-children families by this provision: “One child is eligible for the discounted lift tickets for each adult purchasing tickets.” Notice, too, that teenagers don’t qualify.

Last March, the company suffered a 22 percent downturn from its traditional business.

If you’ve got an unlimited budget, Aspen’s a great place to be. If you don’t, you can still find ways to cut corners and still enjoy yourself.

In the grand scheme of taking a family to Aspen, the package offers a modest benefit, but it helps. If you’ve ever thought of visiting, this might be your season.

Living in the mountains isn’t always easy. From the Wall Street Journal, September 2:

“In Aspen, the hardest-hit town, police have received more than 460 calls for help dealing with bears since July 1, including 15 during one 24-hour period last week. Wildlife officials say the bears are not only comfortable with humans, but are also teaching their cubs to scavenge for fried chicken and candy instead of acorns and berries.”

I’ve spent more time in Aspen than any other western town, so this article caught my attention. I’m glad they’ve been hibernating whenever I’ve visited.

A trail map is a handy companion for your visit to a ski area. But what if you need something more? Enter the specialized guide.

The Aspen Ski and Snowboard Guide, written by Neal Beidleman, promises advanced and expert skiers and snowboarders “150 plus runs not on the trail map.” I won’t be making my annual trip to Aspen this season, so I bought the book with the idea that it would let me fantasize about what I’ll be missing. As it turns out, I should have had this a long time ago.

Beidleman offers an overview of the four mountains in Aspen: Aspen mountain (sometimes called Ajax), Highlands, Buttermilk, and Snowmass. Each of the mountains, which are accessible by a common lift ticket, have their own personality or reputation. Ajax is the home of the rich and famous; Highlands is defined by its legendary bowl, with steep pitches and lots of powder; Buttermilk is for learning, cruising, and watching the Winter X-Games and Snowmass is a giant that offers something for everyone.

Each mountain gets a chapter, which starts with an introduction offering some historical background. (The first lift in the region was installed on Ajax in 1937. It used old boats!) Each mountain also gets an overview photo. Since Snowmass is so big, its overview photo is labeled with various peaks or areas.

The various areas of each mountain get their own overview map with red lines overlaid onto the photograph to indicate a each trail. (The easier trails are typically not included unless they are essential for getting from one part of the mountain to another.) The trails in turn are numbered to descriptive paragraphs. Some lines get more thorough descriptions than others, but all are graded on a single scale that goes from A (typically groomed trails) to E (those that require a significant amount of air).

The universal scale allows for a comparison across each mountain. So, for example, even though Buttermilk has its black diamond trails, all colors of trails at Buttermilk are given an “A.” This scale is based on typical conditions, though snow coverage and snow condition can turn a treacherous trail into a fun casual ride—and vice versa. The universal scale of difficulty is one of the best parts of the book.

So how many new trails does the book offer up? When I compared the photographs and descriptions with a trail map for the 2007-08 season, I counted a total of 118 trails that were mentioned in the book but not included on the official trail map. That’s short of the advertised 150, though the difference may be human error on my part. I found 44 unmarked trails on Highlands, 39 on Ajax, 35 on Snowmass, and none at Buttermilk. Given the relatively small acreage of Ajax, the book does more to expand Ajax that it does any other mountain. Keep in mind, though, that the term “trail” can in many cases be misleading, as in the case of a bowl. But still, there are many new routes to find.

The book is not a substitute for a trail map. The focus on specific part of each mountain make it easy to forget the big picture, which a trail map can provide. The book does reprint segments of the map, according to each area being described, but the reprints are fairly small and sometimes hard to read.

The person who can handle anything the mountains offer, including hero air, will gain the most out of this book. But even those riders not willing to throw themselves off the cliff bands in Snowmass will benefit, if for no other reason they will know where not to go.

The advanced rider will find lots of challenges, including steeps, bumps, trees, and even areas that combine all three. And even the intermediate rider can enjoy the book as a way to keep in touch with the sport in the off season. The photos of skiers and riders in glades, in powder, and elsewhere conjure up good memories, and help anticipate new ones. A few photos of world-class skiers and riders getting air—and I mean huge air—inspire awe.

