But there’s no escape, and, besides, this exercise sounds kinda cool. “Leadership is a lesson that can be learned, which is why we’ve hired this man to speak about Mount Everest,” Rosenstein says of the day’s last speaker, Mike Roberto. A 36-year-old consultant with a doctorate in business administration from Harvard, Roberto has built a nifty sideline out of lecturing on the leadership lessons he’s gleaned from the Everest disaster of May 10, 1996.

“Mike Roberto has three degrees from Harvard, including a doctorate, and he used to teach there,” Rosenstein says. “He’s written a case study on Everest—remember those from law school?”

Roberto takes the floor, wearing a headset mike. He’s five foot eight, black-haired, and amiable, and he quickly launches into an engaging hour-and-a-half dialogue with the audience. “So! You’ve all read the case study,” he begins, his voice booming in the cavernous hotel ballroom. Heads turn down. Papers shuffle. “What went wrong on Everest in the spring of ’96?”

The lawyers gamely shout answers—hubris! testosterone! altitude!—while Roberto compiles a list on an overhead projector, pacing the room between scribbles. When he really wants to drive home a point, Roberto tends to stop, pirouette in his loafers, and lunge forward. He plays to the crowd by making self-deprecating Italian jokes; before long he has them eating out of his hand.

It’s a strange concept—using the world’s most famous climbing tragedy as a management lesson—but Roberto does a brisk trade with his Everest case study, lecturing about 12 times a year for a fee that an Orrick representative puts in the vicinity of “the tens of thousands.” Since 2003, Roberto has taken his act to 20 different states, the UK, Japan, Costa Rica, and Canada. Among his clients have been Morgan Stanley, Mars (the candy company), Novartis (pharmaceuticals), Segue Software, and the Naval War College, in Newport, Rhode Island.

The appeal? Even for nonclimbers, Everest is inherently riveting, and Roberto knows how to make the ’96 events relevant. “Our partners want to work with people who understand our culture,” says Laura Saklad, Orrick’s director of professional development. “At company retreats like this, the trick is to find someone who can both teach and entertain. That’s Roberto.”

AN ASSISTANT PROFESSOR at Harvard from 2000 to 2006, Roberto turned to Everest in 2002, having already written case studies about subjects like winemaker Robert Mondavi and the Kennedy administration. To produce his Himalayan brief—whose short and sweet title is Mount Everest: 1996—Roberto culled news reports, compared Jon Krakauer’s Into Thin Air with Anatoli Boukreev’s The Climb, and sought out expert opinions from David Breashears, the adventure filmmaker who was on the mountain in ’96, shooting footage for the Imax film Everest.

Breashears, who is currently working on a new documentary about the ’96 events (slated for release this fall), has an office across the street from the Harvard Business School. Roberto cold-called him in 2002 and asked him to speak to one of his classes.

“He does a marvelous job,” says Breashears, who isn’t bothered that Roberto has no experience in climbing. “Mike never tells his students why. He uses the Socratic method and asks them to tell him why.”

In an introductory 21-page document, complete with maps, graphs, and endnotes, Roberto summarizes the Everest story and introduces the main players. He relies heavily on Krakauer’s version of events, and his conclusions (which he expanded on in a journal article) are similar: Bad decisions—possibly driven by guides’ desires to get paying clients to the top and exacerbated by altitude sickness, unexpected weather, and tough luck—led to calamity.

Roberto’s main positive lesson from all this is that good teamwork and meticulous decision making can, in theory, offset the natural shortcomings of individuals. To demonstrate what he means, his talks center on the actions of guides Rob Hall and Scott Fischer, the owners, respectively, of ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Consultants and Mountain Madness. As every student of the tale knows, these two men were attempting to lead a total of 14 clients to the summit on the same day, and both ended up tarrying too long at the top. When an afternoon blizzard rolled in, both Fischer and Hall—along with two of Hall’s clients and one of his guides—ended up dead.

Roberto believes one of the fatal flaws on Everest was poor communication that blocked the flow of criticism. Like many lead guides, he says, Hall established himself as the absolute ruler, ostensibly to protect his inexperienced clients. The unexpected result, however, was that Hall’s clients—and even his fellow guides—didn’t speak up about problems.

This attitude turned out to be deadly, Roberto says, because when Hall failed to adhere to a strict turnaround time on summit day—a fixed hour when everyone was supposed to start descending, whether they’d summited or not—his team was ill equipped to make decisions on the fly. “Rules alone are not good safeguards,” Roberto told me during one conversation. “Groups must be able to hash out risks, because you cannot predetermine risk. Recalibrating is very important.”

On the group level, Roberto argues that the expeditions were teams in name only and that both groups displayed an absence of “learning behaviors,” such as the ability to discuss mistakes, exchange information, and challenge prevailing views. Roberto emphasizes that “the strength of teams is that they can minimize cognitive biases by maximizing” these beneficial behaviors. Effective leaders, he says, inspire people to work together by implementing methods for “deciding how to decide.”

IT’S A ROBERTO TRUISM that stubbornness and self-discipline—two qualities that mountaineers and businessmen possess in abundance—can be blinding. He uses a PowerPoint display to illustrate his theories, offering diagrams and labels that categorize the psychology of bad choices.

On the individual level, Roberto points to “cognitive biases” that, he says, caused the Everest climbers to evaluate the mountain incorrectly. One is the “sunk-cost effect,” which refers to people’s tendency to escalate commitment to a course of action that they’re heavily invested in already. (Translation: “I paid a bundle to be here, so I’m not quitting now.”) Another is the “recency effect,” which refers to the way people sometimes make decisions based on whatever information is most readily available, even if it’s inaccurate.

“Hall and Fischer had enjoyed excellent weather on Everest in recent years,” Roberto asserts to the lawyers. “Even though storms are the norm and not the exception, recent events led them to assume that the trend would continue.”

Roberto keeps up a brisk pace when speaking, and the Orrick group seems attentive, but as he hammers away, one of the lawyers looks irked and asks for the handheld microphone. “You’re being totally unfair to Hall and Fischer,” she protests. “They did the best they could in a dangerous situation and died trying to help their clients.”

“I’m not being unfair at all,” Roberto counters. “If you read the case study, you’ll see that I’m very sympathetic to them.” He says Hall and Fischer made mental errors that could happen to anybody. “The pattern in mountain climbing—and in business—is that we take the expert and make him the boss,” he says. Pirouette. Lunge. “Not always the best choice.”

Later, Roberto tries to trap a British lawyer into admitting to breaking the speed limit when he drives. His goal is to prove that people routinely take unnecessary risks; to that end, he asks the man what kind of car he owns.

“I have three, actually,” the Brit glibly responds. The room erupts in laughter.

“OK, I forgot who I was talking to. What’s the speed limit where you drive?”

“Well, I mostly drive on the autobahn.” More laughter.

When Roberto finishes his talk, he receives a polite ovation and Rosenstein grabs the mike again. “OK, people! Just a reminder: The buses leave for South Beach at 6 p.m.” The room empties fast; these people are ready to unwind.

A week later, I contact several of them to see how Roberto’s lecture went down. In a lighthearted e-mail exchange, John Evans, the British attorney, writes that he thought Roberto’s program “was the best part of the retreat (apart from the sailing, of course!).” He’s grateful that Roberto reminded him of how important it is “to care enough to confront your colleagues.”

Ken Turnbull, who practices law in Washington, D.C., is less enthusiastic. “I found Dr. Roberto to be a compelling teacher and the Everest events compelling in their own right,” he writes. “At the same time, there is a fundamental difference between making decisions that affect one’s own life (or the lives of others for whom one is responsible) . . . and the effective leadership of teams of attorneys.”

Having heard Roberto speak on two different occasions, I’ve learned a lot about quantifying leadership, but the talks also left me feeling vaguely unfulfilled, because he said nothing about the core motivations of adventurous people. To me, climbing is an end unto itself—its singularity and risk defy deconstruction. Good judgment in the mountains comes from experience. And experience, for better or worse, sometimes derives from making (and surviving) bad choices.

During a post-lecture beer, I pressed Roberto on this point, and asked him if he had any designs on climbing the big hill himself, to check his assumptions.

“I would never consider climbing Everest,” he demurred. “I leave that to the experts.”

The post Will Pemba Sherpa Be On the Quiz? appeared first on ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Online.

As the whale is slowly winched on board by its tail, The creature’s own tremendous weight squeezes out the last spasms of life. blood spurts from its blowhole; a semicircle of bright red radiates away from the boat’s hull, contrasting with the black surface of the Barents Sea. The winch motor whines as the four-ton mammal slides into place, ready for butchering.

norwegian whaling

Map by Dave Stevenson

norwegian whaling

THE BOSS: Captain Leif Einar Karlsen.

norwegian whaling

THE DECKHAND: John Sommerseth.

norwegian whaling

THE HARPOONER: Tor Raymond Skarheim.

norwegian whaling

THE COOK: Odd Olsen.

norwegian whaling

BIG HAUL: A minke gets dragged aboard Sofie.

norwegian whaling

SHIP IT: Final processing inside the Skrova factory.

It’s 4:30 a.m. and we’re floating just off the northern coast of Norway, not far from the port of BÃ¥tsfjord. This is our first kill after 12 days of hunting and waiting. At this time of year—early May—the sun barely dips below the horizon at night, and right now it’s piercing the freezing air with warm beams of sunshine.

The five Norwegian crewmen, dwarfed by the enormous minke whale, start knifing its five-inch-thick blubber into three-foot squares. During whaling’s 19th-century heyday, blubber was the much-prized source of whale oil, used as fuel for lamps and candles and later as an industrial lubricant. In modern Norway, consumers covet whale meat as a dinnertime delicacy, but, unlike their counterparts in places like Japan and Greenland, they won’t eat blubber, so it gets thrown overboard. There’s a terrible ripping sound as the men peel it back; pieces hit the water with loud slaps. Soon, gulls swarm our 56-foot fishing boat, Sofie, to fight over the floating fat.

The crew methodically hacks 150-pound chunks of steaks off the whale’s back, stomach, and tail. Gallons of blood slicken the deck, and the men struggle to keep their footing. It takes two of them—wielding sharp, three-pronged hooks—to move the chunks, and it’s a miracle no one gets impaled. Captain Leif Einar Karlsen, balding and comfortably overweight at 43, nimbly hops around as he writes down the whale’s size, weight, and sex for the edification of Norwegian scientists. While I watch, one of the crewmen—a wiry 48-year-old named Kjell Edvardsen—sees my blank stare and puts a bloody knife in his mouth. He gives off a pirate’s snarl and, with a chuckle, digs back in.

It takes the men less than an hour to transform the 8,000-pound minke into a bony carcass and ice down the beet-red piles of flesh, worth about $40,000 in grocery stores. Job completed, they untie the 4,000-pound carcass and let it slide over the edge. It sinks like an anchor.

“Take care,” Karlsen says. “Thanks for the meat.” Then he closes the railing door and turns his back on the ocean.

THE UNITED STATES WAS ONCE a major whaling nation, but its involvement ended in 1972, when the last U.S. whale-processing station closed in Richmond, California. A decreasing demand for whale oil, the dwindling supply of whales brought on by overharvesting, and a vocal environmental movement put a stop to an industry that had thrived in America since colonial times. That same year, the United Nations passed a resolution calling for a halt to all whaling, and President Richard Nixon signed the Marine Mammal Protection Act, banning commercial whaling in U.S. waters.

Worldwide, whaling is an ancient, widespread practice, with indigenous populations from Indonesia to Siberia taking part. Though the U.S. government opposes commercial whaling, it still allows Alaskan tribes to kill dozens of bowhead whales annually—even though bowheads are an endangered species.

These days, most Americans don’t approve of whaling in any form, though their reasons are often based more on emotion than facts. Richard Ellis, a 68-year-old research associate with the American Museum of Natural History, in New York, and author of Men and Whales, a sweeping 1991 history of whaling, says nations like Norway probably have a point when they argue that, for certain species such as the minke—which was rarely hunted for oil, because of its smaller size—numbers are healthy enough to sustain managed hunts.

But he’s against killing whales anyway, in part because he doesn’t think we know enough about the balance of ocean systems to be sure any species is numerous enough to be hunted. In part, though, it’s a gut feeling. “You’ll never convince Norwegians not to hunt whales, and that’s not the end of the world,” he says. “But I just don’t think they ought to be killed.”

To Norwegians, whaling is utterly normal. People in Norway’s coastal communities started killing them during the Stone Age, and today many of the nation’s two million households still enjoy this $10-a-pound meat on special occasions. Currently, Norwegian fishermen restrict themselves to one relatively plentiful species: the North Atlantic minke whale, Balaenoptera acutorostrata.

Called vÃ¥ehval (“bay whale”) in Norwegian, minkes are handsome mammals—shiny black on top, snow white on the underside—that can live for 50 years. They’re baleen whales, meaning they feed by pushing huge gulps of water through anatomical sifters that capture krill and fish. They winter in tropical southern latitudes, but no one knows where exactly. Come spring, they migrate north along Norway’s coast to gorge in its Arctic waters. Greenpeace, which strongly opposes Norway’s whale hunt, estimates there are approximately 67,000 minkes in the North Atlantic. (No one knows the total, but there are many more minkes in the Southern Ocean waters circling Antarctica.) Norway’s approximately 150 whalers, who catch cod and other fish the rest of the year, killed a total of 639 minkes during the 2005 season, which ran from April to October.

Though Norwegian whaling is carefully controlled, it wasn’t always so. In the 19th and 20th centuries, industrial nations like Norway, the U.S., Russia, and Japan took several species to the brink of extinction. An estimated five to ten million whales swam in the world’s oceans before hunting went big time, starting in the 1860s. The industry eventually decimated stocks to a few hundred thousand and almost wiped out entire species, such as the blue, humpback, and right whale. Of the world’s 37 or so species, nine are still endangered, and it remains unclear whether the blue whale—at up to 150 tons the largest creature that’s ever lived—will ever rebound.

In 1982, a worldwide moratorium on whaling was decreed by the Cambridge-based International Whaling Commission (IWC), a governing body created in 1946 to set policies that were designed to conserve falling stocks while hunting continued. Norway, Japan, Iceland, and various native groups in Alaska, Siberia, Greenland, the Caribbean, and the South Pacific still kill whales. Many governments and private environmental groups—most notably Greenpeace and the Sea Shepherd Conservation Society—want the big industrial nations to stop.

But the 66-nation IWC lacks an enforcement arm, which sets the stage for the intractable disputes we see today. As a result, the IWC, which will hold its 58th annual meeting from May 23 to June 20 in St. Kitts and Nevis, West Indies, has essentially been reduced to managing a stalemate.

Norway says its hunts are perfectly legal. It was one of four countries from the IWC charter group of 16 nations that didn’t endorse the ’82 moratorium. By 1992, when Norway resumed whaling after a one-year hiatus, the country had long since scaled back its industrial whale slaughter and was killing only a small number of minkes every year. The Norwegian government introduced a new system of quotas, and whaling was reborn as a supplemental income source for the fishing fleet.

Japan later signed on to the IWC moratorium but has continued killing whales—the country will take approximately 850 minke and ten fin whales in 2006—under the pretense that the animals are being collected for scientific research. Meanwhile, whale meat and blubber can still be found in Japanese markets.

Iceland resumed whaling in 2003 as well. But whereas Norway and Iceland hunt within their own borders, Japanese whalers still work in international waters, and that means its six-vessel “research” fleet is subject to serious high-seas interference. Last December and January, boats from Greenpeace and Sea Shepherd caused weeks of mayhem for the Japanese fleet in the Southern Ocean, with Greenpeace members acting as human shields trying to thwart the whalers and Sea Shepherd’s captain, Paul Watson, using his ship Farley Mowat as a floating weapon to sideswipe the hulls of Japanese boats.

Norway has weathered spirited protests over the years but draws less attention by hunting close to home. Government officials and whalers there, however, make it clear they’ll do what they want. The High North Alliance, an advocacy group based in Norway’s Lofoten Islands, publishes a newsletter, The High North News, that mocks the Western world’s supposed hypocrisy about whales and proclaims Norway’s hunt to be the best example going of “conservation in action.”

Currently, both the Norwegians and Japanese seem determined to increase their kills. Norway is raising its minke whale take to 1,052 animals this year and will allow the fleet to hunt in international waters. When asked if Norwegian whalers would like to start taking larger species, Rune Frøvik, the director of the High North Alliance, told me, “They’re definitely interested in that.”

WHEN I DECIDE TO TRY and get on a Norwegian whaleboat, I had no illusions about solving the whaling issue. I just wanted to understand it better, by meeting the whalers and getting a clear look at what they do and how they justify it.

To the whalers, I was nothing but a burden: They have no need to open up to foreign journalists. But I speak Swedish, which Norwegians easily understand, and after a long process of discussing my motives and ironing out the logistics, they finally agreed to let me ride along, telling me where I had to be, and when, to catch up with Sofie.

From Stockholm, where I was living at the time, it takes two flights to get to Tromsø, a bustling city on Norway’s northwestern coast. I arrive on April 29. Spring has made it to southern Sweden but not here: Snow still covers the hills, and the scrawny vegetation is naked and brown.

Most whaling boats heading north pass through Tromsø, including Sofie. Using my cell phone to coordinate with Captain Karlsen, I meet him in a pizza place by the town’s quaint harbor. Norwegians are guarded at first, and Karlsen is no exception. He’s friendly enough, but sees little need for small talk. “OK, grab your stuff,” he says after a quick handshake. “We’ll join the others.”

Around the corner we find two more crew members, John Sommerseth, a massively potbellied and redheaded 39-year-old, and Kjell Edvardsen. Hellos all around. Silence.

Odd Olsen, 37, the boat’s pudgy, jovial cook, joins us a few minutes later, along with Sofie‘s co-owner and harpooner, Tor Raymond Skarheim, 39. Skarheim’s left eye was jabbed in a childhood archery accident, leaving it locked in a perpetual squint. Though Skarheim turns out to be a willing conversationalist, the effect is a look of guarded suspicion.

The men head toward the docks, shuffling along in their clogs as I lug my bags a few steps behind. We shove off the instant my gear hits the deck. The crew has been motoring north nonstop for the past 20 hours from their home port in the Lofotens—a mountainous island group about 170 miles to the southwest that’s surrounded by some of the world’s richest cod waters—but time is precious, so they have to keep moving. Karlsen pokes his head out the window, throttles the engines, and slips Sofie into a long blue-water channel, pointing north.

Sofie was built in Hardanger, Norway, in 1940 and has been in constant use ever since. She carries 898 gallons of diesel and a six-cylinder, 550-horsepower Volvo Penta engine that burns about six gallons an hour, giving her a range of 1,150 miles. Five different captains have piloted Sofie to go after cod, herring, haddock, coalfish, and, since 1996, minke whales. Tall in the bow, low in the stern, and wide at the beam, she’s a classic Scandinavian fishing vessel, ideal for absorbing rough seas.

A steel-reinforced second deck level was added in ’96. Essentially a platform that raises and extends the bow—with a narrow walkway connecting to the bridge—this upper deck serves as a mount for the whalers’ harpoon cannon. Inside, the electronic equipment (sonar, GPS, autopilot) is state-of-the-art. For entertainment, there’s a television and a DVD player in the forward cabin, along with a kitchen stereo that warbles a steady rotation of Shania Twain, Delbert McClinton, and A-ha.

The vessel is worth around $240,000, but co-owners Karlsen and Skarheim could get $500,000 just by selling their commercial fishing licenses. Whale-hunting licenses, although granted at no cost by the Norwegian government, are nontransferable. To keep them, Karlsen and Skarheim must undergo yearly tests of their harpoon-cannon marksmanship, while Sofie has to pass annual inspections. The crew are all year-round fishermen, and to a man they’re unsentimental about minke whales.

“There’s no difference between a whale and a moose,” Skarheim tells me one afternoon. He knows all about the widespread disdain for his vocation and isn’t fazed. “We’re fishermen—that’s what we do,” he says. “Besides, what’s a better use of fossil fuels: car racing or providing food for people?”

