Underground Utah

Beneath the Glamour and the grooming, the Park City triumvirate—Park City, Deer Valley, and The Canyons—harbors a hairball side.

I admit it. I was an Alta snob. Back in ’91, I spent a winter ski bumming there and developed an uppity attitude toward that trio of pathetic little ski hills around Park City. Or Park Shitty. In my vague memory, Park City ski area was mostly wide-open, funnel-like expressways littered with snowplowing Texans. Sure, there was some interesting terrain buried in the back, but it took so long to get to, you’d turn gray on the lift. Word was that Deer Valley, known also as Bambi Basin, was buffed flat as a pancake so the furs wouldn’t fly off the rich folks. The third area, now called The Canyons, was a nonentity. But in the years since, I’d heard that there was some really gnarly terrain on the other side of the Cottonwood canyons-even a stash of hairy chutes at Deer Valley. I figured I’d give the areas a try. And even if the skiing was lame, I expected that the town of Park City-this I’m not afraid to admit-would offer up a more scintillating après-ski scene than, say, a pitcher of beer at Goldminer’s Daughter in Alta. Conveniently, the Park City areas are all located within three miles of Park City’s main street. My hubbie, Jeff, and I found it was easy to pinball between the three. And our timing was perfect: The heavens opened up and heaped great gobs of snow everywhere. Sixty inches in six days! All three areas are mostly below tree line and situated at relatively low elevations for Utah (you sleep at 6,900 feet in Park City, as high as 8,950 at Alta), but otherwise each one has its own distinct character. At The Canyons, with more skiable acres than Snowbird, we discovered a huge playground of ridges and bowls and gullies and trees and, yes, canyons. It was a gargantuan natural terrain park ripe for exploration. Behind Park City’s mostly mellow frontside, we found a three-mile ridge with four powder-choked bowls stacked next to one another, crowned by the rocky, chute-filled Jupiter Peak. And at Deer Valley, when we weren’t skiing untracked in deserted glades of aspen, we skied chutes and bowls in the area’s new Empire Canyon. At night we trolled the town’s eateries and watering holes. We met friends of friends and ended up with a posse of ripping skiers who skied us into a pulp. By the end of the week, I was sorry I ever called those hills pathetic. Jeff and I watched bad skiers windshield-wipering down groomed runs, scrubbing the surface slick below the Sterling Lift. We were en route to Deer Valley’s highest summit, Bald mountain, one of two peaks stacked above and behind the area’s front peak. Jeff surveyed the scene and announced that if he, a solid advanced skier, could ski everything we set out to ski this week, it couldn’t be too gnarly. It all looked pretty tame from the lift, but Deer Valley is like a mink coat with a leopard-skin lining. And the key to the wilder side is a special experts-only trail map. We followed it to steep shots hidden in the trees of Ontario Bowl, Sunset Glade, and The Black Forest. And to the tree-lined Mayflower chutes, which required a cornice hop and 12 careful turns down a 38-degree pitch. But even that was over before we could feel that butterfly stomach of truly scary skiing. Jeff was keeping up just fine. We’d made plans with Heidi Voelker, a former U.S. Ski Teamer and the area’s ambassador, to take a snowcat tour of the 500-acre Empire Canyon. The area, which butts up to Park City’s McConkey’s Bowl, adds an off-piste dimension to a mountain known for manicured slopes. (This year, two new chairs replace the cats.) As the cat rumbled up the ridge, Jeff Brown, Deer Valley’s director of snow safety, said, “Feel like huckin’? Have I got a cornice for you.” It was massive. The 25-foot lip oozed layers of snow like peanut butter and jelly squished between two hunks of Wonder bread. The only taker: Chris Samuels, a Mammoth local who was touring Utah in search of photo ops. He pushed back, hauled off in a tight ball, and landed in the wide chute below, making GS rns to rein in his speed. With her blond hair, green eyes, bright orange Völkls, and fluorescent green one-piece, Voelker dropped in like a neon explosion. She made powerful arcs down Chute 2, which Brown had named Chandelier Chute for a cold mid-thigh day when the snow had shattered like broken crystal. Where Jeff and I skied under the overhanging maw, the slope was littered with death cookies underneath a heavy blanket of snow steep enough to avalanche. I made a dozen sweet turns and one tremendous neck-straining somersault. We traversed over to Chute 4. Looking up, all I could see was a nearly vertical cliff band, but Brown assured us it had been skied. Its unofficial name: W2, for Wheaton’s Woody. Had I skied it, it would be called H2, for Helen’s Heart