Advanced riders can new ways of looking at the mountains. For example, I learned that at Snowmass it’s possible to ride from the top of the Big Burn to the bottom of Campground area all in a single descent of 3,600 feet. Though I’ve been to Snowmass about 12 different times, I’ve seldom been to Campground, and never knew of this super-long option, which, the author says, was planned (but never used) as the route for World Cup ski races.

The chapter on Ajax—a mountain I’ve ridden only once—demonstrates the usefulness of knowing some history. “The Dumps” section of Ajax got its name from the tailings left behind from the silver mines. The pock-marked nature of the Dumps is something you should take into consideration in planning your ride.

Oddly enough, if there’s a place where the book comes up short, it’s in the photos. They lack compass points, which would be useful, especially when the text describes the east and west sides of various locations at Ajax and Highlands. And while we get an overview photo of the Highlands Bowl, the bowl’s various zones—B, G, R, and Y, to be specific—aren’t called out on that photo.

While the Aspen Ski and Snowboard Guide isn’t perfect, it is useful and a joy to read. It’s small enough to fit into a jacket but it opens up big vistas to the skier or rider.

You know the cliche. I’m thinking of it as I look through the photos offered by the “2008 Official Vacation Planner” from the folks behind VisitAspenSnowmass.com Hot air balloons getting to take off in the early morning, jogging through a mountain meadow, hiking along rivers. All sounds good. Of course, it’s the convention bureau, so it’s supposed to be appealing. Best foot forward, you know.

Looking at some of the real estate listings is a source of amusement and wonder. A ski in/ski out residence (5 bedrooms/5 baths) can be yours for the price of $14.8 million.

If that stretches your budget a bit, take heart: you don’t have to spend a lot of money once you move in. It’s furnished.

To get to Crested Butte, I flew into Gunnison, a small town about a 30 minute drive away. The flight was a reminder of how the mountains vary from place to place, and season to season.

I have some experience with flights into Aspen, and it’s a hazardous place. It requires flying into a canyon. By contrast, Gunnison appeared to offer a more wide open approach. And by coming in from Dallas, we didn’t have to fly over the continental divide. Both facts could mean, and I am only speculating here, that flights into Gunnison are less troublesome than flights into Aspen. Perhaps the same is true of other mountain towns. If you have any thoughts on this, Send me and e-mail.

Snowboarding works best when there is a mix of familiar and unfamiliar terrain. Recently I visited Aspen/Snowmass, and got to ride both familiar and unfamiliar terrain.

The familiar terrain included Buttermilk. Though it’s home of the X Games, my riding is not quite X-like. The halfpipe was not yet open to the public, and neither was the course. That didn’t matter, though. I did make some turns in a small that was not too far from the halfpipe.

What I like the most about Buttermilk is the close-in nature of some of the slopes on the west side. They’re easy green runs (with a few interesting blue spots mixed in), but many are lined with trees, making for a pleasant gallery of natural beauty.

Another day I went to Snowmass. That was a mix of familiar with unfamiliar. Elk Camp and the Big Burn are both suitable for intermediate cruisers, fairly-to-completely open. It was good to be back with old friends.

But I also enjoyed visiting new terrain, including the Campground region of Snowmass. I won’t say that it was any better than the rest of Snowmass, but trying out new slopes was like opening a new present.

Finally, I had all sorts of new presents at Aspen mountain (Ajax). I’m not sure that I need to go back to it, but I am glad that I visited it.

One appealing element of snowboarding is that, if you wish there’s always something new. Mix in something new with something old, and you have quite a past time.

February 14, 2005

Today we went to Snowmass, the big daddy of Aspen-area mountains.

In the morning, we went to the Big Burn, a wide-open, high-altitude location. When the sun is out and the skies are blue, it’s a great location, with spectacular views. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a great day, for several reasons.

