Grays On Trays

Football commentators sometimes describe a running back who plows straight down the field as being a “north-south” runner. In other words, it’s all about moving in a single line, not meandering from side to side.

That kind of approach works fine for football, but it robs the rider of some of the enjoyment of snowboarding, especially on short runs.

If you’re riding down a regular mountain with a two mile run and several thousand vertical feet to descend, being a north-south runner is fine. But when you’re dealing with 300 vertical feet and at most three-quarters of a mile, as is often the case in the Midwest, you’ve got to appreciate the more subtle changes in the terrain and go east-west as well as north-south.

For example, look at the various undulations in the photo above. It’s one of the shortest slopes in this particular ski area, but it’s also one of the most interesting. Near the top–in the shadows–is a section that is fairly steep, though for only 10 feet or so. You can drop off that, or head off to the rider’s right and enter into a bowl. As you move towards the base you have several options as well.

Granted, Breckenridge or Park City it isn’t. We make do here. Looking at the possibilities of the terrain at a small ski area, though, can pay off during trips to the mountains, so you can imagine a line and then follow it.

Even though the winters are cold here, we don’t get a lot of snow; according to= the University of Minnesota, the historical average is a mere 45 inches a year. The winds that arrive here from the western plains are simply dry.

Tuesday night we received 4-5 inches, which, by comparison with the seasonal average, is what we call a “powder dump” around here.

Sadly, riders don’t get to enjoy it that much. First of all, there’s so little terrain compared with the number of skiers and riders that it gets tracked out pretty quickly.

And if it’s not tracked out? The grooming machines attack it. Seriously. I once saw a groomer steaming up the hill, mid-day, wiping out the powder.

Yikes.

Then again, so many people here depend on groomed surfaces, especially ski racers, for whom the icier, the better.

Not all Midwestern areas are so cursed. For example, Indianhead, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and on the leeward side of Lake Superior winds, gets about 300 inches a year. Boyne Mountain, much further south in the state, claims 140 inches a year. Lutsen, in Minnesota and along Lake Superior but along its windward side, says they get only 114.

Snowmaking, as you can see, is rather important for the region.

While updating the pages of the Grays on Trays resort listing, I noticed that Fun Valley Iowa is now defunct as a ski area. (The web site says that the place will continue as a motocross area in the summer.)

The site mentions that a triple chair has been moved to Seven Oaks Recreation. The “About Us” page for Seven Oaks tells the story of how hard it can be to run a mom-and-pop area. Edwin and Kay Bryan opened Fun Valley in 1970. Rick, one of seven children, took over after his father died two years later, and the other children helped run the place. The family opened Seven Oaks in 1997. A few warm winters and the opportunities of Seven Oaks apparently made the family decide to dispose of Fun Valley.

The Fun Valley site points to a liquidation sale. I don’t know how old that information is–the page is not dated–but it is rather interesting to troll through the photos of stuff for sale. There’s a lot more to running a ski area than collecting money and renting gear. So the site offers snow-making equipment, groomers, a couple of bulldozers, various pieces of lift equipment, and rental gear for sale.

Being based in the Midwest presents certain challenges for the snowboarder, especially the adult not interested in becoming a freestyle champion. There are the short pistes, of course.

Then there are the conditions. Grooming is an obsession at some areas. Perhaps that’s rightfully so, given the preferences of the customer base. Yet knowing that didn’t keep me from cringing when I once saw a grooming machine trample over four to six inches of new snow. (I know that’s not much in powder, but around here, that’s decent.)

While updating the resort listings pages on the main web site, I came across this description from Devil’s Head, Wisconsin:

“The ski slopes are pampered almost as much as the guests: they get groomed twice a day – the slopes that is – to make sure guests experience the best Wisconsin skiing possible.“

What’d I well you about grooming?

Devil’s Head then extols its freestyle terrain, pointing out that you can slide from top to bottom while hitting features all the way. (To me, those are things spice things up, only by being things to avoid, for the most part.)

Then there’s this oddity:

“Devil’s Head has been a longtime favorite of intermediate skiers because of its long, cruising slopes that create an exhilarating ride without the harshness of bumps and glades.”

A ski area that celebrates the fact that it doesn’t have glades?

What a shame!

Welch Village is a small but pleasant place for riders and skiers in southern Minnesota, northern Iowa and western Wisconsin. Now if it only would have a more honest trail map.

Welch is one of the several ski areas in the Twin Cities area. It’s southeast of Saint Paul, beyond land that is still home to corn fields and cow pastures. A friend of mine says “In Minnesota, we don’t ski down mountains; we ski down to rivers.” And that’s certainly the case for Welch Village. Its 330-or-so vertical feet aren’t of the “Mount Trashmore” variety, in which a bump on the land is created through the development and then closure of a landfill.