Shortly after launch, I take in the view on the second level. Our course to sea follows a stunning waterway that winds between the Norwegian mainland and its coastal islands. Glaciers, steep chutes, and wide bowls drop to the ocean all around us. It’s like floating through a flooded ski resort.

Before long, Skarheim joins me. He’s carrying a soot-blackened broom handle and stops to ask if I get seasick.

“Not really,” I respond.

“Hmmm. Do you have seasick pills?” he asks, sizing me up with his one good eye.

“Yes.”

“Good. Take them.”

Then he wraps the broom handle with a filthy rag and shoves the makeshift Q-tip into the cannon barrel to clean it. Next, he front-loads the barrel with an explosive charge, which he gently tamps down. From an ammo box at his feet, he grabs a grenade and screws it onto an odd-looking shaft made of two parallel bars and two folding barbs. The assembled harpoon weighs 40 pounds; Skarheim uses both arms to lift the four-foot projectile and slide it into the cannon. The shaft’s parallel bars allow for a stout rope to slide up and down the harpoon’s length and rest neatly outside the cannon’s mouth. The coiled rope is gathered in a basket in front of the cannon, then extends back to a heavy winch.

Skarheim finishes loading in two minutes. Sofie is now armed and ready to hunt.

OUR DAILY ROUTINE IS DETERMINDED by weather. When it’s stormy or windy, we hunker down in port. When it’s calm, we go out, day or night, always hunting close to shore. Once we hit promising waters, three crew members take a position: Karlsen steers from the flying bridge while two more men sit in the crow’s nest atop the 30-foot mast.

With the windchill regularly dipping into the single digits, each man swaddles himself in fluffy coveralls, insulated boots, mittens, and thick hats with earflaps. Like members of any expedition, they develop their own lingo. Before I flew out from Sweden, Sommerseth asked me to bring a few tins of dipping tobacco, which is three times cheaper there than in Norway. When I rib him about this expensive and nasty habit, he shrugs and says, “It costs a lot to be a man.” That becomes the trip’s version of “Put up or shut up,” and the guys start mumbling it before heading out into the frigid air.

On a typical day, we troll in a grid about a half-mile from shore, with Karlsen moving Sofie slowly to avoid speeding past any feeding minkes. “What should I look for?” I ask the first time I stand beside him on the flying bridge.

“Whale,” he says. Touché.

Minkes surface for only about three seconds every five to ten minutes to grab a quick breath. If the seas are calm, spotting a dorsal fin isn’t difficult. But crews usually have to hunt in choppier waters, where seeing the prey requires a trained eye.

Forty feet above the water, the crow’s nest swings wildly through the air, but the perspective is superior. Typically, the guys up top are the first to shout “Whale!” When that happens, they trip an alarm, a weird clanking noise that resonates throughout the boat.

Anytime a whale is sighted, the harpooner mans the cannon, while the captain steers to where he expects the creature to resurface. Constantly feeding, minkes like to weave around and double back. But as I’ll see, Karlsen always seems to guess correctly about where they’ll emerge, and when he does, it’s game over. Of the six minkes we would pursue while I was on board, only one would safely slip back into the ocean.

The green-painted cannon gives Sofie a menacing look. Its base, a wide tripod of steel tubing, supports a four-foot-long cast-iron barrel that swivels freely in all directions. The firing mechanism is shaped like a big pistol handle, and a spotting scope runs the length of the tapered barrel. The grenades are specially designed explosives that cost $600 each. The boat carries 18 of them—about $11,000 worth.

The grenade’s tip features a strange-looking feature that is meant to help the harpoon stay its course while moving through water. It’s round, with a concave nose and sharp, toothy edges. This scooped-tip shape chews into the whale’s skin on impact and makes the harpoon plunge in deeper. At the grenade’s base, where it attaches to the harpoon, it’s mounted with a hook that sets in the blubber as it enters the whale. A cord from the hook pulls tight and detonates the grenade’s penthrite explosive once it gets two feet in, obliterating up to 70 pounds of flesh or vital organs.

Shooting these rounds at moving targets involves a lot of pressure to aim true, so the boat’s owners almost always shoulder the responsibility. “When I hit a whale, we all hit it,” Skarheim tells me solemnly. “When I miss, it’s only me that missed.”

NORWEGIANS WILL TELL you that whaling is a deep-rooted folk tradition for them, but they don’t always mention the industrial brutalities of the past. In the early days of whaling, strong-armed men threw harpoons at whales from small boats, a hunting style that gave whales a fighting chance. But around 1865, Norwegian whaler Svend Foyn changed everything by inventing the cannon-fired grenade harpoon, which allowed whalers to fire from ships, removing most of the risk and dramatically increasing kills.

Foyn’s cannon ushered in whaling’s bloodiest period, from the 1880s to the 1960s. According to official records from Norway, in 1930 and ’31 alone, Norwegian whalers accounted for 60 percent of all whales killed—25,952 marine mammals, including blues, fins, sperm whales, and humpbacks. Whaling remained a pillar of the Norwegian economy into the fifties, but after whalers decimated the largest species, the industry retooled.

Over the next 20 years, Norway docked its fleet of factory ships but continued hunting for meat in coastal waters. Today, Norway has 12,677 fishermen on 8,000 boats, but only about 30 to 35 of these craft pursue minkes. The numbers vary over time, but in 2005 the largest boats were allowed to take 26 whales each per season. The smallest, like Sofie, got 15. Sofie‘s crew met its 2005 quota in seven weeks, piling up 46,226 pounds of meat, worth nearly $100,000 on the wholesale market. The crewmen divide the net profits equally—about $9,000 per man.

These numbers aren’t large, and whaling is only a small part of Norway’s commerce. Halvard P. Johansen, an Oslo-based official with Norway’s Ministry of Fisheries and Coastal Affairs, says oil and natural gas are the strongest sectors of the economy, providing 19.6 percent of the GNP. Fishing makes up 0.37 percent, and whaling just 0.002 percent.

Even so, whaling is a big part of Norwegian fishing, it has universal backing in the national government, and it is overwhelmingly supported by citizens.

After my two weeks aboard Sofie, I would speak with Jann Engstad, a 50-year-old sea-kayaking guide from the Lofoten Islands hamlet of KabelvÃ¥g. Engstad is an ardent environmentalist, but he’s in favor of the minke hunt. He points out that, in Norway’s far north, you’ve got to eat what’s available.

“Since I’m not a millionaire, I can’t afford being a vegetarian during our winter and spring,” he says. “I have 33 pounds of top-quality whale meat in my freezer—along with 66 pounds of local carrots—stored for the coming winter.” Engstad says his relatives in Oslo have just one complaint about whaling: There isn’t enough meat in stores, and it’s too expensive.

SOFIE‘S HUNT STARTS SLOWLY, thanks to relentless bad weather. We spend 12 days in the harbors of two villages—HonningsvÃ¥g and Mehamn—waiting for attacking northern winds to calm down. Bordered by acres of cod drying on tall wooden racks, these towns reek of fish and boredom.

The whalers are a strange combination of blue-collar and genteel. No one says hello when you cross paths; no one excuses himself for farting; and calendars starring the busty ladies of Lorentzen Hydraulics decorate the boat’s interior.

But their European manners also come through. The men keep the kitchen spotless, have a touching habit of calling Captain Karlsen far (“father”), and fuss over creature comforts like hand-rolled cigarettes and personalized coffee mugs.

One afternoon, docked in HonningsvÃ¥g, I come across Olsen and Karlsen engrossed in making a cake. They’ve built up delicate layers covered with berries and cream, garnishing their masterpiece with grated chocolate. “I guess you’ll be doing this every day from now on,” I say. “Because once you spoil us, we’ll expect nothing less.”

“In that case, you won’t be getting any,” Olsen retorts.

The men aren’t above the occasional prank, including one I should’ve seen coming. One afternoon, Olsen serves us baked cuts of meat that I assume are beef. Not until I’ve wolfed down two helpings does he ask me how I like the taste of minke whale.

Everyone pauses to listen, so I choose my words carefully.

“Flavorful,” I say. “Juicy.”

The truth is, I didn’t want to like the taste of whale and wasn’t sure I’d try it if they offered, but it’s not bad. It’s lean like veal and has a rich, gamy taste.

Pleased by my assessment, the men tick off their favorite recipes, sounding like Bubba from Forrest Gump touting the joys of cooked shrimp: fried whale, baked whale, barbecued whale . . .

Overall, though, there isn’t much levity with this group. They answer my questions in a curt amalgam of Swedish, Norwegian, and English, and they’re not shy about telling me to shut up. “You’re too little to know everything and too big to know nothing,” Skarheim says one day when I ask him to explain a minor detail.

To pass the time when we’re docked, I spend hours lying around reading Moby Dick, a novel Skarheim obviously doesn’t care for. “That book is totally inaccurate,” he protests one afternoon before pulling out a photo album. “This is what whaling is really like.”

His album, filled with color shots of whale butchering, makes Herman Melville’s gruesome descriptions seem quaint—and Skarheim realizes he’s sending the wrong message. “Don’t photograph too much blood,” he tells me. “Believe me, there’s a reason you never see pictures from slaughterhouses. Those places would make anyone sick, but people still want their bacon.”

I’d feel blessed if gory pictures were my only problem: Aboard Sofie, I suffer terrible bouts of seasickness. On our first overnight transit, six-foot seas pitch us at a rate of 1,200 jarring slams an hour, and Sofie keels so badly that I have to prop one foot against a wall to stay vertical.

“Did you take your pills?” Skarheim asks when I climb to the bridge.

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Actually, not so good. Earlier, I ate some dried cod and chased it with chocolate. The pills are acting like a cork, keeping me from throwing up this horrible mix. Skarheim razzes me, saying the seas we’re in are nothing but “little bubbles.”

“So where are we going?” I ask weakly.

“There are two rules on a boat,” he says. “First, the captain makes all the decisions. Second, the captain makes mistakes, but he still makes all the decisions. And I’m not the captain.”

“We’re still going north, right?”

“Yup.”

BOTH THE WHALERS and their foes seem to agree there’s a sizable population of minkes, so for that species at least, the old extinction-via-harpoon arguments aren’t compelling anymore. And both sides know that whaling is not the world’s main killer of cetaceans. The fishing industry is. In 2003, Duke University Marine Laboratory and the University of St. Andrews, in Scotland, co-released a study that estimated that 308,000 whales, dolphins, and porpoises drown each year when they get caught on the fishing industry’s dragnets and longlines.

These days, Greenpeace is more likely to focus on whaling’s bottom line—arguing that, since it’s relatively puny compared with revenues from whale watching, whale killing doesn’t make economic sense. “People resonate most with the idea that whales should be protected because they’re sensitive, awe-inspiring, and intelligent,” says John Hocevar, 37, the Austin, Texas–based oceans specialist for Greenpeace. “But when it comes to legislating, that argument has the least traction. It all has to be about numbers.”

Greenpeace cites a 2001 report by the International Fund for Animal Welfare, a Yarmouth Port, Massachusetts–based animal-advocacy group, which estimates that nine million people go on whale-watching tours every year in 87 countries, generating $1 billion. Whaling, by contrast, generates roughly $4.1 million a year for Norwegian fishermen.

The number crunching doesn’t mean Greenpeace and Sea Shepherd have become nothing more than accountants: Their opposition is still driven by a strong conviction that whales have an inherent right to swim free. In January, via satellite phone, I would talk to activists aboard the Greenpeace ship Esperanza and the Sea Shepherd ship Farley Mowat during their clashes with the Japanese whaling fleet. Nathan Santry, 37, is one of 32 Greenpeace crew members who put his life on the line for whales—his job was to drive a small jet boat, and himself, between Antarctic minke whales and Japanese harpoon cannons. “Whales are a metaphor for the ocean,” he says. “If you kill them, you’re killing the ocean. There’s just no logical justification, economic or otherwise, for whaling.”

Sea Shepherd founder Paul Watson, 55—who in 1992 sabotaged a whaleboat docked in the Lofoten Islands—uses similar rhetoric. “To me, intelligence is the ability to live in harmony with nature and to survive within the ecosystem,” he says. “Whales do this, but we are fouling our own nest. Who’s more intelligent?”

Such arguments don’t sway the Norwegians, and two can play the numbers game. Alan Macnow, a New York–based public-relations specialist who works for Japanese whalers, likes to frame the issue in terms of protecting the planet’s depleted fisheries. “The world’s whale species eat three to five times as much fish each year as all of the world’s fisheries catches combined,” he says. “Whale populations need to be managed in order to protect fish resources.”

Greenpeace calls that argument nonsense, but it’s a powerful propaganda tool in the whaling lobby’s ongoing attempt to overturn the IWC moratorium. For years, Japan has been accused of trying to sway smaller IWC members—like Nauru, a tiny nation-state in the South Pacific—into siding with it by paying their IWC membership fees and extending favorable trade arrangements. Whatever its motives, Nauru sides with Japan, claiming that whales threaten the country’s fish stocks. At the 2005 IWC meeting, Nauru voted in favor of Japan’s “schedule amendment” for accelerating the implementation of a “revised management scheme”—a far-reaching overhaul of everything from quotas to membership rules that, if passed, would essentially replace the moratorium. Pushing it through would require a three-fourths majority, and both sides are girding for a fight at this year’s meeting in St. Kitts and Nevis.

Of the 57 nations present at the 2005 IWC meeting, 23 voted in favor of implementing Japan’s RMS changes, while 29 voted to stand firm, with five nations abstaining. The commission has grown by 26 members since 2001, with the percentages for and against staying roughly the same. But support for the moratorium has eroded since it was adopted in 1982, when it passed with a resounding 25 votes in favor and seven against.

Considering the trend, the RMS has at least an outside chance of passing in 2006. “It wouldn’t surprise me at all,” sighs Richard Ellis, who from 1980 to 1990 was a member of the U.S. delegation to the IWC. The end of the moratorium may simply be a matter of time.

I’M OUT COLD when a loud clank, clank jolts me awake. It’s the whale alarm. Edvardsen launches out of his bunk, dresses in a flash, and hustles up the ladder.

When I take a position next to Karlsen and Sommerseth on the flying bridge, everybody is craning their necks. It’s 3:30 a.m. A low amber sun has burned off the haze; visibility is perfect as we skim across a glassy sea.

Edvardsen joins Olsen in the crow’s nest, and for the first time I see Skarheim crouched behind the cannon. He’s wearing hard-shell protective earphones that can block out the noise from a blast while amplifying low-intensity sounds like speech, allowing him to hear the crew if they see something.

Almost immediately, Olsen yells, “Right!” Every man swings his head, and Skarheim whips the cannon around. I see a dark form amidships to starboard, about 30 yards from the boat. It’s a small, hooked dorsal fin, but it vanishes before Skarheim gets off a shot.

Over the next 20 minutes, the whale appears randomly, exhaling loudly and exposing a black, shiny back, causing Skarheim to jerk his cannon around. Then . . . nothing. The whale is always too far away, spotted too late, or positioned at an angle that would require an ill-advised shot across the deck.

But after several frustrating peekaboos, the whale starts moving north in a consistent line, surfacing twice. Karlsen moves Sofie closer, shadowing the whale’s relaxed movements, until we’re within about 15 yards and . . . boom!

The cannon’s powerful six-ton recoil jerks the ship. I hear the muffled whump of a grenade going off. Skarheim has scored a direct hit just behind the whale’s left flipper. The harpoon is lodged deep inside the chest cavity.

“All right!” Olsen yells. Karlsen throws the boat into reverse and the whale is winched in. During the next few minutes, all five crew members gather at the bow and teeter dangerously close to the unrailed edge. “That’s a portly gentleman,” Olsen proclaims.

The men take turns looping a noose around the flukes, a difficult maneuver that no one gets right on the first try. A dead whale will sink if it slips off the harpoon, so the urgency is palpable. When it’s finally secured, the whale is left to dangle, and the crew changes into bright-orange coveralls. Skarheim stays behind to clean and reload the harpoon cannon. “They say we’re the best cannon shots in the world,” he says, beaming. “The shot window is only 1.5 seconds, you know.”

Out of the water and held with steel cables, the four-ton whale rests on the elevated hold cover at Sofie‘s center. Standing on the bow, I look with awe at the creature’s beauty and majesty. The whale’s black backside fills my field of vision, and its wet sheen reflects the sun, throwing off prismatic colors.

It’s painful to watch it die, and I’m not usually sanctimonious about mankind’s carnivorous ways. I can’t be: My ancestor and namesake was Philip D. Armour, the 19th-century Chicago meatpacker whose infamous factories inspired Upton Sinclair to write The Jungle. Still, there’s no denying it: A dying whale grabs my heart like nothing else can.

OVER THE NEXT 16 HOURS we’ll kill four more whales. Skarheim never misses, and the steaks pile up, covering every inch of walking space on the deck.

The only unknown in this process is how quickly the whales perish. Earlier in the trip, Skarheim had assured me that the exploding grenade “knocks the whales unconscious, and they die almost immediately from shock or blood loss.” That was true with the first whale, but the next four suffer a great deal. The harpoons hit muscle, and appear to drive the whales mad with pain and fear. One of them shoots out of the water and writhes like a marlin on a hook.

The wounded animals try two techniques of evasion—diving or speeding across the surface—but the flight never lasts more than ten minutes. The whales, tired from pulling against the boat, are listless by the time the winch hauls them to the bow, where Skarheim waits with a .458-caliber rifle. Then he fires into the whale’s brain until it stops moving.

After the fourth kill, a male, the next whale we spot is deemed too large to fit on the meat-crowded deck. In a celebratory mood, Karlsen cuts off the dead male’s penis and holds the two-foot-long organ up to his chest. “It makes a damn nice tie,” he jokes.

Late in the day, I retreat to the bridge. In my mind, I have no problem accepting the argument that hunting minkes is defensible culturally and perhaps even ecologically. But I never want to witness a whale’s death again. “One man’s sign of the apocalypse is another man’s daily bread,” I write in my notes. On this day, the omens look grim, and I’m not hungry.

After the last whale is killed, the bloody deck, tools, and clothes are sprayed down before the men retreat to their bunks. Sofie drifts for the next 12 hours, a silent, sleeping ghost ship.

At lunch the next day, Skarheim rubs his sore arms and says, “These are just for decoration today. Useless.”

“Yup,” somebody says, “it costs a lot to be a man.”

The post Bloody Business appeared first on ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Online.

SELLA RONDA :: ITALY

“I AM SORRY,” says our guide, with a wry smile, shrug, and lilting Italian accent. “We asked for more powder, but the Man on the Last Floor only gave us this . . .” The guide, Icaro de Monte, points to an inviting snowfield blessed with eight inches of creamy, boot-top snow—a reminder that sarcasm, unlike theological idiom, is an international language.

We’re skiing the Sella Ronda, a loop in Italy’s Dolomites, perhaps the most dramatic peaks ever created by the Man on the Last Floor. Everywhere stand cathedrals of stratified dolomite rock: spires, buttes, needles, slabs, and cones thrusting high above onion-shaped church towers in thousand-year-old towns. Of the million or so reasons to ski the Alps—from cuckoo clocks (not so important) to chocolate (very important), seamlessly skiing from village to village ranks near the top.

Unconstrained by narrow Forest Service leases, Europe fosters vast networks of lifts that connect far-flung valleys. Forget the North American practice of yo-yoing up and down the same terrain: Here, skiers cover expanses of peaks and valleys without ever repeating a run. And few of these classic village-to-village Alps tours match the Sella Ronda’s standards for scenery, turns, ski culture, and dolce vita. Logistics are simple: Because the Sella Ronda forms a circle, skiers can finish it precisely where they began.

We start our ronda in the Badia Valley, known for its affordable four-star hotels and ravioli with truffle oil. A speedy gondola whisks us up from Corvara to an elevation of 6,706 feet on the hulking, jagged Sella massif, which gives the tour its name. We promptly see a Sella Ronda sign pointing south and follow it down a groomed, corkscrewing slope to the next lift. In our case, the sign is orange, designating a clockwise tour; counterclockwise skiers observe green signs. Both routes are so thoroughly marked they could be located in a howling whiteout by a shitfaced grappa drunk. (Hey, it happens.)