Attack. We skied its 30-degree apron, the thick snow turning to heavy gunk in the trees 650 feet below. A sweaty, disheveled mess, Jeff opted out of a second cat tour. The challenge had been met: Deer Valley had indeed upped its hairball quotient. It occurred to me then that the Deer Valley logo-a stoic- looking, forest green deer head- looks a lot like the label on a Jägermeister bottle. And that there are a few shots of throat-burning Jägey at this otherwise Chardonnay resort. After chicken curry in a clay pot at Taste of Saigon, we headed to O’Shucks for a beer. Peanut shells crunched underfoot as we walked into the long, narrow one-time police shooting gallery. Decorating the brick wall were rusty license plates, old skis, and O’Shucks T-shirts promising Big Nuts, Good Head. It was a Sunday night but the place was humming. A girl with lips the color of blood walked by and gave Jeff’s inner thigh a squeeze. Behind the bar, wearing a little black Armonk, N.Y. name tag, Chris Paulding moved quickly. He was pulling 32-ounce schooners-like wine glasses on steroids-from the rack made from old skis above the bar. He went to Green Mountain Valley School at Sugarbush with Brant Moles and Jeremy Nobis but gave up ski racing in favor of freeskiing. We made plans to ski with Chris and friends the next day at The Canyons. Maybe it was the name, but I did not want to go down the Plumber’s Crack. Paulding, Chris Bremmer (another P.C. local we met at O’Shucks), Jeff, and I had traversed along the tree-covered face off Tombstone and were peeking down a 40-degree funnel that narrowed to the width of a ski. Instead we took 37 Degrees North, etching half moons in the soft snow until the clearing dumped us into the trees below, then spit us into a gully runout. It was gloriously steep, like Alta, but lacked the sustained vertical that leaves your quads screaming for mercy. Even now, at 3,860 acres, The Canyons is Utah’s biggest little-known resort. Not for long, though. “There’s small, medium, and large,” American Skiing Company CEO Les Otten later told me. “The Canyons will be freaking huge.” It’s already on the way: For ’98-’99, ASC will string a new chair up to Ninety Nine-90 peak, accessing even more ridge and bowl skiing. We had plenty to explore as it was. We rode Condor, a cold and windy double that creaks up a long ridgetop (thankfully, ASC has since replaced it with a high-speed quad). We jumped into one of the never-ending glades that spill off the ridge. The trees were tighter than an A-cup on Dolly Parton; the snow, belly-button deep. Paulding’s pale blue jacket with Eager Beaver Tree Service on the back disappeared into the forest. I was sure I’d lost Jeff until he emerged, his neck scratched and bloody. “I hit two trees back there,” he said with a strange grin, “not one, but two.” It was more adventure than skiing, but it left us feeling like we’d been somewhere, done something. Aside from three inches overnight, it hadn’t dumped in days, but few skiers had ventured into the trees. The gladed ridge of The Pines was virtually untracked, and white surf boiled around our thighs as we darted through aspen and fir. We had the place to ourselves. Though it was a weekend, the lodge was quiet at 8:30 a.m.; the shiny new, brightly painted gondolas were mostly empty. “Look around,” said Bremmer. “No one knows about this place.” Not a bad reason for choosing The Canyons with a capital “T.” Jeff and I were sitting in a booth in the Morning Ray when our nose-ringed waitress squealed, “Oooooh, gnarly… fur coat!!!” The woman who’d just walked in pretended not to hear her. We pretended not to laugh. We had coffee, sourdough pancakes, and big plates of eggs. Overhead, a system of fans, belts, and pulleys twirled neckties in lazy circles. We were gearing up for Park City and nearly a foot of fresh. I was also gearing up for long chair rides. But since I’d last skied Park City, they’d put in two new high-speed chairs. In no time, we were whisked to the Jupiter lift, which accesses a three-mile ridge with four heaping bowls of trees, chutes, cornices, and steeps. The terrain looks more like Alta than anywhere else in Park City. I rode up with Eric Zerrenner, 28, a fireman and ex-P.C. ski patroller; Paulding; and his roommate Christina Nicholas, 26, a waitress, shop rat, and freeskier. From the top, it was a 15-minute hump along the ridgeline to Scott’s Bowl. Paulding got a running start, launched the eight-foot cornice, landed in the thick snow, and cut powder 11’s the length of two football fields. The rest of us huffed our way to the bottom through the thick, soft steep-and-deep. At the bottom Jeff looked at me, a bead of sweat running down his temple, and said, “Nice warm up run. I’ll see you at lunch.” In the afternoon, we headed for Jupiter Bowl’s tree-lined chutes. I picked Dirt Chute, named by the patrol