Instead, Welch’s slidable surfaces come about because you descend into a river valley, take a lift up to the “normal” altitude for the region, and then take your snowboard or ski back down. Hey, at least you’ve got the scenery of a river, on your short (one intersection) trip through “downtown” Welch.

A recent trip to Welch Village the day after a major snowstorm convinced me of this fact: It wins the award in the Twin Cities for “most treacherous last-3 miles of approach.” The trip from the north is on County Road 7, two-lane, twisting road that goes both down (and sometimes back up, temporarily) and side-to-side on its way to the Cannon River, “downtown” Welch, and then to the ski area. It’s a great drive on a summer day when the sun is shining and you’re in a convertible with the top down. But the drive can be a bit uncomfortable during the winter when the roads are snowpacked and slippery.

Welch isn’t the largest ski area in the Twin Cities, nor does it have the longest runs. But I do like the feel of it. I can’t explain why or what exactly. Maybe it’s the drive there, both on County Road 7 and 240th street, which goes straight but which has a series of 50-foot peaks-and-troughs. Maybe the trees are more interesting. It could be that the base village looks marginally more attractive than those found elsewhere. Again, I’m not sure why, but I like it.

Welch faces north, with 3 major sections. From the top of the middle grouping of lifts, you can descend into any of those sections. You can also, if you get the right lift, go from east to west in one lift ride and one run. But you can’t make the west-to-east trip in just one trip; the layout doesn’t allow for that, and the permanent closure of one run–more on that later–doesn’t help matters.

My favorite part of Welch may be the eastern section. It’s got a couple of country-road runs through trees, both which open into a meadow suitable for trying ground 360s, small jumps, or the maximizing-snowboarding-time maneuver known as riding from one edge of the meadow to the other.

The east also has a couple of green runs that require some skating to get to from off the lift, but which can reward you with powder (along the edges) after the good stuff has been smashed down elsewhere. But these beginner trails actually require some intermediate skills to use properly, as they empty out into a long nearly-flat road that has a slight incline just before it drops down into the meadow. If you’re going to avoid a quarter-mile walk, you better keep up your speed, which newbies can find unsettling.

The east is also the home of the promised “future back bowl.” This has been on a feature on trail maps for at least 3 seasons if not longer. Two years ago I was told that the timber harvesting was going to start soon. During my recent visit, I did notice a construction fence beyond the easternmost lift. And sure enough, I did see a space that appeared to have been cleared of trees, at the top of a ravine. I wished I could have gotten a better view of what the terrain might look like, but I respect private property, so I stayed within the fence line. The day was overcast so I couldn’t see far into it. I’m looking forward to riding into this terrain should it ever open, but I suspect there’s a lot of work yet to do, including installing pipes for snowmaking (an essential around here), installing lifts, and before all that, the enduring the environmental review process.

The east section of Welch is also home to Madd Jaxx, the place to enjoy an adult beverage. Tailgating commonly takes place in the parking lot, which is accessible to the main base area by a dirt road. Jaxx has the usual collection of ski bar kitsch: old skis and snowboards nailed into the ceiling; a license plate from a state (Montana–Minnesotans seem to love Montana) blessed with far better terrain; and advertisement after advertisement for beer and hard liquors. That latter–including a 4-foot tall poster of Captain Morgan–is a bit over-the-top for my preferences, but then again, I don’t own the place.

Moving from east to west, you have a couple of decent diamonds that are used for slalom racing, which is a big deal in these parts. There’s also a bumps run–which I tried but didn’t handle too well–and a sorta-kinda halfpipe. Welch did have a very good halfpipe two or three years ago, but it’s gone, replaced by more kickers and other park features.

The steepest section among the always-open slopes is called Chicken. It’s reasonably gentle on top and becomes more severe until right before the end. I don’t straightline it.

After you ride the top fifth of Chicken, you can take a short path to the east and another trail. The name of that path: Chicken Little.

If you keep riding on Chicken until just before it drops off, you have another opportunity to leave, to the west. The name of that exit: Chicken Out. A sense of humor is also evident in the name of a beginner’s trail of “Mary Jane.” I’m not thinking of reefer so much as the bumps run at Winter Park that has the same name. What a contrast.

Welch also has a decent-sized terrain park with rails and kickers. It used to be home of the halfpipe, as I said, and even before that, Eurocarvers used to love the space as a place to do their magic. No more.

Terrain is what it is, and I can’t fault Welch for not being Whistler. But if there’s one thing that I can fault it for, it’s the trail markings. Welch, like a lot of areas, inflates its trail count.

The marketing material boasts of 50 runs. But in the five years that I have been visiting (at least once a year, some years, often), a few maps on the trail have never been open. These include (for those of you in the area): Southern Cross, Eastern Star, Adam’s Rib, and Cedar Fork. There are also two double-diamonds that I have never seen open. I’ve been told that they do get used on powder days, though truth be told I’m not sure that I’d want to try them. If you would, get there exactly on the powder day; if you’re there the day after, you’ll be out of luck.