The “burn” in “big burn” may be a noun, to describe the forest fire that years ago took out many of the trees that were there. But today, “burn” was the condition of my feet, which were in pain the entire run down to the lift. Ski. Stop. Ski. Stop. Ski. Stop. Agonize.

Compounding the problem was poor light, which made navigating a relatively unfamiliar terrain a lot of work. Throw in a lot of people flying around me, and you have not a great way to start the day.

Once at the end of the run, I waited at a restaurant for my wife and her father to take another lap. It seemed like a 45 minute lap, a much-longer rest than I had hoped for.

Once they returned, we took a long traverse (Trestle) down to the Alpine Springs lift. But there was a small surprise at the end of the traverse: a mogul field.

It was not a mogul field in the traditional sense. I don’t think it was designed to be one. It was simply the result of the casual approach to grooming that seems to characterize Snowmass, combined with a lot of new snow and plenty of traffic.

Still smarting from foot pain, the last thing I wanted on the snow was to deal with moguls. I don’t ski them, for one thing. My few attempts to do so have not been spectacular. But here I was, apparently with no other way down.

Not knowing any better, I tried to traverse the field rather than taking a straight-down approach. I got more speed up than anticipated, and when I went at what seemed to be a high speed over the top of one bump, I let loose a vulgarity that I thought must have filled the valley. But somehow, I stayed on my feet, and eventually worked my way out to smoother terrain.

We took lunch at the High Alpine restaurant. Given its location and where we wanted to go next (Elk Camp), it was a reasonable decision. Still, I was bothered by the fact that, when we had finished eating, it was 12:45, and I had taken only two runs, neither of them successful or enjoyable.

But the rest of the afternoon—until 3:50—was a different story entirely. We spent the time at Elk Camp, an intermediate (blue) area that is my favorite location at Snowmass. It’s got compound slopes, enough trees to make things look nice but not so many that they get in the way, and pitches steep enough to make things interesting but not so much that getting down them is a lot of work.

We started out on a trail (Bear Bottom) that was allegedly groomed. There’s no way it could have been, with all that pushed-around snow and mini-piles. Other trails in the area, such as Bull Run, approached mogul run status, at least for me. I’m not saying that I now enjoy bumps, but I got some experience learning how to use them. It seemed like I spent a lot of time “jumping” off the top of them. I appreciate the experience enough that I may take a bumps lesson next year.

Another thing I enjoy about skiing (or riding) is to explore new territory. We traveled in the Creekside region, which is an interesting mix of semi-steeps followed by a much longer section of a very gentle slope.

Throughout the day the sun teased us. Occasionally it almost appeared from beyond the clouds. But most of the time we dealt with difficult light, and when we finally had excellent visibility, we were nearly finished for the day.

Visibility, it turns out, played a role in my foot pain. At least that’s my theory. Unable to see very far ahead, I used a lot of short turns, especially in the morning. In the afternoon, I loosened my buckles, and the pain was almost always gone. What may have been equally important, though, is that I got more comfortable reading the terrain. So I was more willing to let my skis run out to the bottom of a small pitch, which meant less turning, and less pain.

Now I know why snowboarding leads the way in waterproof pants. I didn’t wear that kind of clothing today, and now I’m soaked to the skin from a day of snowboarding.

Today we went to Buttermilk. It was mostly because it was my wife’s first day here, and she wanted an easy start to things. Another reason is that we expected it to be a “flat light” day. As it turns out, though, it was one of the sunniest days around. That made the decision to use the day to ride even better.

I’m often more anxious to get going in the morning than the other members of my party, and that certainly was the case today. We had a powder day! And it was my first time out west, on my own snowboard. More importantly, it was going to be the first day I rode with any degree of competence out west. Oh, I had taken a lesson out here last year, but it was such a tortured performance. I had managed to make it from the summit to the base, but that was due to determination more than skill.

Unfortunately for my anxious plans, we got a late start to the morning, first in leaving the hotel at 9 A.M. (when the lift opens). We were, as my wife’s sister put it, “a herd of turtles” that day. And then we missed the bus.

