Ski The East

A TEXAN SKI'S THE EAST

 “Why are you here?”

 

I was asked this question over and over while visiting a variety of New England ski areas. Asked not with any malice or ill intent, but with a sense of curiosity.

 

Many east coast skiers were wondering, why would a country music radio host from Dallas, Texas come all the way to New England to ski? Why wouldn’t he just head over to Colorado, New Mexico or Utah and enjoy that world famous champagne powder?

 

People asked me if I have had heard of the not so complimentary descriptions of skiing in the east. Icey. Cold. Windy. 

 

Sure, I did find that. But as I wandered across New England, I also found a sense of quaintness and skiing history that is missing out west. If you are looking for the glitz and grandeur of Park City or Breckenridge, you’re not going to find that in New England. But you will find a place like Mad River Glen, a ski area that made me feel as if I stepped back in time. Known for their challenging glades, their iconic single chair lift and a boastful motto (‘Ski It If You Can’), the cooperative owned area was much more of a community ski hill than I expected. Visitors come for the challenging glades and solitude that the single chair lift offers, but it’s mainly populated by the people of the nearby communities who have been skiing there for generations. The challenging reputation among skiers is well earned, but they offer many fun runs for beginners and intermediates. Mad River Glen feels as if not much has changed here in the last 50 years because they got it right the first time. The après ski scene at Stark’s Pub might be the best in New England. It was recommended that I try the fried green beans and a local craft brew and I was not one to disregard the suggestion.

 

Mad River Glenn is often cited as an example of the quintessential New England ski area. Though they vary in size, few, if any, approach the scale of megaresorts that Colorado and Utah have become known for. The elevation also pales in comparison and rarely is there an area that has open bowls or skiing above the tree line. But even though the ski areas lack in size, their strength is in their numbers. Take North Conway, New Hampshire for example. This touristy town in the northern part of the state has 6 ski areas within 30 minutes of the town. Just a few blocks from downtown sits Cranmore Mountain. I was attracted to Cranmore to ski in the path of Hannes Schneider, the father of modern-day skiing. 

 

Schneider, born in Steuben am Arlberg, Austria, started skiing on a pair of skies made by a local barrel maker. He literally created the European ski industry. At the age of 17, he was the first person ever hired to teach skiing, in nearby St. Anton, as a way to bring tourist to the Alps during the winter months. He not only created the still used Arlberg technique to teach the sport, he trained countless instructors who spread the sport of Alpine skiing all over Europe and the United States. Schneider left Austria to escape the Nazis and came to North Conway and became the director of the Cranmore Mountain Ski School until his death in 1955. He is buried in the Catholic cemetery in North Conway and you can also find out more about his life at the branch of the New England Ski Museum in town.

 

If the story of Hannes Schneider sounds somewhat like the Von Trapp family from the Sound of Music, you can also visit their legacy in Stowe, Vermont. The Von Trapp Family Lodge is still run by the descendants of the family that escaped the Nazis at the beginning of World War II. The inn offers lodging, great cross-country skiing and old-world charm. A new beerhall open for all was added a few years ago, with a selection of food and family brewed craft beers. The inn is only a few miles from Stowe Mountain Resort, the oldest ski area in Vermont. New Englanders started skiing on Stowe’s Mount Mansfield in 1933, when the Civilian Conservation Corps first cut ski trails on the mountain. In the early days of New England skiing, these long narrow runs across the area were only accessible by hiking. Many of these trails have been abandoned, but a number have been incorporated over the years into ski resorts. It’s exciting to ride on a narrow trail like Stowe’s Nose Dive, that was cut through the woods 90 years ago. The Wildcat Trail and the Cannon Mountain Trail in New England resorts of the same name are also original trails cut during the depression. The narrowness of the trails and the thick tree runs are unique to New England. It really illustrates the difference in skiing in the east compared to the west. The resorts in New England have thick tree cover, but I saw many expert skiers jump down black diamond tree runs with coverage so dense it looked like it would scare a rabbit. 

 

I remember skiing one afternoon at Jay Peak Resort when a lift operator told me I could find better tree runs off the Bonaventure Quad Chair. What I found was a trail sign post when there appeared to be no trail. But I saw many hearty skiers jump off the groomed trail and head down into the untamed brush. While west coast skiers are challenging themselves with steeps and moguls, an east coast skier will test their mettle on tree runs that looks as if the ski patrol arbitrarily placed a trail sign next to a brush pile.

 

Nothing illustrates the difference in east vs west like the backcountry ski scene. In the west, skiers hike, take helicopters, snowcats and snowmobiles to find untracked bowls above the tree line. That literally doesn’t exist in the east. The lack of elevation and the thickness of the forest prevents that.  Rather, skiers in the east all carry a copy of David Goodman’s Backcountry Ski Guide to find ancient trails cut by the CCC that still exist but are far from resorts. The only bowl like skiing in the east is Tuckerman Ravine, the epicenter of the east coast backcountry ski scene, Tuckerman Ravine can be reached after a 2 ½ mile hike from the Appalachian Mountain Club Visitors Center off Route 16 in Pinkham Notch, New Hampshire. Thousands of people make the hike and then trek up the bowl each spring to display their bravery to onlookers. This is where legends are made. Multiple people mentioned to me the straight-line descent that Austrian Toni Matt made from the crest of the headwall to the bottom in record time. I was shocked to discover that this actually happened in 1939, but people still discuss it as if it happened yesterday.

 

One of my last stops on my New England ski safari was Sugarloaf, Maine. The drive across the state to reach Sugarloaf helped me realize that you really can’t get there from here. The excruciating experience of driving I-70 from Denver to Summit County, Colorado isn’t replicated here. One of the pleasures of skiing in New England is the journey. As a lover of winter, the drive to Sugarloaf, Maine was perhaps the best part of my trip. The skiing in Sugarloaf is probably the most like a Colorado ski area, with its size and amenities, but with a sense of charm that often seems to be missing from the corporate controlled ski areas I had become accustomed to visiting. 

 

I’ve spent my last three winters wandering through Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine and I’m planning to visit again. As a skier, I’ve found something out east that I haven’t seen for a long time in the west. I’ve rediscovered what initially attracted me to the sport. I find myself worrying less about trying to squeeze every run out of my $250 mega resort lift ticket and more time just appreciating the beauty of winter and the exhilaration of a life on skis.