All told, the Sella Ronda wends about 23 miles (about nine on lifts, 14 skiing) around the massif. Though the Dolomites are rife with sheer walls that recall Yosemite’s El Capitan, the pistes connecting the Sella Ronda are downright gentle. Intermediates can lap the circuit in seven hours, experienced skiers in five—and that’s with the requisite pasta breaks. But rushing isn’t the point. Not when you can relish mountains that provided the soaring backdrop for Cliffhanger. (They doubled for the insufficiently cinematic Colorado Rockies.)

After catching a T-bar and cruising into the Arabba Valley, we realize we’ve covered almost 20 percent of the tour in 45 minutes. It’s time to slow down. Luckily, we’re in the Italian Alps, so an espresso shack/alfresco bar beckons just off the slope. With miniature steaming coffees in our hands and the um-ticka, um-ticka, um-ticka beat of Euro trance in our ears, we pore over the Sella Ronda map. Ahead of us lie villages, huts, and passes with musical names: Passo Pordoi, Lupo Bianco, Valentini, Val Gardena. And we can visit all of them with ease: Our Dolomiti Superski tickets entitle us to an astounding 464 lifts, the most of any single ski pass in the world. As a result, there’s almost unlimited potential for side trips, and in the coming days we’ll detour to a wine-spattered rifugio and a canyon framed by towering peaks.

But that’s for later. Today we have orange signs to follow. After lunch—a sausage-and-cheese platter, Chianti, and a couple shots of Jägermeister—we drop a procession of silky-smooth groomers, passing a smooching couple here and a wooden troll there. So it goes on the Sella Ronda: abandoning slopes after only one run, then chasing the horizon toward whatever the Dolomites offer up next.

Hahnenkamm, Austria

HAHNENKAMM :: AUSTRIA
THE HAHNENKAMM RUN, in Kitzbül, Austria, is arguably the most technical and dangerous downhill course on the World Cup circuit. On race days, the course is rock-hard and slippery as a hockey rink, but this two-mile black-diamond run is always very steep and off-camber, with huge jumps and whiplash turns. Like some gravity-fed serpent, it dispatches the unworthy with a flick of its tail. Skiers never conquer the Hahnenkamm—they’re simply allowed passage.

Kitzbül, on the other hand, is as friendly and easygoing as the course is not. The village becomes a partying base camp during Hahnenkamm race weekend, in January, with sing-along techno-pop pumping out of the speaker stacks lining the streets. When fans pour down from the mountain after the races, the town assumes the spirit of a rowdy soccer match, except that all of Europe’s nations are playing at once: Austrians blow their horns, Swiss clang their cowbells, and everybody sings choruses of taunts and praise.

Horse-drawn sleighs look perfectly at home in Kitzbül, and the woodpiles are meticulously stacked. Wide eaves and brown-shingle roofs top the cream-colored buildings, chalet style. Temperatures last January were well below freezing, yet when a ferocious Lamborghini pulled up next to me on an ice-covered street, a long-legged woman stepped out in heels. Kitzbül is every bit as chic as it is tough.

The list of Austrian World Cup champions is long and includes Franz Klammer and Hermann Maier. And though native Stephan Eberharter won last year’s Hahnenkamm downhill by 1.21 seconds, Americans came in second (Daron Rahlves) and won the overall title (Bode Miller). U.S. skiers have been competing here long enough to take part in the Europeans’ well-oiled traditions—after the races, Rahlves and Miller had to tend bar with the other top finishers at the Londoner, a Kitzbül hot spot.

The region’s dramatic elevation changes, wet climate, and northern latitude foster huge snowfields and glaciers. Skiers take a gondola that stretches about a mile and a half from town and deposits them above tree line, where several lift systems converge. No resort boundaries here—just miles of high-alpine terrain, each drainage leading to a different village.

For many vacationing Europeans, this kind of skiing is about sightseeing—not sport—and the spirit of après-ski begins with a late breakfast, continues during a two-hour lunch, and swings into full force with cocktails at three. I took a different tack, skipping lunch for “just one more” powder-supported free fall. When the time was right, I knew where to find the beautiful people: Just follow the chorus of bells, horns, and song.

Pic Du Midi, France

PIC DU MIDI
IT’S 9:30 A.M. when the lift operator starts the cable car, and then we’re hanging in the sky, moving up so fast that our ears pop before we have a chance to swallow. We rise above windblown snowfields, past rock outcrops, and finally into the clouds before the surreal telescope domes of Pic du Midi’s observatory appear. They cover the entire mountaintop, the metal glistening in the sun.

Fog in the French Pyrenees has kept me waiting five days to ski the steeps of 9,439-foot Pic du Midi. I’ve begun to doubt that the mountain even exists—until its intimidating flanks come into view.

That I’m here at all is surprising, because the Pic has long been the exclusive territory of astronomers. Local guides lobbied town officials for years to open the mountain to skiers, using the astronomers’ cable car for access, and finally in 2002 the Pic du Midi association of towns opened this icon of the Pyrenees to experts accompanied by an instructor or guide. The easiest—and most popular—runs are on the south face, above the Barèges and La Mongie resorts, which surround the base.

Near the summit, I look out over the impressive panorama of jagged peaks from the observatory’s terrace. My guide, Stéphane Delpech, remarks that the Pyrenees “do not get the proper respect like the Alps do, but wait till you ski them!” He smiles as he points to the 45-degree Poubelle (“Trash Can”) couloir, barely wide enough to fit a pair of skis sideways. We climb past the fence behind the observatory and boot up a few more feet between domes and satellite dishes to the launching platform for the south face. This observatory, built in 1873 as a meteorological station, now hosts world-renowned astronomers, and its museum is worth a visit for a quick immersion in planets, galaxies, and coronas.

Our first few turns down the 40-degree slope are in perfect powder, but too soon we hit cement. “Oo-la-la,” Delpech shouts, “la croûe des Pyrenees“—a crust resulting from spring fog. We ski 4,600 vertical feet through rocks, crunchy snowfields, and tight gullies. My thighs burn as we finally traverse out at the bottom to a chairlift at Barèges.

On good days, fanatics can take four runs, skiing 18,400 vertical feet a day. But for most, it’s more enjoyable to take one run and then retreat to Pyrenees culture in the valleys, which is what I do.

Back in the village of Bagnères-de-Bigorre, where medieval houses line the cobblestone streets, we finish a delicious meal of herbed lamb with a local cabernet before hitting the thermal baths of Aquensis, a remodeled 19th-century casino with a cathedral ceiling. As my quads start to relax in the warm water, I watch the clouds part once again, exposing Pic du Midi, rising dramatically away from its neighbors. I’m happy to have skied it, but equally glad to be right where I am.

The post Euro Stash appeared first on ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Online.

COLORADO :: ASPEN & ASPEN HIGHLANDS

FORGET THE FURS AND THE FENDI. Beyond the bling, Aspen is still America’s quintessential ski village, a funky cosmos where World Cup steeps belong to the fearless.
WHY WE LOVE IT: Where else can you sit next to Kurt and Goldie while wolfing lunchtime bratwurst, then follow the sun around Bell Mountain’s bumps for the rest of the afternoon?
NUMBER-ONE RUN: The finest float in Colorado? Atop Aspen Highlands is the 40-degree, 1,500-vertical-foot Highland Bowl. After the hike up, and before the glorious, seemingly endless descent, rest your bones in the summit swing and feast on high-octane views of fourteeners Pyramid Peak and Maroon Bells.
HOT LODGE: Chichi yet cool, luxe yet Lab-friendly, the St. Regis Aspen features s’mores in its cozy après-ski lounge, beds for beloved canines, and a spanking-new 15,000-square-foot spa-complete with a little something called the Confluence, artificial hot springs where more than the waters mingle. (Doubles from $385; 888-454-9005, )
SOUL PATCH: Tucked in the trees on Aspen Mountain are shrines to Elvis, Jerry Garcia, Marilyn Monroe, and, of course, Liberace. But Walsh’s Run, one of the steepest drops on Ajax, is where you’ll find sacred ground: The Raoul Wille shrine, a tiny shack festooned with prayer flags and elk bones, honors a longtime local who died climbing in Nepal.

NEW MEXICO :: TAOS

Taos Ski Resort

A GROOVY CONVERGENCE of Native American culture, ski-hard style, and the freest of spirits, Taos is the black diamond in New Mexico’s high-desert crown, offering steep transcendence (and lots of green chile) in the wild, wild West.
WHY WE LOVE IT: ¡Viva variedad! Park your journeyman Subaru wagon or beat Jeep CJ right next to that limited-edition Mercedes with the Texas plates—they’ll appreciate the contrast. Then look heavenward and feast your begoggled eyes on runs so close to vertical they’ll steal your heart (or sink it, if you’re toting a prohibited snowboard).
NUMBER-ONE RUN: Longhorn, a lengthy and snaky double black, shoots between palisades of tall pines, dropping 1,900 vertical feet to a catwalk that spits you out at the base. Masochists should save it for the end of the day, when the bumps are the size of small igloos.
HOT LODGE: In the heart of town is a grand adobe abode called the Fechin Inn, built beside Russian artist Nicolai Fechin’s former home, a 1927 structure listed in the National Register of Historic Places. The elegant, Jacuzzi-equipped 84-room hotel is just a hop, skip, and a jump from the Adobe Bar, current home of wicked margaritas. (Doubles, $114-$208; 800-746-2761, )
SOUL PATCH: Dog-tired and depleted? Stop off at art-infested Taos Pizza Outback, where the cooks spin tasty sesame-sprinkled crusts, blank canvases just waiting for your own creative topping conglomerations.

WYOMING :: JACKSON HOLE

DUDE, IT’S LIKE MECCA. If you take sliding around on snow seriously, you’ll eventually make a pilgrimage to the Hole. Hardcore types rightfully revere the sick Wyoming vertical, heavy powder showers, and Euro-style open backcountry. Yep, this is the place . . . to pack a shovel, transceiver, probe, and change of underwear.
WHY WE LOVE IT: Rip, rip, rip all you want: The harder and stronger you ride, the more these Tetons throw at you. And once you think you’re the master, listen for the laughter coming from the lines that have yet to see a descent.
NUMBER-ONE RUN: You’ll find the finest fall-line skiing in the country here, so steel yourself for the best run of the bunch: The Hobacks is 3,000 vertical feet of crazy steeps. Enjoy.
HOT LODGE: When legendary ski mountaineer and cinematographer Rob DesLauriers got sick of living out of his van, he built the new Teton Mountain Lodge, a premium slopeside property with rustic Wyoming written all over it. Just don’t let the high-end accommodations and dining fool you; Rob’s still a ski bum at heart. (Doubles, $149-$329; 800-801-6615, )
SOUL PATCH: The Mangy Moose remains Jackson Hole’s must-hit saloon. The bleary-eyed crew from Teton Gravity Research, pros decked out in next year’s wares, and perma-tan instructors call this place home. But don’t fear the locals; just get what they’re having.

UTAH :: PARK CITY

LIKE ST. MORITZ WITH MORMONS, Park City is not only a vast powdery playground; it’s a true ski-in/ski-out town with big-city swank. After you’ve zonked your mortal coil dropping off cornices and carving down chutes, head to town and knock back an espresso: You have to be awake to enjoy the finer things.
WHY WE LOVE IT: Oh, the mountain comes off as harmless at first—what with those rolling hills flush with cruisers—but it drops the hammer a couple lifts in, making for delighted schussers, from expert on down. There’s terrain-park action, and the superior lift service (14 chairs, including four high-speed six-packs) can move more than 27,000 butts an hour.
NUMBER-ONE RUN: Not for the timid or the kamikaze, O-zone drops 1,000 feet off the lip of Pinyon Ridge, down a 30- to 40-degree face, before delivering you into forgiving tree trails that lead to a high-speed six heading right back up.
HOT LODGE: Right on chic Main Street is the Treasure Mountain Inn, a locals-owned lodge with a great little café. This eco-minded pad has a range of homey accommodations, from simple studios to decked-out apartments, as well as a Jacuzzi and heated pool beneath the stars. (Studios, $125-$300; 800-344-2460, )
SOUL PATCH: Once a wild silver town, Park City’s gone all civilized. The high-end gastronomic fusion served up at 350 Main will have you double-checking your coordinates—and for boozophobic Utah, the cocktails are mighty sinful.

BRITISH COLUMBIA :: WHISTLER BLACKCOMB

DOUBLY HEINOUS STEEPS mean twice the fun at Whistler Blackcomb, home to the biggest vertical in North America and an astounding variety of snow conditions. Sister peaks, these British Columbia bad girls practically flaunt their grand vert, true glacier skiing, and leg-burner runs up to seven miles long.
WHY WE LOVE IT: By virtue of the vast and varied terrain (larger than Vail and Aspen combined), this resort has always drawn a cosmopolitan crowd. The number of rowdy young immigrants will surely redouble as opening day of the 2010 Winter Olympics approaches. And the village is at only 2,140 feet, so sea-level folk can let loose without fearing hypoxia-empowered hangovers.
NUMBER-ONE RUN: These peaks have long been a favorite stop on the World Cup circuit, thanks in part to the exhilarating 1.5-mile highway known as the Dave Murray Downhill, which rolls off the south shoulder to Whistler’s base.
HOT LODGE: The Fairmont Chateau Whistler is a wonderland of sprawling penthouses and romantic turrets at the foot of Blackcomb Mountain. Luckily, there are more than two dozen bistros and nightclubs nearby to tempt you out of your mountain-view room on the stormier nights. (Doubles, $256-$446; 800-606-8244, )
SOUL PATCH: From the top of Horstman Glacier, traverse under the summit cliffs and cross the ridgeline via Spanky’s Ladder. This brings you to a trove of hidden chutes plunging through a cliff band down to Blackcomb Glacier.

CALIFORNIA :: MAMMOTH

THE SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA VIBE dominates Mammoth, reflecting surf culture at its most authentic. Witness the resort’s massive superpipe and meticulously sculpted terrain parks, home turf of snowboard phenoms like Tara Dakides, Shaun White, and Olympic silver medalist Danny Kass.
WHY WE LOVE IT: Rising high in the eastern Sierra, this hill is surrounded by the Ansel Adams and John Muir wilderness areas, and Yosemite’s just a few valleys north. The volcanic terrain, nice and steep everywhere you look, gets layers of prime frosting from Pacific storms that drop up to four feet of snow at a time. Otherwise, it’s clear blue skies.
NUMBER-ONE RUN: From the summit, drop off the back side and hike to fantastic Hemlock Bowl: Ski left and follow the signs (or locals), then enjoy Mammoth’s deepest shots. Afterwards, hop on Chair 14 and rest up for another hike. Repeat.
HOT LODGE: If cookie-cutter condos don’t do it for you, check out Mammoth Country Inn, a Bavarian-style bed-and-breakfast. The seven rooms feature bedding worthy of royalty, and two have Jacuzzis. Your hosts, the Weinerts, serve up home-style breakfasts, and it’s just a short scamper to the bus. (Doubles, $145-$185; 866-934-2710, )
SOUL PATCH: Geothermal springs with panoramic mountain vistas, anyone? South of town, just east of Highway 395, Hot Creek gloriously blends a f-f-freezing stream and feverish springs. (Stay out of the scalding stuff.) Sadly, panties are mandatory here. But you can drop your drawers at wilder hot spots like Hilltop and Crab Cooker.

COLORADO :: STEAMBOAT

SOMETIMES COLORADO’S I-70 is a bit, well, constipated, so head for secluded Steamboat, some two hours north. We’re talking relentless powder, some of the West’s best tree skiing, and a chill ambience—on the slopes and back at the lodge.
WHY WE LOVE IT: Located in the Park Range—where Pacific-born storms usually hit first in Colorado—Steamboat soaks up heavy snow dumps that often skip peaks to the south and east. And many of the aspens are perfectly spaced, as if a gift from God. From the mountain, take a free shuttle the three miles to tiny, colorful Steamboat Springs, where you’ll find a surprising slew of kick-back bars and upscale eats.
NUMBER-ONE RUN: Step into the Closet, a forested roller coaster spilling down the west side of Storm Peak, and shake off the dust. Just make sure you’ve got your turns dialed—and wear a helmet.
HOT LODGE: Across from the gondola, the plush 327-room Steamboat Grand Resort Hotel serves up a deluxe spa, a fitness center with steam bath, an elegant steak-and-chop house, quiet rooms replete with hardwood furniture, and a cavernous stone lobby with, yep, a stream running through it. (Doubles from $159; 877-269-2628, )
SOUL PATCH: On the Grand’s spacious deck, which looks out on 8,239-foot Emerald Mountain, two truly giant Jacuzzis and a heated outdoor pool offer some of the most luxuriant après-ski lounging in the Rockies.

MONTANA :: BIG SKY

Big Sky Ski Resort

LONE MOUNTAIN ERUPTS from the Madison Range like an 11,194-foot catcher’s mitt, nabbing storms swollen with dry Rocky Mountain powder. The utter lack of lines just sweetens the pot. With almost twice as many acres as skiers, Big Sky virtually guarantees instant lift access all day long.
WHY WE LOVE IT: You can dress like a cowboy—unironically—and then snorkel through the fresh, pausing to ogle the remote 10,000-foot summits of the Lee Metcalf Wilderness. Come night, it gets so dark you can see the band of the Milky Way splitting the sky.
NUMBER-ONE RUN: Off Lone Mountain’s south face, roar almost 3,000 vertical feet down the ridiculously wide Liberty Bowl and through the Bavarian Forest, where you can bob and weave through spruce and fir.
HOT LODGE: Want quintessential Montana? Rent a log cabin with a hot tub on the deck: The Powder Ridge Cabins have woodstoves, vaulted ceilings, and a lift nearby. (Cabin with three doubles, $525-$772; 800-548-4486, )
SOUL PATCH: See what “big sky” really means: The tram up to the peak offers an eagle’s view of the resort’s most daring lines, plus thousands of square miles of wilderness. Watch a local work the Big Couloir—a 50-by-1,500-foot lick of 48-degree terror—and it won’t be just the views stealing your breath.

UTAH :: ALTA & SNOWBIRD

Snowbird Ski Resort

THESE PEAKS ARE THE ODD COUPLE of mountain resorts—think hardcore Alta dudes and snazzy Snowbird debs—but their souls are united by heavenly powder.
WHY WE LOVE IT: In a word, the white stuff. At Little Cottonwood Canyon, the light-and-dry goods are nonpareil. The evidence? When the Ringling Bros. circus sued Utah for using the slogan “The Greatest Snow on Earth,” the case went all the way to the Supreme Court—and Utah won.
NUMBER-ONE RUN: A long, technical traverse perches you atop Alf’s High Rustler, a 40-degree, 2,000-foot pitch aimed straight at the Alta parking lot. Legend has it that veteran ski-school director Alf Engen once bombed the whole run, with nothing but nipple-deep powder to slow his mad descent.
HOT LODGE: Snowbird’s Iron Blosam threads the ski-lodge needle: It’s got all the perks of a high-end hotel—two-story windows, private decks, full kitchens, and an outdoor hot tub-but it’s steeped in a laid-back atmosphere that reminds you of a family cabin in the mountains. (Doubles, $249-$539; 800-453-3000, )
SOUL PATCH: After Snowbird’s last tram heads down for the day, don’t be afraid to join the contingent of ski-crazy locals who gather at the top of Lone Pine for what is usually a low-key party, then take in the sublime view of the spectacular, canyon-framed sunset.