because, at 48 degrees, snow has difficulty sticking to it. Great. It was a narrow, vertical minefield: Little stumps and logs and sharp rocks were hidden just beneath the surface. Paulding aired over the most problematic section. I delicately hop-turned down, snow sloughing down around my boot tops, my heart wonderfully stuck in my throat, adrenaline tingling all the way to my fingertips. Next we hiked through the Pearly Gates, around the back of Jupiter Peak to Flagstaff Ridge, and over a cornice into pillow-soft McConkey’s Bowl. The 25-minute trek was worth it. Few had preceded us, and there were enough first tracks and face shots to feed a kennel of hungry powderhounds. At the bottom, there were knowing grins all around: It was midday, and by now Alta’s faces were surely cut to shreds. I’d seen enough to realize there was plenty of adrenaline-inducing terrain at Park City. But if that’s your raison d’ski, I thought, then Park City is a 1,000-acre, one-lift ski area with two high-speed access chairs, and one hell of an end-of-the-day runout. Make that was a one-lift area: The addition of a high-speed six-pack in McConkey’s dramatically changes things for this season. What was once the exclusive playground of those willing to traverse and hike will now be accessed by a five-minute ride. Powder that once stayed fresh for days will be gobbled up more quickly. If you don’t like loud music, you should leave now!” the band leader bellowed into the mike. Set on a tiny stage in the corner above the dance floor, Sturgeon General exploded in a saxophone-and-trombone symphony of ska. We were at The Alamo on Main Street swilling Sam Adams longnecks and watching a big guy with a shaved head dance in rapid circles, arms and shoes flying. In the bathroom, big-haired women from Salt Lake slathered on lipstick and traded gossip. As we left The Alamo and headed for O’Shucks–“You either start there or you’ll end up there. It’s inevitable,” Christina told us–snowflakes the size of golf balls floated from the midnight sky.   “I came here because it’s supposed to be groomed,” whined a woman in a nasaly Fran Drescher voice in the bathroom of Deer Valley’s Snow Park Lodge. “I can’t ski this stuff.” I smiled from my stall. It was Fat Tuesday, and there were 15 inches of fresh outside. The snow was more Elmer’s Glue than Utah fluff, so we had to go nearly straight to maintain momentum. On Champion, the 2002 Olympic mogul run, we could barely feel the massive bumps, only the copious amounts of slo-mo chest and face shots. It was exhausting, but exhilarating. After two runs, Jeff said, “I’ll see you at lunch.” In the afternoon, we found slightly lighter stuff in the Triangle Trees. “Skiing rules,” Paulding said like he’d just figured it out. “I can’t believe it; I didn’t cross a track up there, and it’s two o’clock.” That, we discovered, is the beauty of skiing Deer Valley on a powder day.   Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent. I hadn’t decided what to give up yet, but I knew it wasn’t powder. Two feet had fallen overnight and the storm continued to rage, huge flakes swirling in the air. Under The Canyons’ Saddleback lift, featherlight snow washed over our heads, blinding us at every turn. It was like flying through clouds. If I could have seen anything, I’d have seen God. I was on Fischer Alltrax Expedition midfats I borrowed from Bremmer, and Jeff had rented Rossi Cut 11.5 fatties. The big boards let us rip big turns, catching small airs and landing on gigantic goose-feather pillows on The Drain’s bumpy, powder-covered face. I rode up Condor with a Canyons die-hard whose snow-crusted beard cracked when he smiled. “The only difference between here and Alta today,” he said, “is the difference between two and three feet.” And two was plenty. Below us, a series of chutes through the trees spilled off one side of the ridge. Clumps of snow were stuck in gnarled branches like giant cotton balls. Hip-deep snow in Chute 2 enveloped us in a cozy white blanket as we played on wind lips and ridge spines and in gullies. Lower down, we ducked into one of the half dozen natural halfpipes that add to The Canyons’ terrain-park feel. “It’s just as steep here as anywhere else, but there are no huge rock bands for launching,” Christina explained. “I’d rather have 50 turns go over my head than huck any day.” Nonetheless, Paulding and Bremmer found a 10-foot rock and hucked it. The Pearly Gates were closed when Dave “Dick Dogger” Weiss, Eric Z, and I hiked up to them. “Do you want me to open the gates?” asked Dogger, a ski patroller buddy of Eric’s. Sure, we said; it had snowed half a foot overnight. His call was followed by a long pause, then “okay, sure” crackled over the radio. The three of us hiked alone, with no feeling of Snowbirdesque tram-unloading powder panic, to the top of Jupiter peak. Dogger disappeared down the