Aspen has a good bus system for tourists. I imagine it is financed through taxes on hotel rooms and restaurants, because I’ve never dropped as much as a penny into the farebox. (Step on the bus after “ski hours,” though, and you have to pay.)

When the next bus came along 10 minutes later–time’s a wastin’ away!–it was packed. The four of us looked at each other, deciding whether to climb on the bus and stand the whole way, or not. I got on the bus. The others stayed behind.

It was just as well. They had to stop at the rental shop anyway, which would take away precious more time from my snowboarding adventure. We agreed to meet at the top of Buttermilk’s west terrain. It is the easiest of all the slopes in Aspen, but it was going to be enough of a challenge for me.

Once at Buttermilk, I thought, ever so briefly, of getting on the ski school lift. I often live by the motto “make your first run on the easiest part of the mountain,” but I disregarded that today. For one thing, the ski school lift wasn’t even as steep as the mini-hill I call my home “mountain.” So no need to take that lift. As I took the ten minute (or so) ride up to the top, I was so excited about finally getting a chance to ride in a larger area that I knew that skipping the easier lift was the right thing to do.

If the theme of the 1960s was “Everybody’s Surfin’,” then the theme today was “Everybody’s Ridin’” a snowboard. Nine out of every ten people I saw on the mountain, from the lift, was on a snowboard. I knew that Buttermilk was popular with snowboarders, but were they really that dominant? (As it turns out, there was a competition going on over at the Tiehack side that day. I never made it there.)

There’s one benefit riding on a small Midwestern hill: it gives you plenty of chances to learn how to descend from the lift chair. I had worried that I might have a more difficult time taking on the higher, longer descent from the Aspen lifts. But I had no problem.

SOLO
After riding over to Buttermilk West, I started with the easiest possible route down, Homestead Road. (It’s more like a steep golf course than a mountain.) I felt pretty good riding on a big mountain, even if it was on a mild route on the easiest side of the easiest mountain in Aspen. I was, after all, riding out west, regardless.

I left the road after it turned into a catwalk with a slight incline, and dropped into Westward Ho (another green trail), and stuck with that until I got to the new mid-mountain lift. After that I took another green trail (Larkspur) for my second solo run.

It was then time for a little showboating underneath the lift. That area used to be an off-limits, but when the ski company put in the new lift, they widened the trail and opened it up to the public.

I found shifting, double fall lines, which made things more interesting. But the biggest trouble came from being nervous about riding close to the trees and lift posts. A couple of quick turns, started in anxiety, lead to falls as I washed out.

LOOK AT ME!
Soon enough I met up with everyone else: my wife, her sister, and their 70-plus year old father. We played with the various green trails, sometimes descending to the base, and sometimes stopping at the midpoint lift station.

But the morning wasn’t confined to the easiest terrain. I made a smooth trip down the lower part of Camp Bird, a blueish pitch that had given me fits last year. And I ended up following my sister-in-law into the bottom of Lower Larkspur, a bumps trail that I had not even attempted on skis.

As I’ve noted before, powder is an excellent environment for learning and improving your snowboarding skills. The early runs today were filled with slightly-used powder. I had enough untracked snow to give me the confidence to gather some speed and make some turns.

We took up a blue trail (Teaser) before heading in for a late lunch at 12:50. I was pretty much done for the day, though I did not know it yet.

TALKIN’ ‘BOUT THIGH BURN
After lunch we headed over to Tiehack, a more difficult part of Buttermilk. (Its black runs would be blue at other area mountains).

But I could not keep up the pace. My thighs were in pain, a lot of pain. Especially in my leading (right) foot. I had made a point of over-weighting that foot. While that’s not as good as having a balanced stance, it’s better than over-weighting my back foot.

I took it easy on the way down Buckskin (a blue trail on Tiehack), and did much better once I got out of the chopped-up stuff, and into the packed powder. My conclusion for the day: powder is great. Packed powder is fine. Chopped up stuff that presents mini-moguls is hard.

After this one trip over to the Tiehack side of things, I waited back at the restaurant for the others before a final run down.