VERMONT :: STOWE

IT’S THE BARNS AND COVERED BRIDGES draped with snow that tip you off: You’re in classic Vermont. This historic resort hails from the hungry thirties, but you’ll be plenty satisfied. With just 4,000 or so permanent residents, Stowe’s got small-town soul galore, and the mountain tempts with wild, winding expert runs—and a slew of less challenging ones.
WHY WE LOVE IT: Time has made Stowe a giant on the eastern ski scene, with the help of 4,393-foot Mount Mansfield, Vermont’s highest peak. You can’t beat it for nordic action: The Touring Center at Trapp Family Lodge (owned by a member of the singing von Trapp clan, of The Sound of Music fame) features excellent trails. And where would snowboarding be without a certain resident named Jake Burton?
NUMBER-ONE RUN: Test your mettle on the famous Front Four—National, Lift Line, Starr, and Goat—the mountain’s snaking double-black centerpieces. Prepare to be humbled.
HOT LODGE: Listed on the National Register of Historic Places, the sumptuously restored Green Mountain Inn pumps up the luxe with modern accoutrements like gas fireplaces, marble bathrooms, Jacuzzis, and a heated outdoor pool. Forget fatigue with a Swedish deep-tissue massage—or have hot cider and homemade cookies by the blazing fire. (Doubles from $125; 800-253-7302, )
SOUL PATCH: Get a little wacky with the locals during the Stowe Winter Carnival, in late January: Among other fun, there’s off-season volleyball, a snow-golf tournament (costume required, natch), and the chilly Wintermeister triathlon.

COLORADO :: VAIL & BEAVER CREEK

TALK ABOUT HIGH CONTRAST: These resorts may be virtually side by side, but they don’t see eye to eye. Vail is the gold standard for manicured pistes and big bowls, regularly making it one of the country’s most popular destinations, while Beaver Creek is more of a sedate escape with a profusion of secret stashes.
WHY WE LOVE IT: Via the combo of dry snow and friendly terrain, intermediates feel advanced—and experts feel untouchable (if they didn’t already). Roughly half of the resorts’ vast terrain is taken up by the famous Back Bowls, at Vail, and Beaver Creek’s long, challenging Talons, many of which cut through the trees.
NUMBER-ONE RUN: On Vail’s Ledges, the steep bits run 300 feet, then level out and let you regain your wind, then drop another 300, and so on—descending for more than a mile, all the way home. At Beaver Creek, Harrier rolls off the west shoulder of Spruce Saddle, becoming a wide, hilly cruiseway perfectly pitched for GS turns.
HOT LODGE: The Austrian-style Hotel Gasthof Gramshammer has been au courant for 40 years. The 38 rooms are arrayed with knee-deep down comforters and traditional woodwork, game dishes are served up in the cozy Antlers dining room, and high indulgence awaits at the steam room, sauna, and two indoor hot tubs. (Doubles, $195-$245; 800-610-7374, )
SOUL PATCH: Don’t miss the Colorado Ski Museum: Dig the roots of modern snow sports and revisit such luminaries as World War II heroes/powder hounds the Tenth Mountain Division, among others.

CALIFORNIA & NEVADA :: HEAVENLY

CAN YOU SAY GIGANTIC? Good, because that’s what Heavenly is. Plus it can claim some of the most ravishing views of any American ski hill: It rests in the limbo between the supernatural blue of Lake Tahoe and the scorched Nevada desert far below.

WHY WE LOVE IT: Nobody skis off-piste on this mountain! A private wonderland awaits those who venture into the trees or take a little hike, but if you want to stay on track, you’ll find that the sheer immensity (almost 5,000 acres) spreads out the skiers nicely. Besides, the groomers are like boulevards—and just as smooth—so you can really dig your turns here.

NUMBER-ONE RUN: The Milky Way Bowl, a ten-minute hike up the Skyline Trail, has a steady vertical drop and an utter dearth of other souls. Continue down the chutes of Mott Canyon and have a chuckle at the expense of all the schnooks who ever turned their noses up at this peak.

HOT LODGE: Heavenly’s speedy gondola is two minutes from Lake Tahoe’s Embassy Suites Hotel, very cushy digs with a dizzying nine-story atrium, glass roof, flourishing gardens, and 400 two-room suites. (Suites from $200; 877-497-8483, )

SOUL PATCH: The spectacle of Caesars Tahoe is Disneyland for the savvy gambler. A nonstop bacchanal revolves around slot machines, top-notch shows, and the ubiquitous gaming tables—but without that Vegas overkill. When in Rome . . .

ALBERTA :: LAKE LOUISE

JAW-DROPPING vistas of Banff National Park greet the lucky folks up top of Canada’s biggest ski area, and world-class terrain awaits below.
WHY WE LOVE IT: This place splits styles: At the south side’s terrain park, huck junkies can air their grievances with gravity while fans of pure carving hit the quieter north face to ride the bowls.
NUMBER-ONE RUN: Take the SUMMIT Platter up 8,765-foot Mount Whitehorn and cruise Brown Shirt, taking in views of the Bow Valley. Or head out from the Larch area, locate Lookout Chute, and disappear into the trees—just make sure you reappear.
HOT LODGE: From the Fairmont Chateau Lake Louise, gaze out at the glacier-fed namesake lake. To fight off the Canadian chill, try steaming truffle fondue at the hotel’s Walliser Stube; wash that fungus down with some ice wine, made from grapes frozen on the vine. (Doubles, $344; 800-441-1414, www .fairmont.com/lakelouise)
SOUL PATCH: With faraway Victoria Glacier as backdrop, a spin on Lake Louise’s skating rink makes for high entertainment. During January’s ice-carving competition, you can see frozen stars like Winnie the Pooh, then toast marshmallows at the braziers nearby. (Appropriately enough, the silly old bear has been quoted as saying, “Fight fire with marshmallows.”)

COLORADO :: TELLURIDE

A TRUE COWBOY TOWN where down jackets thankfully outnumber mink stoles, Telluride still caters to the glamorous. Spot a hot starlet living it up in one of downtown’s ritzy establishments? Big whoop—unless she was thrashing her guide in the steep and deep earlier.
WHY WE LOVE IT: Due to its remote setting—there’s just one road leading into this southwestern Colorado box canyon-the mountain always gets far fewer folks than it’s designed to handle. So the queues are quick, the runs pretty much empty, and the midmountain bartenders not too busy. NUMBER ONE RUN: As you float, fly, or surf down the three ridgeline miles of See Forever, looking 100 or so miles west toward Utah’s La Sal Mountains, you are permitted, though not really encouraged, to holler corny lines from Titanic, like “I’m on top of the wooorld!”
HOT LODGE: Live it up at Wyndham Peaks Resort & Golden Door Spa: Think king-size beds, homemade cookies on your pillow (if you ask nicely), and the San Juan Mountains out your window. Head to the spa and baby your fried quads by soaking them in the 102-degree mineral pool—perfect prep for a 50-minute Skier Salvation massage. (Doubles from $229; 970-728-6800, )
SOUL PATCH: Melt into an overstuffed leather chair, order a horseradishy bloody mary, and toast tomorrow in Wyndham Peaks’ high-ceilinged great room. That’s good medicine.

MONTANA :: BIG MOUNTAIN

CRAVE A COCKTAIL of wide-open groomers, perfectly spaced trees, and backcountryesque meadows? Look no further than crowdless Big Mountain. And with lots of off-piste powder stashes just waiting, it’s no wonder so many of the snow junkies here sport free heels.
WHY WE LOVE IT: Monster storms transform the mountain’s evergreens into “snow ghosts,” and locals—suited up in polyester straight out of the Carter era—love to rip through this hoary host. And it doesn’t hurt that the skyline’s fraught with the lofty peaks of the Canadian Rockies, Glacier National Park, and the Great Bear Wilderness.
NUMBER-ONE RUN: East of North Bowl, you’ll find hundreds of feet of superb vertical, starting with the Nose, then continuing down two shots known as Performance and the Chin. Don’t look for these last two on the map, though: After hogging all that fluffy stuff, you won’t want to tell anyone, either.
HOT LODGE: The ski-in/ski-out Kandahar lodge, right off the mountain, just screams Montana. Think wooden beams, a river-rock fireplace, and rustic rooms with lofts and a bunch of primo down sleeping gear. (Doubles, $109-$309; 800-862-6094, )
SOUL PATCH: When the lifts shut down, the planks and boards stack up outside the Bierstube, where you’ll find local folks swilling pints of Moose Drool beside Seattle techniks escaping the city for the weekend. Be sure to ask your barkeep for one of the ‘Stube’s mysterious souvenir rings—it’s a surprise—then tip at least 20 percent. But you knew that.

CALIFORNIA :: ALPINE MEADOWS

ALL MOUNTAIN AND NO ATTITUDE, Northern California’s Alpine Meadows is designed to take maximum advantage of the spectacular terrain. Though it’s got that laid-back, down-to-earth vibe the West is known for, it’s certainly no bore; far from it. It simply lacks the attendant aggression of resorts with similarly radical steeps.
WHY WE LOVE IT: Chutes and rock bands line this High Sierra bowl, spilling out into gentle grades—so there’s something here for all skill levels. The hike-to skiing and open-boundary policy (not found at neighboring Squaw Valley) equal acres and acres of untouched snow, and the hill’s south side is enormous, wide-open, and drenched with sunshine in the morning.
NUMBER-ONE RUN: Palisades, a classic double black diamond off the Alpine Bowl lift, looks skyscraper-steep once you’re staring down it, but fear not: Since it’s north-facing, the snow’s way silky.
HOT LODGE: From the lifts, it’s just a quick ten minutes to the unbeatable Resort at Squaw Creek, with its 403 fine rooms, four restaurants (ranging from diner fare to haute cuisine), outdoor swimming pool, Jacuzzis, and nearby recreation like dogsledding and sleigh rides. (Doubles, $229-$349; 800-403-4434, )
SOUL PATCH: The northern ridge, beyond Estelle Bowl, may take a quarter of an hour to hike and traverse to, but the sweet silence and enormous cedars you’ll find will make you forget the trip. As will the powder.

UTAH :: THE CANYONS

A DECADE BACK, the resort that would become the Canyons was a pretty shabby, and not too popular, locals hill. Now it’s the biggest, most unabashedly go-go resort in Utah-and, miraculously, it’s crowd-free.
WHY WE LOVE IT: Besides the sharp new base village, it’s got the real goods: Days after other Wasatch resorts are all skied out, you’ll still be finding powder stashes hidden among the—count ’em—eight peaks.
NUMBER-ONE RUN: Take the hike up Murdock Peak right off the Super Condor Express Lift, then choose from among seven tempting lines. You’re bound to find your favorite flavor: steep glade, wide-open bowl, or gnarly chute?
HOT LODGE: When NBC’s Katie Couric and Matt Lauer wanted posh digs for their two-week Olympics gig, they picked the deluxe Grand Summit Resort Hotel—for good reason. After a soak in your jetted tub, survey the scene at the heated outdoor pool below, and the rest of Summit County, from the bay windows flanking your fireplace. And, of course, there’s the supreme access: If the gondola were any closer, it would be inside. (Doubles, $279; 888-226-9667, )
SOUL PATCH: Take a snowcat-drawn sleigh to midmountain, cross-country or snowshoe it through the woods, and hit the resort’s secluded Viking Yurt for a delectable five-course Scandinavian feast. Go ahead and carbo-load—afterwards, the snowcat will drag you right back down to base.

OREGON :: MT. BACHELOR

THE U.S. FOREST SERVICE gave top skier Bill Healy, of the Army’s Tenth Mountain Division, permission to put three rope tows up the face of central Oregon’s Bachelor Butte way back in 1958. Since then, his dream come true, now known as Mt. Bachelor, has grown to 71 runs serviced by ten lifts. And for those seeking big air, there are three terrain parks.
WHY WE LOVE IT: With as much as 30 feet of snow piling up annually in the mountains of Deschutes National Forest, Mt. Bachelor is one of the Pacific Northwest’s treasures, and an agreement with the Forest Service has spurned commercial development, preserving its wild side.
NUMBER-ONE RUN: Head for the Northwest Express chair and exit, if you dare, to Devil’s Backbone, a mettle-testing black diamond. Though steeper up top, it’s good and bumpy almost all the way down its nefarious spine.
HOT LODGE: The Inn of the Seventh Mountain, between Bend and Mt. Bachelor, is the place to sleep if you want first chair the next morning. The lodge-style decor—wooden beams, fireplaces, leather recliners—just oozes cozy, and with the Cascades so close by, grand views are there for the feasting. (Doubles, $135-$195; 800-452-6810, )
SOUL PATCH: Hit the Lodge, in Bend, for pints of local 20″ Brown Ale and scrumptious buffalo burgers. Then make good and sure you patronize the McMenamins folks—God love ’em—renovators of, among others, the old St. Francis school in downtown Bend, home to a hotel with Turkish baths, a pub restaurant, and a throwback cinema.

IDAHO :: SUN VALLEY

HOLLYWOOD HOTTIES, Olympic skiers, and John Kerry may flock to sexy Sun Valley these days, but America’s first ski resort has been drawing us hoi polloi since ’36. Swaths of immaculate corduroy run for miles here, so pray your legs last. No sweat if they don’t: French chefs and other fanciness await below.
WHY WE LOVE IT: Fantastic snow- making gear, five-star base facilities, and runs so fast and long you can attempt to break the sound barrier—after stuffing your face with beignets, of course.
NUMBER-ONE RUN: Crank the bindings and launch down Warm Springs. After a continuous 3,100-foot vertical loss on a blue groomer, your quads will glow like an Apollo capsule on reentry.
HOT LODGE: Stay in Ketchum, Sun Valley’s neighbor and the epicenter of the après action. The Best Western Kentwood Lodge, situated right in the mix, has an airy stone-and-wood lobby, big rooms, a hot tub, and a pool. (Doubles, $159-$179; 800-805-1001, )
SOUL PATCH: Clomp into Apple’s Bar and Grill, at the base of Greyhawk, and mingle with folks who packed it in after logging 30,000 feet of vert—by lunchtime. Notice all the passes tacked to the wall? You could once trade yours for a pitcher of suds. Talk about priorities.

VERMONT :: KILLINGTON

KILLINGTON’S legendarily long season stretches from October through May (sometimes into June), and with seven mountains, the resort has more acreage than any place in the East. Lately, though, Killington’s known as the town that tried to secede—from Vermont, not the Union—a tribute to residents’ fiery, tax-evading Yankee spirit.
WHY WE LOVE IT: Behold the Beast’s 200 runs—including high-altitude bumps, endless cruisers, terrain parks, and a halfpipe—which keep legions of devotees coming back thirsty.
NUMBER-ONE RUN: You don’t have to be an ace to experience the hair-raisingly steep moguls of Outer Limits, on Bear Mountain—just grab a pint and watch the wipeouts from the deck of Bear Mountain Base Lodge.
HOT LODGE: Nab yourself some comfy slopeside digs: The Killington Grand Resort Hotel is well worth the substantial change you’ll drop. This 200-roomer offers studios and suites—all with kitchens, many with fireplaces—and the views from the outdoor Jacuzzis and pool are unbeatable. (Doubles from $150; 877-458-4637, )
SOUL PATCH: It may have turned 40 last year, but the Wobbly Barn still parties like a teenager. This steakhouse-cum-nightclub has a hoppin’ happy hour, live music, and a serious boogie jones.

MONTANA :: MOONLIGHT BASIN

Moonlight Basin Ski Resort

EVERY GOOD SKI AREA has a split personality—part nurturer, part dominatrix. But no resort behaves more like Jekyll and Hyde than Moonlight Basin, the one-year-old resort 45 miles south of Bozeman that shares a boundary with Big Sky. First it lulls you, then it tries to kill you.

The lull part: Moonlight is a real estate venture, and the kindly blue and black pistes that meander down the north face of 11,194-foot Lone Mountain are tailored to those looking for vacation homes. The new Lone Tree lift will fill out those offerings this winter, adding more than 500 acres of open glades and unintimidating expert runs.

Moonlight’s sadistic side? Just look up: The Headwaters is a forbidding wall striped with nine chutes pinched by bands of sharp shale and scree. Three Forks is the boast-in-the-bar run, a 1,200-foot plummet into Stillwater Bowl that nudges 50 degrees in spots. (Until a lift is built, reaching such lines requires a 25-to-45-minute hike.)

Moonlight Basin can’t yet keep you occupied for a week—the base area’s swanky lodge doesn’t even have a gear shop or ski school—but it’s one more reason to book that trip to Big Sky.

IDAHO :: TAMARACK RESORT

THE VIEWS RECALL TAHOE. And the terrain? Call it Steamboat West. That’s the early line on Tamarack Resort, 90 miles north of Boise, which opens in December. The Tahoe analogy is plain from a 7,700-foot spot on West Mountain’s ridge: Far below, 22-mile-long Lake Cascade glistens in Long Valley. What’s more, the resort sits far enough west to rack up 300 annual inches of snow (100 more than Sun Valley), yet it’s east of Oregon’s high desert, ensuring that the bounty arrives talcum-dry.

Don’t expect Tamarack to max out your Pocket Rockets. The tree skiing in glades of aspen and subalpine fir, and the languorous blue runs that unspool down the mountain’s 2,800 vertical feet, summon Steamboat—diverting, if not exactly heart-stopping. Snowcat skiing will be offered this year on 500 acres to be made lift-accessible in the next few years. It’s all part of a $1.5 billion plan to make Tamarack a year-round resort with some 2,000 chalets, condos, and hotel rooms. (At press time, just 60 chalets and cottages were available.) For the best après-ski, head to the old logging town of McCall, 17 miles north.

:: SKI EMOTIONALLY NAKED!

STUCK IN INTERMEDIATEVILLE and dreaming of a transfer to the friendlier slopes of Advanced City? I sure was, so last winter I gambled on a four-day ski clinic in Utah’s Wasatch Range. I was up for anything that would get me closer to black-diamond bliss.

Ski to Live—launched in 2003 by extreme queen Kristen Ulmer, at Alta and Snowbird resorts—takes a uniquely cerebral, holistic approach to improving performance on the slopes, promising nothing less than self-transformation via a cogent blend of hard carving, refreshing yoga, and an intriguing flavor of Zen known as Big Mind. No $200-an-hour therapist ever promised so much.

The 38-year-old Ulmer, veteran of countless ski flicks and former U.S. Freestyle Ski Team member, is a sensitive but sure coach, possessing an infectious buoyancy of spirit that makes every powder acolyte under her wing believe a camera’s rolling just for them over the next mogul. She says conventional instruction is too heavy on mechanics, virtually ignoring mental outlook: “Understanding yourself translates into your skiing in a big way. It’ll catapult you into a whole new level of learning.” So she does it her way. During my Ski to Live weekend, my 13 fellow pupils and I spent about as much time contemplating life in intensely reflective Big Mind sessions as we did tackling Snowbird runs like the steep straitjacket of Wilbere Bowl.

The first night, we shared our hopes (huck big air!) and fears (hairy chutes, sharks). Next morning, we fell into a pleasant rhythm: wake-up yoga; a fat breakfast; lots and lots of skiing in small groups with Ulmer or another instructor; evening sessions with Genpo Roshi, 60, who heads up Salt Lake City’s Kanzeon Zen Center and developed Big Mind; a to-die-for dinner; then profound slumber at the Lodge at Snowbird.

Under Ulmer’s tutelage, skiers and snowboarders employ mantras, which can improve focus, and learn to execute proper form, like correctly positioning shoulders through turns. (Chanting Charge! in one’s head at each turn actually does have a way of refining performance.) Throwing Roshi in the mix proves to be even more radical: He uses challenging discussions and role-playing exercises intended to help you harmoniously integrate the sometimes conflicting aspects of your personality, thus allowing you to dig out from the solipsistic center of your own little universe. It’s pretty cool.

But my defining moment came not when I face-planted right in front of the video camera (hello, embarrassing playback!) nor when I carved some relatively pretty turns in Mineral Basin; it came in a whiteout, during a three-below-zero cruise along the Cirque Traverse, at nearly 11,000 feet. Suddenly I felt fearless joy-not joyless fear-in anticipation of the double black on deck.

The post We Sing the Slopes Fantastic appeared first on ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Online.