ridge. I jumped into Machetes, a 45-degree swath torn through the rocks. In the narrow section up top, I caught an edge on a rock and lost a ski, landing butt first. Heart pounding, I somehow caught my ski as it rocketed down the fall line. I did not want to ski Machetes on one ski. The run widened into a pristine apron, and I bounded down, snow billowing up around my hips, splashing into my face. Eric took the even gnarlier 51-50 entrance. At the bottom, we looked back at the longg ribbons we’d left in the snow. There were maybe 10 tracks on the whole peak. The place was a powder-covered ghost town. After three areas, six days, and 60 inches of fresh, my legs were like warmed-over Silly Putty. I had skied steep and deep and hairy. I had skied trees so tight you needed to butter your hips to get through. I had scared myself half a dozen times. But I had two days left, and it was far too good to stop. Destination: Park City, Utah Features By Helen Olsson Vital Stats: DEER VALLEY Top Elevation: 9,570 feet Vertical Drop: 3,000 feet Annual Snowfall: 300 inches Skiable Acreage: 1,750 acres Terrain: 15% beginner, 50% intermediate, 35% expert Lifts: 1 gondola, 4 high-speed quads, 2 fixed-grip quads, 9 triples, 2 doubles Information: 800-424-DEER Reservations: 800-558-DEER Website: www.deervalley.com PARK CITY Top Elevation: 10,000 feet Vertical Drop: 3,100 feet Annual Snowfall: 350 inches Skiable Acreage: 2,800 acres (lift served); 3,000 (includes hike-to) Terrain: 17% beginner, 45% intermediate, 38% expert Lifts: 4 high-speed six-packs; 2 fixed-grip quads, 5 triples, 4 doubles Information And Reservations: 800-222-PARK Website: www.parkcitymountain.com THE CANYONS Top Elevation: 9,900 feet Vertical Drop: 3,100 feet Annual Snowfall: 325 inches Skiable Acreage: 2,860 acres (lift served); 3,000 (includes hike-to) Terrain: 20% beginner, 40% intermediate, 40% expert Lifts: 1 gondola, 5 high-speed quads, 3 fixed-grip quads, 1 triple, 1 double, 2 surface lifts Information And Reservations: 888-CANYONS Website: www.thecanyons.com Getting There: Park City is just 37 miles east of Salt Lake City International Airport via I-80. You can rent a car at the airport or take a shuttle to Park City (Canyon Transportation, 800-255-1841; Lewis Bros. Stages, 800-826-5844) and then take the free bus to get around town. Prices: Beat Park City’s $53 one-day lift price with a six-day pass before December 18 ($31 a day) and after April 6 ($32). Deer Valley’s $57 one-day ticket drops to $49 when you buy a six-of-seven-day ticket. Ski The Canyons prior to December 18 and after March 29 for $36 a day when you buy a seven-day pass. (The one-day ticket costs $52.) Lodging: Park City has 15,000 pillows, ranging from $27 to $2,400 a night. Take your pick. The Old Miner’s Lodge (800-648-8068), an 1800s bunkhouse for miners, is a charming bed-and-breakfast two blocks off Main Street. A sign out front reads: On this site, in 1897, nothing happened. Prices range from $100 to $250, including a home-cooked breakfast. For groups of up to eight, one option is to rent a renovated historic house in town from Thistle Springs (800-803-9589). We stayed in an 1892 house at the top of Main Street ($850 nightly) with full kitchen, hot tub, satellite TV, and late-19th-century Utah furnishings. The cheapest digs in town: a $27 dorm room with continental breakfast at Chateau Apres (800-357-3556), across from Park City Mountain Resort. Food & Drink: Main Street is chock-a-block with places for grub and grog, with cuisine from Vietnamese to Italian to cowboy to Cajun. Make a rezzy for Chimayo, the hot place for Southwestern fare. For carbo loading in a cozy atmosphere, there’s Cisero’s. Après-dinner, head downstairs for beer, pool, and music. With the new Town Lift Brew Pub at one end, the venerable Wasatch Brew Pub at the other, and countless watering holes in between, Main Street is perfect for a pub crawl. Treat your taste buds to gastronomic nirvana at Deer Valley’s Mariposa, in Silver Lake Lodge, with the sumptuous seven-course $65 tasting menu. It’s worth every penny. Inside Tracks: Take a walk through history: This 1880s silver-boom town has 112 buildings listed on the National Register of Historic Places. • When sitting on a barstool at the Poison Creek Bar under Cisero’s, you’re at 7,000 feet. With such a low elevation (for a ski town), Park City is an ideal destination for altitude-sickness sufferers. • For the 2002 Olympics, Deer Valley will host the slalom and freestyle events; Park City will host GS races and snowboarding. • Feel five g’s of centrifugal force as you rocket 80 miles per hour in a bobsled down the Utah Winter Sports Park’s Olympic track, five miles from town. (You don’t get to drive, though; a professional driver and brakeeman control the sled.) Call 435-658-4200. This story first appeared in Skiing Magazine in  November 1998.