Vintage Vail
A writer takes a ski down memory lane and rediscovers more than her form
Riva Ridge snakes down the front side of Vail Mountain, alternating between screaming steeps, and flatter pitches that keep the quads from burning. On this winter day, I feel 17 again, carving wide turns while gravity works its magic. The pointy peaks of Colorado’s Gore Range draw me forward and down the resort’s longest run — 6.4 kilometres from summit to base.
I cut my teeth on Vail’s punishing mogul runs and in the powdery expanses of its legendary Back Bowls. Growing up, I felt free and capable on the snow under a bluebird sky. But I haven’t skied here for two decades — I moved to Canada, got married, had kids, and gave up bumps to save my knees and back.
Now I’m 51, and Vail — nine years my elder — is celebrating its diamond anniversary. I’m here to ski Vail 2.0 and see how we’ve both changed and grown over the years.
The resort, located two hours west of Denver, is marking the milestone with nostalgia, nodding to the sport’s early years. There’s an on-mountain ice bar reminiscent of the 1964 original, and skiers can visit the Legacy Hut, perched at 11,250 feet elevation, to get a mountain history lesson and to send an analog throwback (a postcard) from the town’s highest mailbox.
Vail was the brainchild of friends Pete Seibert and Earl Eaton. They trekked up the mountain in 1957, saw the wide-open backside, and set about finding investors to turn their ski dream into a reality.
“There was truly nothing here,” says Jennifer Mason, executive director of the Vail-based Colorado Snowsports Museum & Hall of Fame. “Aspen and Crested Butte were mining towns that became ski towns. There were lettuce farmers (in Vail Valley) and that was it.”
Vail opened in 1962 with one lodge, three lifts and $5 day passes. Six decades later, it’s one of North America’s largest and priciest resorts, with 5,300 skiable acres, multiple hotels and boutiques, and $275 (U.S.) same-day walk-up passes (though buying a seven-day Epic Pass before ski season can bring the daily rate down). A network of 32 chairlifts — including two new for this season — means lines are a relic, like skiing in jeans.
But the European-style village is still how I remember it. The heated cobblestone streets are snow-free, the iconic Clock Tower still dominates the main square, and the white and brown Tyrolean buildings hearken to the Alps rather than the Rockies.
From my room at the Lodge at Vail, the town’s original inn, it’s just steps to Gondola One, where I meet ski instructor Alex MacKellar. He moved to Vail in 1970 and has seen the town and mountain change dramatically.
Riding up the speedy lifts and during breaks on the slopes, we reminisce about the olden days. He remembers Vail as a close-knit community; I recall meeting ski buddies at the top of Chair 11 at 11 a.m. and sitting on the floor of the Far East Shelter (now Two Elk Lodge) to eat lunch on a busy powder day.
MacKellar leads me down the Slot, a steep groomed run that now makes the Back Bowls more accessible to intermediate skiers, and then across a cat track to Blue Sky Basin, the most recent terrain expansion, which opened in 2000.
“In the ’70s, ’80s, you could ski the Back Bowls without tracking them out. That’s the difference then to now,” he says. “We had days where we would ski and never cross our own tracks.”
I remember traversing the immense landscape behind my older sister, who was teaching me how to ski powder. It felt like the deep snow would never run out (and we’d never reach the bottom).
It’s a different story now, when upwards of 20,000 skiers head to the backside on an average winter day, MacKellar says. Even though the seven alpine bowls that string a pearl necklace across the mountain’s south-facing slopes cover more than 3,000 acres, it’s harder to find those stashes of fresh snow.
Despite the changes, it’s the same immovable mountain and it still skis like a dream. This season there’s been new snow nearly every day since the resort opened in November, freshening up the runs nicely.
The powder has also filled in the mogul troughs on Highline, an expert run I skied with friends all through the ’80s and ’90s. From the chairlift, the bumps don’t look as big as I remember so I decide to test my skills.
The snow is soft and forgiving, and there is just a smattering of other people. It’s obvious after a few turns, though, that Lisa 2.0 is not an upgrade. I take my time picking a line down the hill, pausing frequently. It’s a difficult ski down memory lane, but worth it.
The rest of my time on the mountain I choose easier runs for the older version of me: the open glades in Blue Sky Basin, and Shangri-La in China Bowl, where I’m the sole skier among snowy tree sentinels.
I don’t know if it’s the altitude, the exertion or the Rocky Mountain views, but Vail still takes my breath away, every run.