Over here in Scandinavia—where I recently moved to edit ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Sweden—the dark winters can get you down. Enter aquavit: From the Latin aqua vitae, or “water of life,” this missing link between vodka and gin is the favored spirit of Thor’s ski-hard descendants. A tasty, caraway-flavored libation, it’s chilled and served as starter fluid at meals—always straight up. You’ll never see an aquavit cocktail in Stockholm, Oslo, or Copenhagen, but that’s not to say it doesn’t make a great base for mixed drinks. New York City’s finest Scandinavian restaurant, aptly named Aquavit, is well aware of the possibilities. ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø tapped “bar chef” Christian Post to design a trio of cocktails around three classic brands. Grab some ice and shake one up after a powder day, then strain into a martini glass. Guaranteed to melt the frost in your braids.

aquavit

AALBORG is clean and lean, perfect for a Dane in the Bronx: 2 oz aquavit, 1 oz sweet vermouth, 1 oz dry vermouth, 3 oz fresh-squeezed orange juice, 2 dashes bitters. Garnish with a flaming orange twist. » Spicy and barrel-aged, LINIE makes a great Purple Viking: 1 1/2 oz aquavit, 3 oz fresh blueberry puree, 1/2 oz each fresh-squeezed lemon juice and lime juice, 1 oz simple syrup. Garnish with ten blueberries on a bamboo skewer. » Use the robust HERRGARDS for an Erik the Red: 3 oz aquavit, 2 oz Dubonnet Red aperitif, 1 splash cherry juice. Garnish with a dash of bitters and three cherries on one of those little plastic swords.

The post Firewater of Life appeared first on ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Online.

1. Red Mountain Spa

St. George, Utah
THE VIBE: At Utah’s Red Mountain Spa, decorum goes by the wayside: Guests usually don’t bother changing out of their dusty hiking boots before heading up for their hot-rock rubdown. Surrounded by 400-foot red cliffs at the entrance to Snow Canyon State Park, Red Mountain anchors its experience in multilevel early-morning guided hikes on 30 local trails. Then it’s personal preference: ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø newbies can take an introductory course on mountain biking, rock climbing, horseback riding, kayaking, or even orienteering. To up the ante, sign on for a hike in the Narrows of Zion National Park or a 26-mile rim-to-rim trek through the Grand Canyon. Or consult with one of the resort’s ultrafit guides to design your own custom odyssey. And, of course, there’s the spa itself, which is open until 11 p.m. so adventurers can wind down with a massage. Guests stay in villas offering epic red-rock views or southwestern-style rooms. This spring, Red Mountain will complete construction of 40 additional villas and a 30,000-square-foot spa center. For those using Red Mountain as a springboard to future fitness, the health-services staff offers body-composition and metabolic tests to plan a long-term weight-loss or training regimen. GUEST LIST: Red Mountain’s demographic is steadily gaining machismo: 30 percent of its clients are male, from 28 to more than 60 years old.
AWE FACTOR: Full-moon hiking through 5,738-acre Snow Canyon State Park.
TO-DIE-FOR TREATMENT: Shed your old skin with the Red Mountain Revitalizer, an 80-minute scalp massage and facial followed by a full-body exfoliation and rubdown.
MENU: The pan-seared elk tenderloin with cherry-rhubarb demi-glace and Mexican chocolate cake are pretty tasty.
HE-MAN RATING: Four grunts (out of four)—canyonland adventure is everywhere.
PRICE: $1,885 per person for one week, based on double occupancy, meals included
CONTACT: 800-407-3002,

Rancho La Puerta

Rancho La Puerta’s river-stone massage

2. Rancho La Puerta
Tecate, Mexico
THE VIBE: It’s the easiest trip to Mexico you’ll ever take. A bus picks you up at the San Diego airport, whisks you across the border at Tecate (yes, that Tecate, but you won’t be drinking any this week), and continues to the gates of Rancho La Puerta, set on more than 3,000 acres at the base of boulder-strewn, 3,885-foot Mount Kuchumaa. Opened in 1940 by Edmond and Deborah Szekely, “The Ranch” was the precursor to the fitness spa—a health camp where guests paid $17.50 a week to pitch their own tents and dine on chemical-free food. Now, 160 guests per week stay in Spanish Colonial-style villas in a Garden of Eden full of palms, eucalyptus, and bougainvillea. Days start at dawn with vigorous mountain hikes followed by every-hour-on-the-hour classes with names like Sculpt and Strengthen, Pilates Matwork, Super Cross Training, Yoga Workshop, and African Dance Workout. But the chaise lounges around the resort’s three pools, lectures on nutrition, three centers offering a full menu of spa treatments, and meditation sessions are very worthy distractions. The Ranch will propel you toward the new, balanced you.
GUEST LIST: An affluent and well-traveled but down-to-earth crowd with an extremely high return rate; some guests have been there as many as 37 times.
AWE FACTOR: Walking the Labyrinth, a meditative path, lit by luminarias at night.
TO-DIE-FOR TREATMENT: The Aromatherapy Wrap, in which you are rolled up tight in steaming linens, like a rosemary-scented burrito, then given a brisk 20-minute body massage.
MENU: Most of the veggies and herbs come from Rancho La Puerta’s six-acre organic farm. The Mexican-inspired spa food is low on fat and mostly vegetarian, with lots of soups and salads.
HE-MAN RATING: Three grunts—with daily hikes and challenging cardio, weight-training, and strength classes, you can push yourself hard. Or not.
PRICE: $2,380 to $3,550 per person per week, meals included
CONTACT: 800-443-7565,

New Age Health Spa

Sixty-two-year-old tai chi instructor Anne Walsemann at the New Age Health Spa

3. New Age Health Spa
Neversink, New York
THE VIBE: A giant golden Buddha may seem out of place on a New York farm, but the one peering out of the New Age Health Spa’s 1,500-square-foot Cayuga Yoga and Meditation Center looks more than content among the resort’s green-shuttered lodges and 280 acres of rolling pastoral paradise. The place draws quite a few nirvana-seeking humans, too—it offers one of the Northeast’s widest arrays of yoga instruction, including the deep breathing of Vini yoga, the heart-oriented Anusara yoga, and the gentle movements of restorative yoga. Sun-salutation novices can warm up their joints with beginner classes, and advanced yogis can get a full flex workout with private instruction. New Age emphasizes a core “spirit” program built around chi kung and tai chi, which marry breathing techniques with highly controlled movement. Don’t let the tarot readings and Vedic astrology lessons scare you off; some of the spa’s 70 guests are there to simply watch bald eagles soar along the Atlantic Flyway. GUEST LIST: Expect lots of New Agey New Yorkers making the 2.5-hour trip from the city.
AWE FACTOR: Three greenhouses grow fresh herbs and salad greens on-site.
TO-DIE-FOR TREATMENT: Try the hour-and-40-minute healing-stone therapy, which includes a hot-rock massage combined with aromatherapy and chakra-balancing with gemstones. If you’re feeling adventurous, sign up for the hydro colon therapy—we’ll let you visualize that one.
MENU: Dinner alternates nightly between fish, like seared orange roughy, and poultry, like chicken breast with polenta.
HE-MAN RATING: One grunt—the yoga can be tough, but the outdoor fun is mild.
PRICE: From $1,096 per person per week, double occupancy, meals included
CONTACT: 800-682-4348,

Dunton Hot Springs

Karnazes at Dunton’s Major Ross Cabin.

4. Dunton Hot Springs
Dolores, Colorado
THE VIBE: It’s rumored that after robbing a bank in Telluride, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid lay low at Dunton Hot Springs, though it’s unlikely they took any yoga classes. In 1994, the 800-acre mining town, on the West Fork of the Dolores River, was transformed into an upscale spa and adventure complex, and these days you won’t find outlaws, just celebs who’ve played them. Midway between the towns of Dolores and Telluride, Dunton is surrounded by the San Juan Mountains, where, depending on the season, guests can wear themselves out with high-alpine hikes, snowshoeing trips, fly-fishing excursions, backcountry skiing, and horseback riding. But Dunton’s claim to fame is its orange-tinged mineral hot springs, where guests slip on their Stetsons after yoga class, sit back, and take in the scenery. The 28 visitors stay in the 12 restored 19th-century log cabins (and three tepees) scattered under the spruces and aspens.
GUEST LIST: Executives, movie stars, and other well-heeled wellness seekers.
AWE FACTOR: No need for public displays of soaking: One cabin and one tepee have 103-degree geothermal springwater piped straight into their tubs.
TO-DIE-FOR TREATMENT: Trager Therapy, in which joints are loosened by repetitive rocking and shaking movements. Trust us: It’s more relaxing than it sounds.
MENU: Local organic produce, served with organic free-range beef and lamb from local suppliers. The culinary team tops it off with homemade organic peach ice cream.
HE-MAN RATING: Three grunts—Dunton provides tremendous outdoor opportunities.
PRICE: From $250 per person per night (two-night minimum), double occupancy, meals included
CONTACT: 970-882-4800,

Mountain Trek Fitness Retreat and Health Spa

5. Mountain Trek Retreat and Health Spa
Ainsworth Hot Springs, British Columbia
THE VIBE: With a staff-to-guest ratio of more than two to one (only 14 guests are allowed at a time), visitors to Mountain Trek, in southeastern B.C., are pampered like Sinatra in Vegas. But be warned: The staff’s main job isn’t performing chemical peels; it’s getting your butt out the door and up the surrounding Columbia, Selkirk, and Purcell mountains. And no wonder—Mountain Trek employs a Delta Force cadre of local guides who can’t wait to get out there every morning. In fact, these folks are so hardcore, they spend their precious days off … hiking. Guests can choose beginner, intermediate, or advanced hiking groups. (Advanced boot jockeys typically trek 12-plus miles per day over 4,000 feet of elevation gain.) After the day’s trek, spa-goers crash in a fully feng shui 8,000-square-foot cedar lodge located on a former fruit orchard along the banks of 90-mile-long Kootenay Lake. Though hiking is Mountain Trek’s raison d’être (notice “Trek” in the name), the resort periodically follows a different path, offering weight-loss retreats, supervised fasting regimens, and other specialized programs. GUEST LIST: Energetic hikers and dieters looking to amp up their fitness program.
AWE FACTOR: Yoga and meditation on the beach of ice-blue Kootenay Lake, with the 11,000-foot Purcells as a backdrop.
TO-DIE-FOR TREATMENT: Forgo the standard three-massage-per-week package and pay $185 extra for the Zombie, an option that includes a decadent hourlong full-body Swedish massage every day.
MENU: Favorites of head chef Aaron Jeffs include tofu tarts with tomato, basil, and black olive, and banana-coconut raw-fruit flan.
HE-MAN RATING: Four grunts—six days of hardcore mountain hiking means you earn that daily rubdown.
PRICE: $2,598 per person for the seven-night mountain-hiking option, meals included
CONTACT: 800-661-5161,

Double Eagle Resort

6. Double Eagle Resort
June Lake, California
THE VIBE: Hero worshipers, take note: During last winter’s American Snowboard Tour at June Mountain, you were more likely to spot the pros lying on Double Eagle Resort’s massage tables than flying over the lip of the superpipe. With good reason: The spa/resort sits on Reversed Creek at the base of 10,909-foot Carson Peak, in the heart of the June Lake Loop, a stunning road on the eastern edge of Yosemite. Double Eagle mixes traditional spa amenities—more than 40 treatments, yoga, tai chi, meditation, and many other fitness classes—with outdoor activities like mountain biking, hiking, ice climbing, and fly-fishing. Guests stay at the 13.7-acre getaway in one of 13 two-bedroom cedar-sided cabins. For people who crave structure, Double Eagle offers a Lifetime Wellness Program, designed to help clients take their workouts into the real world. GUEST LIST: Families and anglers gravitate here, as do well-heeled skiers and snowboarders looking to unkink their bods after a day on the bumps.
AWE FACTOR: Catching (and releasing) a 17-pound Alpers rainbow trout in a Double Eagle pond.
TO-DIE-FOR TREATMENT: During the 50-minute Symphony Duo Massage, two therapists perform a head-to-toe rubdown guaranteed to melt you into a puddle of relaxed goo.
MENU: Expect hearty meals like the Ranchero Filet Tip Burrito.
HE-MAN RATING: Three grunts—a luxe base camp for some of the best skiing, snowboarding, and fishing in California.
PRICE: From $275 per cabin per night (each cabin sleeps six), meals not included
CONTACT: 760-648-7004,

The Hills Health Ranch

7. The Hills Health Ranch
100 Mile House, British Columbia
THE VIBE: The Hills Health Ranch, in south-central B.C.’s Cariboo district, is a self-contained adventure nation: 1,200 acres of dude ranch surrounded by 20,000 acres of crown land, featuring dozens of lakes; 124 miles of groomed cross-country ski terrain; 100 miles of hiking and biking trails; more than 16 treatment rooms; and, to top it all off, the Snow Park, a lighted, seven-run ski-snowboard-and-tubing hill. The ranch’s real specialty is injecting its wealth of adventure into dozens of packages, including hike-and-spa, weight-loss, and winter-sports options. HQ is found in a barnlike 30,000-square-foot building where clients can partake in dozens of therapies, like herbal wraps and hydrotherapy, or sign up for guided hiking, biking, and canoeing trips. The horseback-riding program lets you play cowboy with all-day rides and cookouts. Guests stay in 26 hotel-style rooms in lodges near the main building or in three-bedroom chalets. The staff will also help you design a wellness plan with fitness assessments, computerized lifestyle analysis, and a staff medical team willing to answer all the questions you’re too embarrassed to ask your doctor. GUEST LIST: The Hills is family-friendly and relatively affordable, and it attracts folks eager to get into the mountains.
AWE FACTOR: In the winter, mush a six-dog team of huskies through snow-covered pines in Moose Valley.
TO-DIE-FOR TREATMENT: Anything with wild rose hip, which grows on the ranch. Try the Swedish rose-hip full-body massage.
MENU: Customized calories. Upon arrival, you get a personalized nutrition consultation. If you’re a meat eater, the peppered beef tenderloin will fit your needs.
HE-MAN RATING: Three grunts—20,000 acres is a lot of territory to explore.
PRICE: $1,615 per person, double occupancy, for the six-night wilderness fitness adventure package, meals included
CONTACT: 250-791-5225,

Rio Caliente

Aquatic bliss at Rio Caliente

8. Rio Caliente
La Primavera, Mexico
THE VIBE: Some of us design vacations as jam-packed and stressful as our daily routines. Luckily, there’s Mexico. Rio Caliente, tucked into a pine-oak-and-mesquite forest an hour northwest of Guadalajara, has done away with sweaty weight rooms, Jacuzzis, and loud aerobics studios in favor of au naturel surroundings in the Primavera Mountains. These days, Rio Caliente emphasizes fresh food, spa treatments, water aerobics, yoga, and tai chi. But the main attractions on the 24-acre resort are the four pools, fed with 120-degree water captured from the nearby Rio Caliente, a near-boiling river. Most guests lounge around the two coed plunges or bask in the men’s or women’s pool. Or they hike along the Rio Caliente to add one of the area’s 100 bird species, like the Inca dove, to their life lists. Rio’s guests stay in cottages decorated with handmade tiles and locally crafted furniture.
GUEST LIST: For a spa, Rio is inexpensive, attracting gringo bargain hunters.
AWE FACTOR: Chill in the underground natural steam room, scented with eucalyptus leaves, which is open 24 hours a day.
TO-DIE-FOR TREATMENT: Plug yourself in to bioresonance therapy, a popular European treatment that sends electromagnetic oscillations through the body to purge organs of harmful magnetic fields.
MENU: Some of the ingredients for Rio’s all-vegetarian menu are grown on-site. The buffet-style meals include homemade tortillas, scrambled eggs, and vegetable soup with rice.
HE-MAN RATING: One grunt-this spa is about taking it easy. The outdoor program is relaxed and optional.
PRICE: From $120 per person per night, double occupancy, meals included
CONTACT: 800-200-2927,

Miraval

9. Miraval
Catalina, Arizona
THE VIBE: After a hot day of desert adventure, Miraval, about 30 miles north of Tucson, is there to help you shed your lizardlike dry skin. Located on 135 acres of classic Sonoran Desert, the resort offers cutting-edge treatments like chi nei tsang abdominal massage and hardcore desert excursions on bike, foot, and horse. But the real spa stud will opt for Miraval’s new five-day men-only Conquering Your Inner Everest program, a package designed to awaken the warrior within. (Note: This does not involve Viagra.) Miraval Everesters learn to rock-climb, go camping, bond during a sweat-lodge pipe ceremony, de-stress during a “Zen Bootcamp,” and, because sweating blocks pores, cap it off with a men’s facial. Guests bunk in casitas that offer patios with views to die for. GUEST LIST: Expect wealthy guests looking for classic desert adventure and loads of pampering.
AWE FACTOR: With the Sonoran Mud Wrap—featuring the area’s mineral-rich red clay slathered head to toe—you’ll blend right in with the landscape.
TO-DIE-FOR TREATMENT: During Zero Balancing Body Work, a therapist realigns the body to help the free flow of energy.
MENU: Fanned tenderloin of ostrich, seafood towers, and pumpkin cheesecake. Sounds dangerous, yet it’s nutritionally balanced cuisine.
HE-MAN RATING: Two grunts. Decent outdoor activities, but it’s ultra-luxurious.
PRICE: From $520 per person per night, double occupancy, meals included
CONTACT: 800-232-3969,

Canyon Ranch

Paddling at Canyon Ranch

10. Canyon Ranch
Lenox, Massachusetts
THE VIBE: Weight problems, lymphatic disturbances, mental blocks, bad posture, bad attitudes, sexual boredom, stress, osteoporosis, insomnia, bad genes—the list of problems treated at Canyon Ranch (its sister spa is in Tucson—hence “Canyon”) goes on longer than a Chinese menu. The healing begins in the resort’s 100,000-square-foot spa complex, with its yoga studio, indoor track, five gyms, indoor basketball, tennis, squash, and racquetball courts, steam rooms, massage rooms, and beauty salon. Besides the more-than-full menu of wellness classes, consultations, and activities, guests come to Canyon Ranch to connect with the flinty New England Berkshires. The spa’s guides lead hikes on the Appalachian Trail, canoeing trips to nearby Goose Pond, mountain-bike rides through the fall foliage, and more. In the winter, guests head to local ski areas like Butternut Basin and Jiminy Peak to put in a few turns before lunch. And for those who need a little help keeping off the pounds or finding enough motivation to lace up their hiking boots, Canyon Ranch offers wellness services to go, including coaching through phone consultations. If you ever have time to relax in your room, you’ll find New England-style suites. GUEST LIST: Expect a healthy dose of East Coast upper crust.
AWE FACTOR: Many treatments and classes are held in the Bellefontaine Mansion, built in 1897 as a replica of Louis XV’s Petit Trianon château, in Versailles.
TO-DIE-FOR TREATMENT: The Lulur Ritual, a Javanese treatment that combines Thai massage techniques with a turmeric-and-yogurt exfoliation.
MENU: Mustard-crusted frenched chicken, Mediterranean forest-mushroom wrap, tiramisu … it’s as decadent as it sounds.
HE-MAN RATING: Two grunts—there are so many activities inside Canyon Ranch, you have to make sure you don’t forget to step outside.
PRICE: From $1,520 per person for three nights, double occupancy, meals included
CONTACT: 800-742-9000,

I Was a Spa Virgin

One man discovers that a restorative retreat is much more than mud, sweat, and (gasp) no beers

FROM A CERTAIN ANGLE, Red Mountain Spa, on the outskirts of St. George, Utah, looks like a desert village from the original Star Wars—a 55-acre cluster of adobe buildings and geodesic domes rising out of a jagged black-lava field surrounded by red cliff faces. Late one Saturday afternoon, with the mercury pushing 103, I checked into Red Mountain for my first spa experience. I feared I’d find a soap-opera world of women swishing around in robes with towels on their heads, and braced myself for a cojones-withering experience.
There was a white robe laid out on the bed when I entered my room. But when the sun began to set, the women and men at the spa were wearing wraparound Oakleys and scuffed CamelBaks, and were making their way home from grueling mountain-bike rides or hikes.
Red Mountain got into the adventure-spa business in 1998. The concept is brilliant: Use hiking, mountain biking, and rock climbing as the cornerstone of a wellness program, and couch the fun in a five-star bubble of pampering. My stay was a seven-day package, two and a half of which were taken up by a 26-mile hike through the Grand Canyon.
Morning hiking is the foundation of Red Mountain, and before breakfast, guests divide into three skill levels, with the toughest group trekking about eight miles and climbing a total of at least 1,000 feet. I opted for group two, which covered a not-too-shabby six miles. After breakfast I signed on for a road ride down to the village of Kayenta, six miles away. By lunchtime I’d logged more miles than I do in an average weekend.
That afternoon, I visited the health-services division, where I had my basal metabolic rate charted. During the test, Eric, a personal trainer, strapped a metal contraption to my head, put a plastic guard in my mouth, and had me lie down and breathe—while drooling uncontrollably—for the next half-hour. Then, armed with my metabolic rate, we worked out an exercise plan and diet, which I religiously stuck to for a few months.
I spent the rest of the afternoon in the air-conditioned workout center, taking stretching and weight-lifting classes followed by, I’ll admit, a nice, long nap in my room. Dinner seemed a bit skimpy for a man burning an extra 2,000 calories a day. The other fellas at the spa agreed, and we all took a few extra trips to the salad bar.
The next two days included biking in the canyons, swimming, a massage, and hours in the hot tub. By the time our group of eight left for the Grand Canyon, at 4 a.m. Thursday, my muscles were loose, my lungs were strong—and I was beat. But I made surprising progress down the North Rim’s North Kaibab Trail. When we arrived at our cabin at Phantom Ranch, I felt great. The trip back up the South Rim’s Bright Angel Trail was tough, but conversation made the hours fly.
Back at the spa, I had to cram my treatments into a one-day tour de pampering. In the afternoon, I had a Red Rock Therapy massage: Juniper-oiled river stones were pressed into my muscles until they melted like butter. Later that night, I opted for the ultimate in froufrou, the Gentleman’s Facial. After 50 minutes of a sour-cherry mud mask, tea-tree exfoliant, and a round of pore-squeezing that, I’m convinced, popped a couple of rocks out of my membranes, I was red-faced and felt inside-out clean. When I returned to my room, I thought about slipping into the fluffy white robe I’d unceremoniously thrown in the corner, but instead put on a pair of boxers and nibbled on my complimentary Luna bar.