Another problem with the trail count is that things that should never have a separate name do. Two short trails start at the top and then merge to form a single trail? Three names.

One unique feature of Welch is that none of the eight lifts are rope tows. That’s good for newbies, and for snowboarders generally. Speaking of newbies, Welch has a solid area for novices, complete with a mini-terrain park in which the features are mere inches above the ground.

Make sure you know what lifts are running before you start; in non-peak times, the eastern slopes are closed, and the closure of some lifts can leave riders with a long walk back to a chair.

It’s late in the Midwest season for snowboarding, which means that it just may be time to head to Lutsen, along the shores of Lake Superior. It isn’t Tahoe, but it does have this in common with it: get in the right position and you can slide with a great view of water right in front of you.

In this case, Lake Superior is the largest (by surface area) freshwater lake in the world.

Here’s a clear shot of the lake, though taken with a disposable camera:

And a photo with better resolution, though not showing the lake nearly as much:

Midwestern ski areas have their virtues, including being cheap (you can stay at home) and accessible (you can stay at home). They’re also places where beginners and novices can feel comfortable on much of the terrain.

Even so, there’s a difference between “beginning snowboarder” and “pretend snowboarder.” Even the cheapest, true novice snowboard has edges. Anything else is a sled.

I’m a sucker for alpine kitsch. Not that I have any at home–save my father-in-law’s 50-year old skis–but I think ski and snowboard areas ought to play up some of their obvious qualities.

One thing they can do is recycle their equipment. Sports stadiums do something like this when they replace all the seats and sell the old ones to fans. A couple years ago I played the last round of golf anyone played on one particular course slated for a housing development–but only after the management had auctioned off the yardage markers and other objects on the course.

What do ski areas have? Chairs, for one thing. What other outdoors activity involves being suspended in air while being transported from point A to point B? The only thing I can think of is skydiving. Like snowboarding or skiing, the point isn’t so much the trip up (though that can have its own pleasures, such as looking at the scenery or engaging in conversation) as it is the trip down.

In the Midwest, the typical snow slider will spend much more time on lift chairs than actually snowboarding or skiing. So what better way to welcome customers to a snow hill than to put a few chairs near the chalet?

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Erica leaves the following note. The comment function is broken and I can’t figure out how to fix it. Until that point, I’ll paste in comments as they arrive.

Erica: I’ve seen old chairlifts at random places around some resorts… I agree though, there has got to be more use for the old stuff, recycle the materials at least – think Green! At Mammoth they just replaced an entire lift with a huge 6-person express, but I have no idea what they did with the old ones.

Me: There’s got to be a customer somewhere who would love to buy something like that. More likely, they sold it to another ski area.

Here in the flatlands, the season for snowboarding and skiing is coming to an end. It’s hard for the areas to stay open until St. Patrick’s Day, let alone later.

This morning my driveway was more than half uncovered.

People at ski areas have a hard time convincing the public that even if there’s no snow at home, it is on the slopes. They’re right, of course, at the beginning of the season, when cold nights and snowmaking equipment combine to make sliding possible.

But towards the end of the season, their job may be even more difficult, as thoughts turn to golf, tennis, cycling, gardening and other outside activities.

The Midwest has plenty of good qualities, but great snowboarding terrain is not one of them. Even so, the region develops plenty of skiers and riders, as the Chicago Tribune describes (“Midwest resorts excel in ski lessons,” January 20, 2008)

It mentions that there are “more than 100” ski resorts in the region. You can, by the way, see the web site of all of them through GraysOnTrays: see the Great Lakes page for Ohio, Indiana, and Michigan, and the Midwest page for Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Iowa, Missouri and the Dakotas.

According to one official of Vail Resorts (which owns Vail, Breckenridge, Keystone, Heavenly and Beaver Creek resorts), Chicago is once again the second city—this time in providing the most number of customers to the company.

The Tribune article describes regional ski areas, including Wilmot (Wisconsin), Grand Geneva (Wisconsin), Shanty Creek (Michigan) and others.

If you’re interested in a long-weekend getaway to introduce your children to skiing or snowboarding, the article is especially useful, because it describes the children’s programs at various resorts.

Did you ever wonder how the number of snowboard instructors compares with that of ski instructors? Wilmot has 240 instructors, of whom 60 are snowboarders. Assuming that nobody among the 240 teachers both skiing and snowboarding (most likely an invalid assumption, but close enough to the truth), that’s a ratio of 3 ski instructors to every 1 snowboard instructor. That sounds similar to industry averages for the customer base, but I digress.

Are you ready for a magic carpet ride? The director of the snowsports school at Grand Geneva says they “have really revolutionized the learning process” for helping students—especially children—spend more time trying to make turns and less time grappling with the rope. I certainly would have benefited from a carpet too, as it took me quite a while to handle a rope tow during my early days on a board.