Closing Day
Yesterday was closing day at both Beaver Creek and Steamboat, the final time that the general public could ride a lift to the top of either mountain. It wasn't the greatest of ski seasons, with Beaver Creek only getting 232 inches of snow instead of their usual 300 for the year. But February and March were both pretty decent, so the season ended better than it started off, and its not how you start but how you finish that counts. Coming off the heels of last year, where the entire season state-wide shut down abruptly due to Covid, it was hard to complain about what we had this year. This season, I didn't take any chairlift ride for granted, and didn't even mind the occasional lift line, since it meant everyone spread out getting their own chair.
I really found myself appreciating chair lifts more than ever this year. After all, last spring the mountains were still there with snow on them. They didn’t “close”, the chairlifts stopped running. In most case you could still go skiing, if you were willing to put in the work to hike up the hill. I did just that on A Basin’s closing day, hiking up from the bottom of Loveland Pass to access the upper lift where they didn’t scan for lift tickets. After all of the ski areas closed last year, A Basin was the only one that stayed open long enough to reopen, of only for a couple of weeks. Since there was so much pent up demand from those like me who wanted to get out on their skis or snowboards one last time, they instituted a lottery system to restrict the amount of people on the mountain. I tried several times without success to get one of those prized slots, and when the last day of the year rolled around I decided to take matters into my own hands, or in this case feet. I did the hike from the CDOT yard to the lift carrying my skis strapped to my backpack, and was able to get in several runs from the top by accessing that upper lift. A chairlift ride never felt so good.
The thing about Closing Days (last season being the outlier), is that there isn't just one Closing Day, but several. Among my personal ski haunts, Arrowhead closes first. Since Arrowhead is the closest way for me to get onto Beaver Creek Mountain, so when it closes for the year I notice it. I typically drive to Arrowhead, park in free lot, and make the 5 minute walk to the lift. Once that closes, the main mountain at Beaver Creek usually stays open another week, but then I have to factor in a pay parking lot and a bus ride. In this age of Covid, adding a crowded bus ride to the itinerary isn't nothing.
A week after Beaver Creek closes, Vail and Ski Cooper and the Copper Bowl do too. Since there is some precipitation in the forecast for this week, they may close with conditions as good as The Beav did yesterday. That will mark the third and final Closing Day in Eagle County. But wait, it isn't over yet, there will still be another after when the rest of Copper closes at week after that. Then in early May, it Winter Park's turn, and after that Breckenridge. If you are keeping count, that makes seven weekends with “Closing Days”. And finally, there is A Basin, the king of Spring Skiing, whose Closing Day is purely dependent of the prevailing conditions, but is currently projected to be sometime in June.
So Closing Day, that most bittersweet of times, happens many times during the spring. Last year we were spared the many small cuts and lost everything all at once. About the only positive thing about it was that about the time Covid was spreading, the snow stopped too, and so if you had to choose a spring without skiing, you could have done worse than 2020.
Last weekend, I was probably the last person to ski their way from the top of Strawberry Park and out through Bachelor Gulch. Those runs that you know are the last ones of the year always have a poignant feel to them. You are doing something you love for what you know will be the last time in many months, or maybe ever. There's no guarantee that anyone reading (or writing) this will be around next November to start the whole cycle again.
Yesterday for the final day at the Beav, I got to the Elk Lot late due to running a river shuttle in the morning before heading to Avon. I was pleased to see that they weren't charging for parking. I took the bus to the village, and made my way over to Red Tail Camp as directly as possible. On many Closing Days at Beaver Creek, the only lifts left running on are on the front side, but due to the March snowfall the Grouse Mountain and the Birds of Prey lifts were still going. The weather was bluebird perfect, with only the occasional small cloud passing over. I took a fast cruiser down Red Tail, and enjoyed it so much that I did it again. Since Grouse Mountain was still open, I rode that lift and noticed that Screech Owl had been groomed. Most of the runs on Grouse Mountain are so steep that the snowcats have to be connected to winch cables to groom them. Screech Owl was smooth and the snow softened by the sun, and very fun to ski. I did that a couple of times, then went back to the Birds Of Prey lift to change it up. On that ride, I noticed that Golden Eagle had also been groomed, so on my next run I skied that. Golden Eagle is the run where they do the Men's World Cup races, and it usually scares the hell out of me. It's very steep and usually pretty icy, but yesterday it was wonderful. Like Screech Owl, it was steep and smooth and soft. I did several laps on that, and on almost all my runs down to Red Tail skied right onto an empty chair with no lift line. This was my idea of heaven.