Metro Essential

Take refuge from the concrete jungle at these five urban oases

The placid white interior of San Fran’s International Orange

Exhale Mindbody Spa, New York
Tone your mind and muscles with a Core-Fusion class—60 invigorating minutes of stretching, Pilates, and yoga. PRICE: $30. CONTACT: 212-249-3000,
The Sports Club/LA, Los Angeles
West Coast hardbodies appreciate the focus on total fitness—weights, Pilates, yoga, and treatments like the green-tea-and-ginger body wrap. PRICE: day pass, $25, spa treatments not included; body wrap, $135. CONTACT: 310-888-8100,
Urban Oasis, Chicago
More than 40 nimble-fingered therapists offer ten styles of massage, including deep-muscle therapy, hot-stone massage, and shiatsu. PRICE: 60-minute massage, $85. CONTACT: 312-640-0001,
International Orange, San Francisco
Stop by for lunchtime yoga or a ginger-lemongrass-and-tangerine-oil massage (said to improve circulation). PRICE: 60-minute massage, $95. CONTACT: 415-563-5000,
Ten Thousand Waves, Santa Fe
Soak in an outdoor hot tub after your favorite spa treatment. Ours: a facial with purified nightingale droppings. PRICE: 55-minute hot tub, $20-$27 per person; 55-minute facial, $104. CONTACT: 505-982-9304,

The post ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Never Felt So Good appeared first on ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Online.

Staniel Cay, Exumas, Bahamas
[Staniel Cay Yacht Club]
Midway through the 150-mile-long Exumas chain is Staniel Cay, reachable by puddle-jumper from Nassau and Fort Lauderdale or by private boat. Here the jade-colored ocean laps at the stilts supporting the seven sunset-facing cottages of the Staniel Cay Yacht Club. Spend a day snorkeling with stingrays near Thunderball Cave and a night sipping the SCYC rum punch in the clubhouse.
Perks: Use of a Boston Whaler, golf carts, sea kayaks, and snorkel gear, plus three meals a day
Rates: $173 per person per night November 20-September 9, $162 in low season
Contact: 242-355-2024,

Treasure Beach, Jamaica
[Jake’s Resort]
The star-studded Jake’s Resort—part of the super-chic Island Outpost group marketed by Island Records’ Chris Blackwell—is an intimate jumble of 15 rustic cottages that meld Moroccan architectural accents with a Caribbean flair, set on the south coast near Treasure Beach. Lounge by the saltwater pool and you might glimpse Bono.
Perks: Cannondale mountain bikes, sea kayaks, deep-sea fishing gear, a yoga room, and computers with Internet access. Every room has a CD player and thumping reggae.
Rates: Cottages, $105-$275 per night in low season, $115-$295 in high season (December 19-April 15)
Contact: 876-965-3000,

Anegada, British Virgin Islands
[Anegada Reef Hotel]
Leave the chaos of modern life behind for this quiet, 20-room harborside hotel—the only one on 11-mile-long, three-mile-wide Anegada. Most guests come here solely to relax, read, and romp in the quiet surf. The gracious owner, Lawrence Wheatley, will make you feel at home with his well-stocked library of paperback novels and mysteries.
Perks: Three meals a day including a nightly beach barbecue, use of snorkel gear, and the chance to yuck it up with the yachting crowd
Rates: Garden- and ocean-view doubles, $215-$250 per night in low season, $250-$275 in high season (December 15-April 30)
Contact: 284-495-8002,

Saba, Netherlands Antilles [El Momo Cottages]
These seven gingerbread-style “eco-funky” cottages in the Netherlands Antilles are tucked deep into the verdant hillside, with big wooden decks and a turquoise-blue swimming pool bordered by hibiscus plants. And everything is run by the sun—solar power, solar showers, plus composting toilets. Saba National Marine Park’s volcanic tunnels draw scuba divers from around the world.
Perks: Hammocks, a swimming pool, and tropical gardens
Rates: Doubles with shared bath, $50 per night; doubles with private bath, $60, or a private bathroom and kitchen, $90
Contact: 001-599-41-62265,

Dominican Republic, Dominica, Grenadines, Grenada

Cabarete Bay, Dominican Republic
[Hotel Albatross]
An eight-minute walk from Cabarete Bay, the whitewashed walls of the 35-room Hotel Albatross look stark against a backdrop of tropical foliage. Even on a balmy night, the wicker-furnished rooms get cooled by ceiling fans and trade winds. Grab a sailboard from the nearby Wind Center and catch some air on Cabarete Bay or rent one of the center’s longboards and head 15 minutes west to surf the right break at Playa Encuentro.
Perks: Windsurfing equipment (longboards for a nominal fee) and lunch
Rates: Doubles, $626 for seven nights in low season, $696 in high season (December 15-April 15)
Contact: Vela Windsurf Resorts, 800-223-5443,

Trafalgar Falls, Dominica
[Papillote Wilderness Retreat]
This seven-room jungle lodge on the island’s southwestern end sits in the middle of a rainforest bursting with bougainvillea and banana trees; many of the rooms are detailed with plant-themed frescoes. A 15-minute hike from the retreat will take you to the roaring 275-foot Trafalgar Falls.
Perks: Two refreshing waterfalls and three warm mineral pools are located on the property and are available to guests at any hour.
Rates: Doubles, $95 per night year-round; the seven-night ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Package, $1,200 per person, includes meals, whale watches, guided snorkeling trips, and hikes.
Contact: 767-448-2287,

Carriacou, Grenadines
[Caribbee Inn]
At the northern end of Carriacou, on a forested ridge overlooking Sparrow Bay, the sweet smell of frangipani wafts into the seven guest rooms, each with its own four-poster bed and patio. This boutique hotel is reminiscent of a colonial plantation house and comes with four free-flying blue-and-yellow macaws, wild iguanas, and land turtles.
Perks: A private cove offers guests some of the best snorkeling on the island; pristine Anse la Roche beach, part of High North National Park, is a 20-minute walk away.
Rates: Doubles, $150 per night in low season, $200 in high season (December 15-April 15)
Contact: 473-443-7380,

La Sagesse Bay, Grenada
La Sagesse Nature Centre]
Sitting on 67 acres of farmland, the five-room English-style manor and two beachfront cottages nuzzle up against La Sagesse Bay on the east side of the island. With lots of windows and welcoming verandas, the rooms are open to the salty air. Order a papaya-and-passion-fruit smoothie and a fresh grilled tuna sandwich at the open-air restaurant and have a picnic on the bay.
Perks: Snorkeling equipment and sea kayaks as well as guided hiking trips
Rates: Doubles, $80-$100 per night in low season, $120-$160 in high season (December 15-April 15)
Contact: 473-444-6458,

Cayman Islands, Tobago, Antigua, Puerto Rico

Cayman Brac, Cayman Islands
[Brac Reef Beach Resort]
On the western side of the island, the Brac Reef is replete with vacation amenities: a spa, a sandy beach, 40 air-conditioned rooms, the Reef Divers II dive shop, and the ubiquitous tiki bar. Rooms are motel-like, but with the lure of diving to a frigate 110 feet below the surface, guests are rarely indoors at all.
Perks: Tennis courts, a swimming pool and Jacuzzi, a fitness center, and bikes
Rates: A seven-night package with 17 dives and two daily buffets is $902 per person (November 1-December 20, holidays excluded); a three-night package for non-divers, buffets included, is $416 in low season and $483 in high season (December 14-April 19)
Contact: 800-594-0843,

Culloden Bay, Tobago
[Footprints Eco Resort]
With thatch roofs, rough-hewn teak walls, and elevated walkways, the seven au naturel casitas at Footprints are tucked slightly back from Culloden Bay. After dining on Trinidad Gulf shrimp in the resort’s Cocoa House Restaurant, relax in the hammock strung up on your private deck overlooking the bay.
Perks: Hike the 62-acre property, then dip into Tobago’s only saltwater swimming pool.
Rates: Doubles, $95 per night in low season, $115 in high season (December 15-April 15); the seven-night Explorer Package includes daily snorkel tours, hikes to waterfalls, and breakfast, for $650 per person.
Contact: 800-814-1396,

Freeman’s Bay, Antigua
[Galleon Beach]
Situated on Freeman’s Bay on the southern tip of Antigua, six one- to four-bedroom cottages fully equipped with kitchens and spacious decks face a stunning white-sand beach, while the backyard brims with tropical vegetation. The infinity pool, flush with the horizon, overlooks a bay dotted with sailboats and windsurfers.
Perks: Windsurfing, snorkeling, and sea-kayaking equipment, plus sailboats and two tennis courts
Rates: One-bedroom cottages start at $140 per night in low season, $225 in high season (December 7-April 26)
Contact: 268-460-1024,

Culebra, Puerto Rico
[Tamarindo Estates]
Twelve bright-yellow cottages with kitchenettes and decks dot the private 60-acre estate on the western side of Culebra, a tiny island east of Puerto Rico, and overlook the pristine Luis Pe–a Marine Reserve. Swim with green and hawksbill turtles at Tamarindo’s private reef or build sand castles at nearby Flamenco Beach.
Perks: Guests get a rental car with their stay, and blissful isolation.
Rates: Doubles, $160 per night in low season (two-night minimum stay), $215 in high season (December 15-April 30)
Contact: 787-742-3343,

The post A Beachgoer’s Dozen appeared first on ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Online.

READY TO GRAB FRESH BIG AIR? We’ve got hemispheres of the white stuff—and timely beta on boosting your stamina, choosing the right equipment, and finding singular steeps close to home. Who says winter ever needs to end?

PLUS: North America’s Most Exotic Resorts Techno-Couture Gear: High-Style Planks, Boards, and Skiwear

Riksgränsen: Scandinavian Strut

Big air and Bacchanalia get equal play above the Arctic Circle

“THAT’S RIGHT BABY! You know what I like! Kill me now!” the lead singer of Riksgränsen Hotell’s employee band screams into the mike. A sweaty knot of drunken snowboarders slam-dance at his feet, tackling one another to the beer-soaked floor. Everyone is fired up from competing in today’s Scandinavian Big Mountain Championships, an extreme freeriding contest, but Grönan isn’t like any hotel bar I’ve ever been to. Black shades are drawn over the windows, because it’s endless spring 130 miles north of the Arctic Circle and the sun hasn’t touched the horizon for weeks.

A tiny oasis in the vast expanse of Sweden’s glacier-carved Lapland wilderness, 625 miles north of Stockholm, Riksgränsen is a cluster of about 20 red-painted wooden buildings with one small market and one hotel. This motley assemblage crowds the edge of Lake Vassiljaure, backed by 5,000-foot mountains rising to the south. For years I’ve heard rabid skiers and boarders throughout Europe whisper about the surreal feeling of skiing under the midnight sun on Riksgränsen’s monolithic, Sierra-like snow, and a quick pass through the bar reveals that they’re all here. Various groups of Northern Europeans, plus some Frenchmen and a couple of Nicaraguans, are sporting dreadlocks, nose rings, and tight-fitting T-shirts with cheeky sayings.

This is an athlete’s resort, where skiers and boarders come to take full advantage of the long days and the maritime climate—315 inches of snowfall annually. Spring skiing is what Riksgränsen is famous for, and on the weekends the lifts shut down at 1 a.m. Everyone heads out onto the slopes after dinner, and on sunny days the mountain swarms with crowds dressed in Speedos and drinking chilled shots of licorice schnapps. Despite being almost 100 miles north of any tree I might hit, I enlist a guide, Pär Lövgren (a.k.a. Pancho Snowfall), to keep me from winging off the resort’s unmarked cliffs and into crevasses. “I haven’t touched a ski pole in ten years,” Pancho confesses on the lift. I follow his advice, ditch the poles, and use my upper body like a snowboarder. After following Pancho’s waving arms for a couple of runs, I tune in to the reckless spirit of the place and strike out on my own.

In a comic twist of rainy weather and jet lag, I never get to see the Big Mountain Championships competitors do their stuff. Instead, I spend the week becoming increasingly obsessed with carving up the slush on my own little “big mountain” course on Klumpen, an off-piste black-diamond run off Nedre Stolliften, the chairlift by the lodge. As the sun spins overhead in a circle, I zoom through the natural-terrain park and get into a rhythmic trance. That’s right, baby. You know what I like.

WHERE TO SKI
To reach the steep chutes and open faces that provide the setting every May for the Scandinavian Big Mountain Championships, hike 500 feet up Nordalsfjäll, off the resort’s back side.

WHERE TO STAY
Life in this town buzzes around the 164-room, three-story Riksgränsen Hotell, with guests lounging in the couch-lined halls and gathering in the bar for thumping DJ music. Rates: $400 per person for four nights, which includes three days of lift tickets and enormous breakfasts.

WHERE TO EAT
The hotel restaurant, Lapplandia, serves Swedish classics like moose and reindeer, with a surprisingly big wine list.

GEAR & GUIDES
Internationally certified guides lead clients down 3,000-foot runs off several nearby peaks. The best deal costs $230 per person for three helicopter flights.

GETTING THERE
Fly from Stockholm to Kiruna on SAS ($240; 800-221-2350, ), then take the train ($12 one way; 011-46-862-950-00, ), or rent a car and drive 70 miles northwest on Highway E10.

Sweden: The Right Gear

Storming snowboarding’s Valhalla? You’ll need a sturdy ride, beefy boots, and a party-proof flight suit.

Now Boarding: After a day of thrashing your ride, stash it in the BURTON Gig Bag. The well-padded Gig handles up to a 176cm deck, and a top-access boot pocket and fleece-lined goggle pouch keep the rest of your crucial hardware close at hand. ($70; 800-881-3138, )

BOARD: The Burton T6 is the first plank built around the same aluminum-honeycomb material found inside helicopter rotors. That translates into a light, snappy board that initiates precise turns. While the T6 will whip nimbly through a halfpipe upon request, it’s a stiff, all-terrain ride at heart. ($600; 800-881-3138, )
BINDINGS: The new Burton C16 strap binding justifies its price tag with a carbon-fiber highback that’s 27 percent lighter than its previous plastic incarnation. Plus, new buckles release easier, and expanded vinyl acetate atop the highback reduces pressure on the calves. ($350; 800-881-3138, )
BOOTS: Simple shoelace-style board boots don’t offer larger riders adequate edge control. Big guys prefer boots like the K2 Rival Boa, which doesn’t pass its support responsibilities on to the binding. The two-piece Boa subdues slop via a drawcord on the liner and a ratcheting cable on the outer shell. ($279; 800-972-4038, )
PANTS: The Helly Hansen Tryst wraps intelligent features into a proprietary waterproof-breathable shell fabric. Exhibit A: Cargo pockets on each thigh angle up and in; get into ’em on the chair without raining your kronors on unsuspecting sliders below. ($200; 800-435-5901, )
SHELL: Named in homage to snowboarding’s outlaw heritage, Quiksilver’s High-Speed Chase is the ultimate ride jacket. Technical touches abound: hand gaiters complete with a wristwatch “window,” interior CD-player pocket with headphone-cord port, Gore-Tex, pit zips, and a powder skirt. ($330; 800-576-4004, )
MIDLAYER: Even in a sopping storm, Patagonia’s Puffball Sweater will keep your core temp in the comfort zone. Credit hardworking Thermolite synthetic insulation encased in brightly hued polyester-and-ripstop-nylon fabric. ($145; 800-638-6464, )
EYEWEAR: This season, Smith tweaked its popular Triad goggles to work better with a helmet. The add-on, a kind of pivoting bracket that isolates lid motion from the goggle’s fit, parks the Triad evenly across nose and brow. ($85; 800-635-4401, )
HELMET: The Boeri Steez helmet—the company’s newest and lightest brain bucket—accommodates the wild extremes of Scandinavian weather with removable ear flaps and vent shutoffs. ($110; 800-394-6741, )
GLOVES: Swany’s FX-19 GENERATIONS are stuffed with three different kinds of DuPont insulation, and the gloves include a waterproof-breathable layer that also reduces odor. ($90; 800-237-9269, )
PACK: The Deuter Explorer backpack has a burly snowboard-attachment system that’s reinforced with rubber to keep edges from slicing the fabric. Padded hip fins stabilize your load, while interior pockets for thermos, shovel handle, and a hydration reservoir (not included) keep things organized. ($109; 303-652-3102, )

Niseko: Skiing Japanese

Where to find 500 inches of powder, stashed in secret off-piste oases

BORING A SKI POLE INTO two feet of powder, the crow’s-feet of his crinkly grin peeking out the sides of his goggles, Yutaka Takanashi nods and says, “Niseko no bai wa, kore wa heikin desu yo.” Translation: “This is about average for Niseko.” We’re traversing east through glades of adolescent birch trees with the sound of dueling woodpeckers in the distance. Takanashi, our 34-year-old guide, is one of Japan’s top telemark skiers, and we’ve just finished skiing three off-piste glades of powder that, were it not for fat skis, might have been classified as too deep.

Sitting in the southwest corner of Japan’s northern island of Hokkaido, Niseko is one of the snowiest places on the planet, receiving well over 500 inches of snow a year. Storms from Siberia pick up a sudden surge of moisture from the Sea of Japan and slam into the 4,000-foot peaks of Niseko, exploding like a piñata that’s been hit by Barry Bonds. Niseko is actually composed of three areas—Annapuri, Higashiyama, and Hirafu—all tied together at the summit, where a tangle of five lifts ferry skiers up into treeless, intermediate-level terrain. All told, Niseko has 2,191 skiable acres and 30 miles of trails. Only a few trails measure more than 30 degrees in pitch, but Niseko’s 15 square miles of backcountry offer plenty of steeps—you just need to know how to find them. Which is where Takanashi comes in. Six foot one with a mane of black hair, Takanashi is light-years from the stereotypical small-frame Japanese salaryman. The name of his two-year-old guide service, Toyru, is taken from the language of Hokkaido’s indigenous people, the Ainu. It means “to go into the mountains.”

So we go, riding three lifts to the top of the ski area, hiking for ten minutes, then dropping over to the north side of 4,295-foot Annapuri. After three turns in some hard crust, I’m skeptical about Takanashi’s slope choice. But a moment later I’m almost thigh-deep in fluff. For the rest of the day it’s the same formula: heaping doses of powder, a final collapse at the end of the run, followed by a flurry of Japanese and English superlatives. When we started, I was worried there’d be no untracked powder; now I’m just hoping my legs will hold out.

