9 A.M. FIRST CHAIR
Anticipation ran high as we wolfed down breakfast and made our way over to Mt. Snow’s
Grand Summit chair. It was a fitting place to start; Mt. Snow was one of the first Eastern
resorts to make skiing sexy and cool. Photos of poolside parties and hot ski outfits lined
the walls of the hotel.
The air was crisp on the chair ride up over superhighways of fresh-groomed corduroy. We
poured off the lift up top, took in the view, and funneled onto Upper Canyon before hitting
Standard, carving up the fresh ‘roy with long, swooping turns. The race was on. We stepped
quickly out of our boards and scrambled to the Explorer. Next stop: Stratton.
There was no line at Stratton’s ticket window, and we made our way over to the American Express
six-pack as the sun began softening the snow. Home to the Burton U.S. Open Snowboarding
Championship for 26 years, Stratton has always held an iconic status in my mind, stomping
ground of some of the world’s best riders. We rolled off the chair, and sped down Underpass
to Yodeler, leaving our mark on Stratton’s manicured slopes.
By now, an explosion of snow-pasted gear and snack wrappers was overrunning the chariot.
Led Zeppelin thundered through the speakers as we drove to predominantly south-facing
Bromley, founded by Fred Pabst of Pabst Blue Ribbon fame.
We told a lanky grey-haired gentleman named Ray at Bromley’s ticket counter about our
mission. He looked over his spectacles with a quizzical look before giving us our tickets.
“Have a good trip guys,” he said as we walked over to the Alpine chair. A few minutes later
we harvested the sweetest corn of the day, thanks to a warming sun, as we cruised down
Boulevard. Back in the Explorer and time to work some Magic.
Magic Mountain was closed on weekdays this late in the season, but the Magic people were
cool enough to set us up with a snowmobile ride up. That’s the kind of personal treatment you
get at more intimate ski areas – especially when you’re three guys on a magazine assignment.
“It’s gonna be scratchy,” the lift mechanic said in his Vermont twang before tearing uphill with
the throttle pinned, past steep, fall-line terrain and birch glades. We got dropped off one by
one, and made quick work of the silent slopes with mystical names like Wand and Hocus Pocus.
There’s nothing like having a whole ski area to yourself on a sun-soaked spring afternoon.
26 skivermont.com