Normally, I warm up to Aspen rather slowly, spending at least one day at Buttermilk (a smaller, lower mountain) before moving on to the other mountains in the area. But today I went straight to Highlands. As the name suggests, it’s at a higher elevation, which makes for a greater challenge to the first day of skiing.

But I thought it was a good idea anyway. My wife was going to be arriving the next day, and we certainly would spend that day at Buttermilk. And I didn’t want to go there two days in a row, so this was my chance to get some variety in right away.

Since this was a more difficult mountain, I took my skis rather than my board. My feet were killing me the entire first run. I was also winded. “I’m the weakest link,” I announced. Even though I had been diligent in using a stair-stepper at home, I rarely used it to its full potential for aerobic exercise. There’s no such thing as too much cardio preparation, I decided.

We (my father-in-law, his youngest daughter, and me) were joined by a 76-year old man and his 40-year old daughter. She and I were almost the youngest members of the party, which numbering 25 or so, took up a good portion of our small hotel. The group, which makes this an annual outing, was started in Michigan over 30 years ago. It has since dispersed to Arizona, Florida, and other retirement locales as its members have grown older. The median age is, I suspect, 65 or so.

Even though these folks were able to take time off to ski 30 years ago, few of their children have taken up the tradition. Our family is one of only two or three that have extended the trip into a second generation. That’s got to be a bad sign for the ski industry.

But back to Highlands. We never did make it to the highest lift. We spent the whole morning in the mid-mountain area, using the Cloud Nine lift. That was good enough for me; I was working hard enough at 10,000 feet, and did not need to go any higher.

The pain in my feet was sharp for the first hour or so. Sometimes I got relief while on the lift, but sometimes I did not. That’s the penalty, I thought, I get for not having skied more this season. My boots do have custom footbeds, so in theory I shouldn’t have this problem. But there is always a “break-in” (or rather, “pain-in”) period at the start of this season.

Our final trip down Highlands, just before lunch, took us through a catwalk and then down a narrow (20 feet) icy pitch. Not fun at all. I side-slipped much of the way down.

Once at the base, we met my wife, who had arrived on a flight while we were skiing. Several of us ate lunch together before she went back to the hotel to visit with her brother, who left the restaurant to pack for an afternoon flight out.

By this time, the weather had deteriorated; it was overcast and snowing. After lunch The rest of us went over to Buttermilk, which is the default option when we have “flat light,” a condition in which the ground appears to be one large sheet of white. (Try skiing at 25 miles an hour when you can’t see whether the ground beneath your feet will remain level or drop 15 feet. That gives you an idea of the trouble with flat flight.)

We spent our time over on the west side, which is the easiest of all possible slopes in town. Not only is it less steep, but its runs are surrounded by trees, which improves the visibility. We took the Westward Ho trail to the new mid-mountain lift, and then ran various trails to either the new lift, or all the way to the base.

As much as I appreciate the speed of the new lift, progress had its price. Pine trees had closely lined the old lift. The ski company cut out many of those trees when they put in the new one. This gave us a vanity trail to use (“up there in the lift! Look at me!”), but it also took out much of the picturesqueness of the ride.

While stopped at the lifts, I handed out three Grays on Trays business cards. One man, obviously in his 60s (if not 70s), looked at the card and said “What makes you think I’m gray?” But he took the card with some interest.

Skiing or riding in Aspen is actually spread over four mountains (the ski operations are all performed by one company, though). Here’s one source of quick statistics that show how different the four mountains are.

Acreage:

• Snowmass: 3100 acres (more than the others combined)
• Highlands: 790 acres
• Aspen: 673 acres
• Buttermilk: 430 acres

Base Elevation:

• Snowmass: 8104 feet
• Highlands 8040 feet
• Aspen: 7945 feet
• Buttermilk 7870 feet

Summit Elevation:

• Snowmass: 12510 feet
• Highlands: 11675 feet
• Aspen: 11212 feet
• Buttermilk: 9900 feet

Vertical Rise:

• Snowmass: 4406 feet
• Highlands: 3635 feet
• Aspen: 3267 feet
• Buttermilk: 2030 feet