My legs survive, but just barely. And as with all the best Japanese après-ski experiences, we wind down at an onsen, or hot spring—namely, the milky-green 108-degree waters of Goshiki, a 25-minute drive from the ski area. The bath even has a floating slab of wood, perfect for resting a frosty can of Sapporo. For Niseko, this is an average day.

WHERE TO SKI
For backcountry enthusiasts with proper gear, traversing north off the top of lift seven will lead to more sustained, open terrain, with plenty of powder. Warning: The backcountry isn’t bombed or patrolled, so ski at your own risk.

WHERE TO STAY
Niseko Higashiyama Prince Hotel is a Japanese version of the Marriott and has English-speaking staffers—a boon for dog-tired ski bums (doubles, $130-$230; 800-542-8686, ).

WHERE TO EAT
B’s Café, a five-minute walk from the Hirafu lifts, offers Sapporo on tap, Western-style sandwiches, and made-to-order vegetarian dishes.

GEAR & GUIDES
The Niseko ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Center (011-81-136-23-2093, ), founded by Australian Ross Findlay, can provide rental gear, guides (including Yutaka Takanashi), and evening snowshoe tours.

GETTING THERE
Fly to Sapporo from Tokyo on All Nippon Airways ($250 round-trip; 800-235-9262) and then take the train from the airport for $24, one-way. In less than three hours you’ll arrive at Niseko station. From there it’s just a few minutes in a cab to most hotels.

Japan: The Right Gear

Good news for powder goddesses: fat skis and other deep-snow essentials are ripping it up with an x chromosome

DAKINE’s CONCOURSE DOUBLE can swallow two pairs of skis (and up to four with the bindings detached) and two pairs of poles. Full padding and ripstop nylon protect against dings, and urethane wheels help ease that long run to International Check-In. ($130-$140; 800-827-7466, )

SKIS: For years, petite women with a penchant for ripping big mountains on fat skis ended up floundering on boards that were too long and stiff for them. Enter the new K2 Phat Luv, a women’s-specific version of the company’s renowned AK Launcher and the first softer-flexing powder stick available in lengths below 165cm. ($675; 800-972-4063, )
BINDINGS: The Salomon S810 Ti Axe binding is a lock for most female skiers: Titanium in the heel track and housing keep it light and durable, while a lower release range accommodates less torque. It’s a high-performance alternative to men’s overbuilt race clamps. ($245; 800-225-6850, )
BOOTS: The Rossignol Bandit B1 women boot proves how far we’ve come since gals suffered in pink-accented mush buckets. This advanced freeride boot (guys, look for the Bandit B1 Men) is soft enough to absorb a big huck yet stiff enough to rail your edges through the corduroy. ($499; 802-863-2511, )
PANTS: Orage’s AWD2 pants are highly technical—and highly stylish—trou. The svelte denim-look duds are actually waterproof and breathable poly-nylon wonders. You’ll remain drier, and infinitely more hip, than the kids still cruising the slopes in their Levi’s. ($220; 800-250-5056, )
SHELL: The Marmot women’s Super Shero isn’t just a smaller version of the popular men’s Super Hero soft shell; it’s specifically cut for narrower waists and shoulders. Thejacket, a synthesis of Gore N2S Windstopper and Polartec WindPro and PowerShield fabrics, stymies even the nastiest mountain weather. ($225; 888-627-6680, )
MIDLAYER: The Salomon W’s Moto Mesh Zip Neck midlayer moves effortlessly from street to snow. Credit the uncluttered design and a proprietary fabric that combines warmth, breathability, and quick-drying qualities. ($69; 800-225-6850, )
EYEWEAR: Spy’s Sonix evoke sixties styling in gogglelike shades that seem plucked from an early Godzilla flick. But the optics are pure 21st century, built around a single glass lens engineered to eliminate distortion and boost peripheral vision. ($160; 800-779-3937, )
HAT: The RLX Ski Hat mixes an old-school tassel with a contemporary, close fit that’s not at all boxy. Made of ultralight itchless wool, it’s ideal for thick-maned women who don’t require an expedition-weight toque. ($35; 866-897-7656, )
GLOVES: Available in sizes down to extra small, the Black Diamond Stratos glove offers four-way stretch in the fingers for dexterity and removable waterproof inserts for quickdrying in the field. ($100; 801-278-5533, )
PACK: The Dakine Heli Pro Small is a 900-cubic-inch pack designed for spontaneous backcountry forays. It keeps your gear in order with loops for an ice ax or shovel on both sides, a separate pocket for a shovel blade, and a mesh nest for your beverage reservoir. ($80; 800-827-7466, )

Portillo: Los Grandes Andes

Splendid isolation meets old-world glam and this all-in-one Chilean resort

ANOTHER BLUEBIRD MORNING in Portillo, Chile, and the five-seater Llama—a dragonfly of a helicopter, all tail—lifts off from the swank old Hotel Portillo. I gawk out its buggy eye as 22,834-foot Aconcagua rises to the southeast. “Watch that lever,” says Mario Espinoza, the pilot, pointing to the handle wedged beneath my arm. “The door could fly off.” But Mario is grinning as he says this, and I am, too, as the morning clouds race over the Andes.

My guides—tall, suave, and Swiss Pierre Tagliabue and ruggedly boyish Canadian Matt Wylie—are impossibly heroic, because all the instructors and guides from the Northern Hemisphere who compete for spots in the powder capital of the Southern Hemisphere are impossibly heroic, and I think to myself, By God, I would follow them anywhere. Matt jumps up and down on a cornice —¡ué macho!—and pronounces the snow bueno but “variable,” which I fear is guidespeak for everything from “crust over concrete” to “skin of ice over abyss,” but my brain is already an addled soup of hero worship and Latin romance, and off I go anyway, over the lip and down the steep eastern slope of the Mardones Valley. I’m heli-skiing in the Andes, and there’s still carne and cabernet for lunch. Portillo wasn’t always this way, and by “this way” I mean the world’s best mix of New World snow and Old World glamour, a one-hotel wonderland at 9,350 feet, 40 miles beyond Los Andes, the last town before Argentina. Owner Henry Purcell was 26 in the summer of 1961, when he first saw El Grande Hotel Portillo, the 1942 building beached on the western shore of Laguna del Inca, its only guest the caretaker’s black sheep, Lumumba. That winter, a single storm dumped 17 feet, stranding 200 guests and employees for a month. They survived on beef air-dropped by the Los Andes flying club; those with pressing engagements postholed out, with valets carrying their bags.

The hotel still retains that The Shining-meets-Titanic vibe, as if the ship’s crew, instead of drowning, had rigged up a few lifts on the iceberg and told the chef to keep on flambéing. In the paneled dining room, you might be seated next to an elegant Brazilian family, the Austrian downhill team (was that Hermann Maier dancing on the bar last night?), or Warren Miller’s film crew—all dressed for dinner. “Skiing used to have a lot of romance and sex appeal,” Warren Miller’s director of photography, Chris Patterson, said one morning over a café con leche. “This place brings that out in people.”

It also brings out 800 in-bounds and 12,000 sweetly out-of-bounds acres—all to yourself. (The resort holds only 450 guests, though Chile’s not-so-elite ski troops train here, executing laborious stem christies in full camo.) Some of the runs on 13,900-foot Ojos de Agua are so precariously perched on avalanche chutes that permanent lifts are out of the question. Instead, everybody roars up Roca Jack on ingeniously reckless five-man Poma lifts anchored to the mountain with cables, catching air on the uphill.

And by the last run—a powder shot down Primavera ending in a hike back over the frozen lake—you’ve still got time for Carmen the massage therapist to work on your back, and perhaps to drag yourself over to La Posada, the employee bar, where the muy serioso bartender, Oscar, pours pisco sours as the lifties and local ±è´Ç±ô¾±³¦Ã­²¹ toast over heaping bowls of carne.

But for now, up in the Mardones Valley it’s clouding over, and everyone thinks, Why doesn’t Mario just drop us off right at Tio Bob’s, the old slopeside stone refugio, for lunch? And condors are wheeling on thermals as the Llama thwacks rotowash over the hut, and there’s a fire in the fireplace and pescado on the grill, and the Andean afternoon stretches before you.

WHERE TO SKI
Masochists will want to take a shot at Super C, a 7,020-foot couloir that’s a three-hour hike above the Roca Jack lift.

WHERE TO STAY
Lucky for you, Hotel Portillo (800-829-5325, ) is your only option. Prices, which include seven days of lift tickets and most meals, range from $990, for a shared four-man in the hotel’s Octagon Lodge, to $1,690, for a lakeside double. Lowballers can stay at the hotel’s Inca Lodge, a bargain bunker with shared bathrooms, for $420 a week, including lifts and cafeteria fare.

WHERE TO EAT
In Hotel Portillo’s grand dining room, of course, where red-coated ma”tre d’ Juan Beiza has served guests since April 1968. Dinner’s not till 8:30, so fortify yourself with a predinner pisco in the hotel bar.

GEAR & GUIDES
Portillo heli-skiing is fabulous and relatively affordable: Trips to the Mardones Valley and surrounding peaks start at around $100. Reserve in advance at .

GETTING THERE American Airlines offers direct flights from Miami and Dallas-Fort Worth to Santiago for about $800. Portillo Tours and Travels (011-56-2-263-0806) runs a shuttle service the 102 winding miles from Santiago up to the hotel.

Chile: The Right Gear

Monstrous, pupil-dilating terrain demands heavy hardware and technical layers built with a high-alpine attitude.

Pick-Up Sticks: The SALOMON EQUIPE safely stows two pairs of skis, each up to 180cm in length, and poles. A generous lining of closed-cell foam will protect your hardware from any uncivilized treatment on the tarmac. The full-length two-way zipper provides easy access, while compression straps cinch the Equipe into a tidy bundle. ($59; 800-225-6850, )

SKIS: The Völkl Gotama is a tanker-wide twin-tipped board—130mm at each end—that’ll hold an Andes-size turn, then stick a 540 in the terrain park. Like Portillo’s discotheque patrons, it dresses in black; unlike them, it’s Jabba the Hut chubby. ($695; 800-264-4579, )
BINDINGS: While locked into Marker’s COMP 1400 Piston Control bindings, the ride is smoother than Barry White. A partially floating toe-piece and a piston under the middle of the platform knock out vibrations, even at high speeds. ($395; 800-453-3862, )
BOOTS: After cranking in Tecnica’s Icon Alu Hot Form boots all day, just hook ’em up to an electrical outlet or 12-volt car plug to dry the liner. Similar to Tecnica’s race boots, the Icons offer significantly more flex and a hinged cuff that both quickens response and permits easier entry and exit. ($775; 800-258-3897, )
PANTS: The Arc’Teryx MinuteMan PANT anticipates all conditions and dilemmas. Spring downpour? Cue the Gore-Tex XCR-enhanced nylon and watertight zippers. Sun-blasted backcountry climbs? Peel open the thigh vents. Noshed too much Argentinian steak? Loosen the integrated waist belt. ($300; 800-985-6681, )
SHELL: Newly improved with more strategically placed switch and battery, the North Face Met 5 jacket still delivers warmth at the press of a button via electrically heated filaments that run throughout the piece. ($600; 800-362-4963, )
MIDLAYER: You stuff your shell in your pack to stay cool for an out-of-bounds hike and, of course, it starts snowing. But don’t worry: The NIKE ACG Composite Vest is the rare fleece with a flexible water-repellent and wind-and-abrasion-resistant layer (Nike Sphere Pro Dry), so you can resist that moisture while wicking your own out through the vest’s thermal-regulating interior. ($115; 800-344-6453, )
EYEWEAR: Stand back—the Oakley Monster Dog is comin’ through. Bay-window-size lenses shield the eyes from glare and blowing snow. ($85-$155; 800-403-7449, )
HELMET: Brain-bucket atheists challenge the very existence of a comfortable helmet. The Briko X-fusion gives them religion with an anallergic chin strap, a removable internal liner, and a two-part shell that channels air over the noggin, keeping things cool. ($110; 800-462-7456, )
GLOVES: Smart is the operative word in SmartWool’s Mountaineer glove. A wool lining, leather palm, and water-and-abrasion-resistant nylon top collaborate to warm your hands while anatomically molded knuckles help keep your digits dexterous. ($110; 800-550-9665, )
PACK: The Mammut Eclipse is made with a lightweight tear-proof fabric called Dupont Cordura 500 D. Compartments swallow a hydration bladder, ice ax, and first-aid kit—tempting you to overpack. ($149; 800-451-5127, )

Monterosa: Italia Extreme

Go fast and sleek at the Ferrari Testarossa of ski resorts

“ABOVE ALL, DO NOT FALL. If you fall, you will die.”

With that bit of confidence-building advice, Jean-Marc Crampe, a ponytailed ski guide, leaped off a cornice and into a 60-degree couloir. The night before, in the hotel bar, after one too many rounds of grappa, I had persuaded him that I was up for the nastiest descents he could show me in the Monterosa area of the Italian Alps, the latest mecca for extreme skiing.

After all, wasn’t Italy the country where skiers spent more time parading around in fur coats than skiing? Well, Monterosa—a resort named after the Monte Rosa Range, whose 15,000-foot peaks straddle the Swiss-Italian border—isn’t like the rest of Italy.

Sure, there are 110 miles of conventional trails that link the villages of Champoluc, Gressoney, and Alagna. In the hotels, there are tuxedoed waiters who fussily serve weekend visitors from Milan. And the lift attendants still whistle at women in one-piece Bogner suits. But up above, there is terrain that makes Jackson Hole look like a nice place to cross-country ski. That, and the absence of crowds, has turned Monterosa into a cult destination for alpine ski bums. It’s the new La Grave. Peering over the rim of the couloir, I watched Jean-Marc make a few jump turns to avoid crashing into the rock walls that lined the ten-foot-wide sliver of snow. I turned down his offer to let me rappel over a frozen waterfall at the top and side-stepped and slid my way down about 100 yards to meet him. As terror gave way to mild fear, I was able to start skiing again. After 2,500 vertical feet came the reward—the couloir opened up enough that I could let my old-school skis rip through the softened spring snow. Finally, when the snow ran out—the March sun was beating down—we hiked through the woods to Alagna.

The couloir was only a quick tune-up for the main event the next day, a heli-skiing trip from Gressoney across the Swiss border to Zermatt and back over to Italy, in the shadow of 15,203-foot Monte Rosa. Heli-skiing, strictly limited or banned in other parts of the Alps, is still widely practiced in Italy, and Monterosa is the best base for it.

After we had strapped on our avalanche beepers and harnesses, two buddies and I followed another guide, Claudio Bastrentaz, to the chopper, which dropped us off on a 13,000-foot saddle on the flanks of Monte Rosa. Before us stretched the Grenzgletscher, a ten-mile ice floe. After a scenic tour down to Zermatt, past towering seracs and gaping crevasses—a “cakewalk,” Claudio said in accented English, even though we had skied twice the vertical drop of Vail—we got another helicopter ride up to the ridge.

“I hope you like steep slopes,” Claudio said after the helicopter had left, giving us no choice in the matter. We followed him onto a 50-degree firn-covered incline. The skiing was so smooth, I was lulled into a false sense of security, broken only when I saw Claudio waving his poles at me from below what looked like a stair-step in the mountain.

“Jump, jump,” he yelled. As I flew off the step, I looked down into the abyss of a five-foot-wide crevasse. Once we had all cleared this hurdle, Claudio informed us that we had made a “first descent,” giving us the right to name it.

“You must name it after your girlfriends,” he said. Proving that we were, after all, in Italy.

WHERE TO SKI
The Diretta ski route is an unmarked but easy-to-follow off-piste itinerary from the top of the Alagna cable car down to neighboring Gressoney.

WHERE TO STAY
Hotel Dufour ($600 per person for seven nights, including all meals; 011-39-0125-366-139, ), at the foot of the slopes in Gressoney, is the most convenient place to sleep, particularly because the guide service is based there. Rooms are basic but clean and quiet, with balconies facing the nearby Punta Jolanda ski lift.

WHERE TO EAT
Champoluc, Gressoney, and Alagna are tiny villages, not your typical sprawling ski resorts. It’s better to get a hotel with half board—dinner included—than to search in vain for food in one of the trattorias scattered about. On the mountain, Ristoro Belvedere, in Champoluc, is a gem—a hut where you can get a heaping plate of polenta and sausages for $10.

GEAR & GUIDES
Scuola di Alpinismo Monte Rosa (011-39-0125-366-139, ), based in the Hotel Dufour in Gressoney, is the place to go. A guided tour above Monterosa and Zermatt, using two helicopter drops, costs $170 per person. Without a helicopter, a guide costs $260 a day for a group of up to five people. David Sport, in Gressoney (011-39-0125-366-124), rents any equipment you need for skiing off-piste on glaciers.

GETTING THERE
Alitalia (800-223-5730, ) flies from New York to Milan starting at $515 round-trip. Rent a car and drive 70 miles through the Alps foothills to the resort.

Italy: The Right Gear

Out to tame the steeps, Mr. Bond? You’ll need Q-worthy technology and style on that triple-black-diamond run.

Boot Magician: Stash your Scarpas in the end compartments of HIGH SIERRA’s 6,720-cubic-inch 4-IN-1 CARGO DUFFEL and you’ll have enough room in the main hold for a week’s worth of garb. Zip off the ends and mate ’em up—you’ve got a trick stand-alone boot caddy. Bonus: Straps on the boot modules make one an instant daypack, the other a messenger bag. ($120; 800-323-9590, )

SKIS: A titanium-reinforced core and a generous 108mm-wide shovel help the Atomic R:11 Betapuls-ti power through glacial crud, while a svelte 70mm waist snaps quick turns in pinched couloirs. ($875; 800-258-5020, )
BINDINGS: Wed the R:11 to Atomic’s CR:412 binding. The heel piece glides on a metal band, allowing uninterrupted flex through the ski. Move the binding fore or aft to suit snow conditions and level of expertise. ($280; 800-258-5020, )
BOOTS: Forged in the far-northern Italian town of Montebelluna, LANGE racers have long won praise for their snug, anatomic liners and sensitive underfoot feel. The Comp 120 LF advances this legacy with bigger buckle ratchets and flared, rounded straps that are easy to adjust with gloves on. ($700; 800-992-3962, )
PANTS: If you accidentally schuss into a shallow Monterosa crevasse, nothing will save your butt like the Oakley Stitchless Pant. Fully taped seams and waterproof zippers guarantee dryness, while seamless leg construction, articulated knees, and roomy seat ensure comfort. ($400; 800-403-7449, )
SHELL: Mountain Hardwear’s Defiant is a true all-conditions jacket thanks to abrasion-resistant nylon. Cut full to accommodate layering, this tough shell includes pit zips, powder skirt, and helmet-friendly hood. ($240; 800-953-8375, )
MIDLAYER: The new Columbia Mountain Mobility Sweater is tailored entirely from water-repellent Schoeller Dryskin—a four-way stretch fabric—and zips inside any of Columbia’s external shells. ($190; 800-622-6953, )
EYEWEAR: Italian optics firm Briko toned down its trademark Euro design flourishes with the new Icarus goggle. Upper, front, side, and bottom ports on the double lens help keep this eye shield fog-free. ($110; 800-462-7456, ) HAT: Some skiers don the Jytte Scull Beanie for the inner band of soft CoolMax fleece and the tight, wind-cheating woolen weave. Mostly, though, they wear Jytte (pronounced “yoo-TAY”) hats because they look so cool. ($30; 208-788-1266, )
GLOVE: Though a product of Wyoming, Cloudveil’s Troller Glove looks and feels molto Italiano thanks to buttery leather, Primaloft insulation (with a 20-degree range), and waterproof-breathable Schoeller stretch fabric. ($65; 888-763-5969, )
HYDRATION PACK: Stay watered on Monterosa’s network of sky-piercing lifts with your 50-ounce CamelBak SnoBowl. It nestles under your jacket, and its insulated reservoir and tube guard against freezing. ($40; 800-767-8725, )

365 Days of Winter

There’s always snow somewhere. Here are the coolest places on the globe to find it.