While riding up the Grouse chair for the last time, I was able to get a good look at the Bald Spot, and debated whether to make the hike up to there. There were some tracks visible on it, but it was hard from that distance to tell how fresh they were. It's been a bad avalanche season in Colorado, with a weak early snowpack barely supporting the late season bounty. It had been a few years since I'd skied the Bald Spot, for its a pretty long hike from the top of the Cinch lift to get to it. I'd also never done it alone, it would be a bad place to have an accident since its far out of bounds. But after a year of having very little adventure in my life, I decided to try and make it up there.
From the top of the lift, I went out the gate past all of the warning signs basically recommending not to do so. At first I had lots of company, for there is a traditional end of season party on the trail to the Bald Spot. The revelry was happening only a ten minute hike from the gate, and was in full swing when I passed by. There were about two hundred people, with loud thumping music, laughter, and smiles all around. I wished that it weren't possible to actually see those smiles, but since almost no one was wearing a mask the grins were all too evident. It was nice to see so many happy, healthy people out enjoying the beautiful day like last year never happened, even if I wasn't eager to jump into the middle of it myself. I've had one Covid shot already, with my second is due this week. Maybe I'll be a part of some Closing Day merrymaking at Winter Park or A Basin, but for now it was just too soon.
I skirted around the crowd, still plodding my way uphill. There wasn't anyone else that seemed to be heading above the party, which disappointed me a bit. Every other time I've done the hike, there has always been a handful of others doing so. The trail from the party site leading up the hill had lots of deep postholes where others had sunk in, so I kept my skis on. However, doing a walk that far with my heavy old steel Volant skis on was quite the workout. The distant ridge didn't ever seem to get closer, so I tried to look straight down at my ski tips, and focus on each step. This time last year I was in great shape from playing ice hockey and skiing, but I’ve gained ten pounds since then and none of it muscle.
My efforts were further hampered by the fact that I was using just one pole. I've got a torn bicep tendon and can't push off with my left shoulder, so all winter I've just been using just one one. This has been an interesting adaptation. When skiing through trees, I hold the pole in my right hand as I always would. If I'm an open slope, I hold both hands on the single pole as if I'm riding a mountain bike, which is a great way to keep my shoulders square pointing downhill. On the flats, I'll skate ski and hold the pole like its a hockey stick, with my left hand lower than my right. When skiing fast cruisers I usually have music cranking on headphones, and will hold my left hand higher like I'm playing an air bass guitar. On chairlifts and poma lifts, having just one pole is one less thing to worry about. Of course all winter, I've had lifties ask me if I’ve dropped a pole, and do I need another? In those short few seconds before being whisked off I learned to say, "No thanks, just have a bad shoulder!" Someday, when my shoulder is better I'll probably go back to using two poles again, but until then one pole is just fine.
But on that long trudge up to the top of the Bald Spot, I was wishing that I had two strong shoulders to push with. I used both hands on the one pole and kept the pole centered between my skis, not off to the side. Its an unconventional style, but it gets the job done. After an hour of this, I finally found myself on top of the ridge with forever views, and having the Bald Spot all to myself. It would have been nice to have a partner, but there was no one to be seen coming up the trail below so a solo trip it would have to be. I sat down on a rock and had a beer, not in any hurry to leave. It was an amazing place to be, and with a cold beer in my hand, sunshine on my face and my trusty Volants on my feet I'd never felt better.
My beer done and my legs rested, it was time to go but hard to do so. Here I was in a spot visible to the thousands of people travelling each day on I-70, but one that almost no one would ever set foot on. I took one last look around, and pushed off. The slope was very steep, but the snow was smooth as a pool table and softened by the intense sun. Perfect. In just a few moments I felt like I was flying, hell I was flying. There was nothing but blue sky and white snow and fresh wind and for that minute or two it took to get down to the trees below I was in a flow state and could do no wrong. Was it worth an hour of hard work for two minutes of bliss? It absolutely was. I've had a lot of great skiing this year, for I was able to pick my spots and ski when there was fresh pow to ski on. But the run I'll remember most in the future was this one, the last run down from the crest of Beaver Creek Mountain. It was like heliskiing, minus the expense and the helicopter.
Far too soon, the slope ended and I was funneled down into a narrow maze of trees. Soon after that, it became an actual trail, with signage but no people. I wouldn't be the past person off the hill for the year, the party was still going on above me and sooner or later those folks would be making their last run of the year too. But it would be hard to be better or memorable than mine.
Two Closing Days down, six to go!
Jack Bombardier
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