NEW ZEALAND [Craigieburn] The official stats—three rope tows and 1,650 vertical feet—give the illusion that this is a pip-squeak of a ski area. Don’t be misled. This best known of New Zealand’s “club fields”—ski areas run by local organizations—features giant bowls, 50-degree couloirs, and runs that can exceed 3,000 vertical feet, depending on snow conditions. Best of all, you’ll share this killer terrain with fewer than 100 skiers. SEASON: July to September. CONTACT: 011-64-3-365-2514, . PACKAGE DEAL: $75, including transportation, lift ticket, rope-tow gear, lunch, and a half-day with a guide; Black Diamond Safaris, 011-64-25-508-283, . KINDRED SPIRIT: Mad River Glen, Vermont (802-496-3551, ), attracts the same brand of ski nuts with its old-fashioned lifts and “I dare you” attitude.

SPAIN [Baqueira] Home turf to Juan Carlos, the world’s most ski-crazed king, the Pyrenees may be smaller than the Alps, but the ski scene is also more low-key, less expensive, and less likely to lure fellow Americans. Expect a heavy dose of authentic Spanish culture, including lots of tapas and dinner at 10 p.m. But the real charm of Baqueira is big-mountain terrain. How white-knuckle gnarly can it get? Escornacrabes, a favorite area of Baqueira experts, roughly translates as “the place where goats fall and die.” SEASON: December through April. CONTACT: 011-34-973-63-9010, . PACKAGE DEAL: Book a seven-night stay (including breakfast) and six days of lift tickets for $750 per person through the resort. KINDRED SPIRIT: Grand Targhee, Wyoming (800-827-4433, ), is often passed over for Jackson Hole, to the east, but is blessed with some of the best powder in the U.S. SWITZERLAND [Andermatt] “Ander” is a German prefix meaning “other.” Think, then, of Andermatt as the alternative to Zermatt. In Andermatt, you still get the Swiss-chalet character, but none of the fur-coat glitz. Andermatt may seem relatively small—just 12 lifts and 36 miles of trails. But well-traveled experts will tell you that the light snow and long, steep runs on 9,719-foot Gemsstock, the area’s highest peak, allow you to go as big as anywhere else in Switzerland. SEASON: November to May. CONTACT: 011-41-41-887-1454, . PACKAGE DEAL: $480, including seven nights’ lodging, airport transports, and breakfast; All Mountain Vacations, 888-838-8142, . KINDRED SPIRIT: Just as Andermatt is the other Zermatt, Solitude, Utah (800-748-4754, ), is the other Alta. Andermatt and Solitude share the same kind of snow and terrain—with zero attitude.

ARGENTINA [Cerro Castor] The world’s southernmost ski area, just beyond the fringes of Ushuaia, is so far off the grid that most Argentinians still don’t know it exists. Officially, the skiable terrain comprises about 1,000 acres of open bowls overlooking the Beagle Channel, but another 2,500 acres will eventually be opened. Best of all, you can book a seven-night, six-day trip, including lodging, breakfast, and lift tickets, for as little as $321. SEASON: July through September. CONTACT: 011-54-901-21423, . PACKAGE DEAL: $321; Ski Vacation Planners, 888-822-6754, . KINDRED SPIRIT: Le Massif, Quebec (418-632-5876, ), has the same end-of-the-earth feeling.

AUSTRIA [Ötztal] St. Anton and Kitzbühel may be better known to American skiers, but the ötztal region, where the Austrian Alps rise up to peaks exceeding 12,000 feet, literally stands above them. Ötztal is a greatest-hits amalgam of all things Austrian: a major resort town in Sölden, charming high-mountain villages like Vent, a ski school dating back to 1928, and runs exceeding 5,000 vertical feet. Snow at other Austrian areas, notably low-elevation Kitzbühel, can be iffy, but Ötztal’s high elevation assures quality winter snow and almost year-round glacier skiing. SEASON: Year-round, conditions permitting. CONTACT: 011-43-52-54-5100, . PACKAGE DEAL: $1,429, including flights from New York, seven nights’ lodging, breakfast, and dinner; ºÚÁϳԹÏÍøs on Skis, 800-628-9655, . KINDRED SPIRIT: Just like Ötztal, the Summit at Snoqualmie, Washington (425-434-7669, ), is an almost exclusively locals-only mountain surrounded by higher-profile peaks.

119 Down, Five to Go

Meet Nick Palazzetti, quite possibly America’s most fanatical skier

Certainly, overseas powder has its appeal. But Nick Palazzetti has found enough steep and deep stateside to keep him occupied every season since 1978. This winter, barring injury or untimely airline bankruptcy, the 58-year-old fundraiser from Pittsburgh, who started skiing when he was 28, will complete a quest to ski every major mountain in North America—all 124 of them (by his count). Over the past quarter-century, he’s ticked off 95 resorts and 24 heli-ski or snowcat operations, from Arizona to Newfoundland. Still to go: Castle Mountain (Alberta), Le Massif (Quebec), Whitewater (British Columbia), Silver Mountain (Idaho), and Silverton (Colorado). Five mountains, three cross-country flights, and an all-day drive—just an average winter agenda for the peripatetic Palazzetti.


Why the wanderlust? Why not just find a nice resort and keep going back?

I did do that for a little while. The first place I skied out west was Aspen, and I liked it there. But as I improved, I wanted steeper and more extreme.


How does a resort make your list?

Initially, I set the threshold at 3,000 vertical feet, but I quickly realized that wouldn’t work because Taos, a great mountain with about 2,600 feet, wouldn’t qualify. I reduced the number to 2,500, but that still disqualified Alta. So I settled on 2,000. I have to ski 60 to 70 percent of a mountain before it counts.


That’s a lot of mountain—how do you get it all done in a day or two?

High-speed lifts have really helped.


Is there a downside to your quest?

Yeah. This type of travel isn’t conducive to a relationship—not many people want to ski six mountains in one trip.


What’s been your worst experience?

I’ve been injured a couple of times pretty badly—torn rotator cuff, torn calf muscle, torn ACL, broken ribs, two broken shoulders. I fell in a chute called Turbo, at Arapahoe Basin, and slid for about 500 feet. I stopped just above a cliff. I’ve also had a few close calls with avalanches.


What’s missing in the North American ski experience?

The ability to ski from village to village. Other than that, it doesn’t lack anything.


After all these years, what is your favorite North American resort?

Whistler Blackcomb, B. C., because the snow quality and terrain are as good as anywhere in the world.


Once you finish the list, how will you celebrate? I’ll focus on South America next summer. When I’m done with that, I’ll ski in Europe until I die.

The post The Universal Language of Pow appeared first on ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Online.

THE FOLKS WHO RUN THE BEST WILDERNESS LODGES are something like the best masseuses: They know exactly what you want and where you want it, and when they’re done…oh, my. Breakfast is too good and too abundant, but it doesn’t matter, because you’ll just burn it off. The kayaks and canoes are ready. The mountain bikes are tuned. The guides know exactly where to go, but you’ll feel like no one’s been there before.

Life on the edge: cabins bordering Lake O’Hara, BC, Canada

The lodges that get it really get it. Once, at one in the far north, I stole off alone (and, I thought, unnoticed) after an evening of stories and red wine, grabbed a fly rod from the shed, and cast for grayling till after midnight. When I returned, there was a chocolate cookie on my pillow and a note inviting me to tap on the kitchen door if I had any fish to be cleaned.


The ten places we’ve featured below, from a Utah desert oasis to a Quebec salmon-fishing outpost, know the formula without being formulaic. Plus, by definition, they’re in or on the edge of wilderness. Which leads us to an inspired suggestion that each of our top ten can facilitate: After a tenure in their graces, step right off the porch or push off the dock and launch your own foray into the wilds, by foot, kayak, canoe, or llama. Revel deep in the setting you’ve been nibbling at. When you return a few or many days later, leave your boots on the stoop and enjoy full-on ambience, where you’ll find strong coffee wafting (and stronger beverages chilling) and leather armchairs pulled up close to a crackling fire, inviting unclocked repose. Great day. Great life. What’s for dinner?
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.

Elk Lake Lodge

Nightly loon concertos included: the view from Elk Lake Lodge

NOW MORE THAN EVER, New Yorkers, or anyone else needing space and distance from a city, will appreciate Elk Lake Lodge. This 1903 Adirondack hideaway commands a stunning view, indeed the only view from a manmade structure, of a private wilderness comprising a 12,000-acre boreal forest and 600-acre emerald lake. The isolated retreat, 240 miles north of New York City (100 miles south of Montreal), anchors a 40-mile network of half a dozen mountain trails that visitors share with patrolling deer and black bears. With all this pristine privacy, you’ll be longing for the claustrophobia of New York City’s No. 6 subway line by week’s end.
AT THE LODGE Eight wood-framed cottages are scattered along the lake’s eastern shore, their knotty-pine interiors filled with comfortably rustic furnishings—sorry, no Jacuzzis or wet bars. If it’s available, reserve Windfall, a cabin whose terrace faces the sunrise, or ask for Little Tom, the cottage closest to the lake and thus the best from which to hear a nocturnal loon concerto. Just a couple hundred yards away, in the lodge’s timbered dining room, guests warm their hands by the fieldstone fireplace and their bellies by dining on pork chops, shrimp scampi, and other great American comfort foods, while overlooking the ramparts of New York’s other dramatic skyline, the Adirondacks.
THE SPORTS In mid-May, the islands on Elk Lake are covered with witch hobble and star flowers, making them picnic-perfect. Thanks to a lakewide ban on speedboats, the noontime stillness can be deafening. Grab a pack lunch and one of the lodge’s canoes, and try to catch dinner en route. Fishermen, like the squadrons of native ospreys, don’t need much patience to catch lake trout and landlocked salmon. Miles of easy lowland trails, edged by mushrooms, fiddleheads, and carpets of lady slippers, weave along the shore and across little bridges: Try the Sunrise Trail, a six-mile out-and-back hike.
BACKCOUNTRY FORAY Aim for 4,857-foot Dix Summit, a dramatically poised peakaccessible from a lodgeside trail. Backtrack down the five-mile-long driveway, and at the top of the hill on Elk Lake Road follow the Dix Trail 3.5 miles to the Lillian Brook Lean-to, an opportune place to overnight. The next morning, pass Dix Pond and climb 1.9 miles and 2,000 feet toward Hunters Pass. Approaching the windswept ridgeline, the trail crosses a narrow arETe and tackles a series of cirques where stunted trees sprout improbably from nearly vertical faces. At the summit, a kingdom of peaks lies before you and 5,344-foot Mount Marcy frames tiny, sparkling Elk Lake.

Brooks Lake Lodge

Over the hills and far away: trail riding on mountain-bred horses

A STAY AT THIS 13,500-square-foot post-and-beam ranch in the northwestern part of the Wind River Range will make it evident why Wyomingites escape to the Winds. Relaxing on the flagstone porch, you’re dwarfed by the Pinnacles, a jagged mile-long cliff band towering nearly half a vertical mile above. There’s a nearby stable with real horsepower, a stocked lake (just 400 feet away), and a guide waiting to show you a sliver of the 5,000 square miles of surrounding wilderness.
AT THE LODGE Enjoying high tea in their Western-style sitting room, it’s not difficult to see why Brooks Lake Lodge is 95 percent full throughout the summer. Wild game, fish, and fruit are trucked in daily from as far away as California to ensure fresh meals. The lodge’s six cabins, six rooms, and presidential suite are all themed. Lamps carved to resemble trophy animals flank beds piled high with down comforters. In 2003, the lodge will open a 4,000-square-foot spa with a Jacuzzi, steam room, and exercise room—as if the spectacular terrain weren’t enough.

THE SPORTS Unbelievable but true: You can tickle fish. Follow a local to a stream where unthinned throngs of rainbow, brook, and cutthroat trout feast, and grab one…with your bare hands. Or just amble to Lower Brooks Lake, where you can cast from your canoe. For more exercise, pick up a hearty bag lunch and hike or mountain bike the five-mile Kisinger Lakes Trail. Ascend switchbacks to a 10,100-foot-high open ridge before descending to the four Kisinger Lakes, glowing green and blue from sediment and algae.
BACKCOUNTRY FORAY Take a one- or two-night guided horsepacking trip, perhaps to Cub Creek in the Teton Wilderness. Two hundred feet from the water, lodge staff will set up a plush camp, with deluxe cots, washrooms, and down pillows. The lodge discourages overnight backpacking because of the resident grizzlies; about 400 make their homes within a 100-mile radius.

King Pacific Lodge

586,000 acres and not a soul in sight: at the footsteps of the Great Bear Rainforest

YOU’RE IN A LUXURY floating lodge moored to uninhabited, 568,000-acre Princess Royal Island in the heart of northern British Columbia’s Great Bear Rainforest: a realm of deep fjords, islands thick with old-growth red cedars, and astounding vertical relief. Stand at the edge of the craggy, exposed rock of the ridgelines and you feel like you’re on top of the world—at sea level. The channels below teem with salmon, halibut, and killer and humpback whales, and the forest behind you is home to the rare white kermode (“spirit”) bear.
AT THE LODGE It doesn’t seem possible, but this 17-room, 20,000-square-foot structure, with its soaring atrium, is built on a barge that gets hauled 90 miles back to Prince Rupert in the fall. Despite the lodge’s portability, which has kept development off the island, no detail has been spared—from the edge-grain fir tables and forged-iron chandeliers to the slate floors, red cedar walls, massive pine columns, and quarter-sawn fir beams. Rooms are big enough for a king-size bed plus a couple of cushy chairs positioned for gazing out over Barnard Harbor. Alex Rolland, a young chef from Quebec, astounds with his fresh fish and shellfish creations—yet uses a light touch, going easy on the beurre.
THE SPORTS Most guests—typically cost-is-no-object fly-fishing gentry and splurging honeymooners—come for the summerlong parade of salmon or for catch-and-release fly-casting (rainbow, cutthroat, and steelhead) in streams on Princess Royal and neighboring islands. Or you can join Norm or Chris, the resident naturalists, and head off on a different hike or sea-kayak paddle every day, or just motor out to watch the spectacle of 45-foot humpbacks breaching and feeding.
BACKCOUNTRY FORAY The lodge can set you up for, say, a three-day paddle out the door and up through the tide-induced reversing rapids of Princess Royal’s Cornwall Inlet and past a Gitga’at longhouse. Set up beach camps and hike up the Cornwall Creek for the off chance of a kermode sighting. Or have a guide motor you to the east side of Campania Island, which you can traverse the easy way (through meadows and stunted forests) or the hard way (up 2,398-foot Mount Pender, along the ridges) and end up camping on the west side of Wolf Track Beach. A lodge boat will meet you there a few days later.

Kachemak Bay Winderness Lodge

Children at play: bears frollicking in McNeil River Brown Bear Sanctuary

THE SINUOUS CHANNEL in front of Kachemak Bay Wilderness Lodge, just southwest of Kenai Fjords National Park, evolves with the tide into broad, salmon-rich China Poot Bay, reflecting the southern light and the colors of the forest and unnamed peaks beyond. And it all seems to belong to you. A guide grabs you after breakfast like your best pal on the first morning of a long school vacation. “What do you want to do today?” he asks. “Kayak, hike, fish?” For five days, you’ve got Eden to explore together.
AT THE LODGE Weathered docks, decks, and fanciful little buildings blend with big Sitka spruces, gray churt, and beach grass, giving it the feel of an old fishing camp. But inside a cabin where you’d expect to find a rusted cot and a coffee can of nails there appears instead fine art, antiques, and a tile-and-cedar bathroom. Each cabin is only a short jaunt down a forest walk paved with rounded beach stones to the sauna or hot tub. The ceilings of the main lodge are low-slung, the dark wood walls worn smooth by years of polishing. Instead of a grand entryway, there’s a rubber-boot collection. After sushi on the deck, guests gather inside to feast on seafood, garden produce, and carefully selected wines.

THE SPORTS Paddle sports are supreme; on one day’s journey you can kayak up China Poot Bay, hike an hour to China Poot Lake, and then paddle a cached lodge canoe, feeling Lilliputian amid the high peaks surrounding the placid waters. But the lodge’s specialty is natural history: You can go tidepooling or birding, take a forest walk, or explore ruins left by predecessors of the Tanaina Indians. The staff recently included two biologists, an archaeologist, and a forest ecologist. Guest-to-guide ratios are four-to-one or lower.
BACKCOUNTRY FORAY Mako’s Water Taxi (907-235-9055, ) rents and delivers kayaks. The first day, paddle up China Poot Bay to a natural waterway that connects China Poot to Peterson Bay; then go east through the roadless artists’ colony of Halibut Cove (stop for a bite at the Saltry Restaurant) to Halibut Cove Lagoon, which you can enter only at slack tide. Camp there, or stay in a Kachemak Bay State Park rental cabin. Next day, climb 2,600-foot Poot Peak. Start early the following morning to miss the day breeze, paddling out of the lagoon and along the shore to the state park campsite at Humpy Creek, a base for hikes to Grewingk Glacier or fishing in the creek. Arrange for Mako to pick you there.

Telemark Inn

Northeast of Eden: a horse-drawn sleigh ride through the Caribou Speckled Wilderness Area

THE AREA AROUND the Telemark Inn, ten miles southwest of Bethel, Maine, is proof that “East Coast wilderness” is not an oxymoron. The pastoral New England lodge is surrounded by 780,000-acre White Mountain National Forest—prime habitat for moose and black bear. Add to that owner Steve Crone’s domesticated llamas, sled dogs, and horses, and you’ll be surprised at how wild it gets just four hours north of Boston.
AT THE LODGE The cedar-shake inn, built as a hunting lodge in the late 1800s, can sleep up to 17 people in five rustic pine-paneled bedrooms. Just off a living room with creaky hardwood floors, a capacious front porch overlooks the birch forest. The inn is so far off the grid that it runs on battery power, making kerosene lamps the primary light source at the dining-room table, where guests eat family-style meals, such as grilled salmon accompanied by veggies plucked from the garden out back.
THE SPORTS Heat up on a thousand-foot scramble over massive boulders for a mile and a half to the top of Table Rock in Grafton Notch State Park. Then work your way down to several creeks feeding Bear River, where you can cool off exploring the smooth granite channels that link a chain of six-foot-deep emerald pools. Launch one of the lodge’s canoes on Umbagog Lake, a 15,000-acre national wildlife refuge surrounded by forest, to spot bald eagles, ospreys, and loons. Or rent a mountain bike and spin seven miles up a dirt road to Crocker Pond or grind out a 20-mile round-trip loop to Round Pond.
BACKCOUNTRY FORAY Crone pioneered the llama-trekking business in Maine, and often loads up the woolly beasts with tents, food, and clothes for three-day trips into White Mountain National Forest. You’ll trek four miles on Haystack Notch Trail to the west branch of the Pleasant River, where you’ll camp under balsam firs and red spruces. The next day, hike about 3.5 miles to the top of 2,100-foot Red Rock Mountain for views of the Presidential Range to the west. Return to the lodge the next morning via trails along the Pleasant River.

Camelot ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Lodge

King of the desert: Camelot ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Lodge

YOU’RE ONLY SIX MILES from Moab as the crow flies, but traveling to Camelot from town on a 12.5-mile dirt road through a mad jumble of slot canyons, mesas, and buttes is excruciatingly slow and difficult, making you feel like a character out of a Paul Bowles novel. This suits owners Terry and Marcee Moore just fine. Formerly managers of a lodge in Alaska, they wanted a Lower 48 spot that replicated Alaska’s feeling of utter remoteness, except with warmer weather. Bare but for sunlight, shadows, and Anazasi petroglyphs, the sculpted stone surrounding the lodge inspires guests with a variety of visions: “It’s a vulture pulling a covered wagon.” “No, it’s three hillbillies in a bathtub.”
AT THE LODGE The solar-powered, 3,000-square-foot lodge, which opened in 1999, sits on 49 private acres just 200 yards from the Colorado River. The post-and-beam, pitch-roofed building has five guest rooms, each with a private bathroom, shower, and entrance from the deck. The views are modest, but there’s a reason: The small windows are meant to minimize solar exposure in the blistering summer. One big space encompasses the living and dining rooms, with welcoming couches and recliners. Through an archway, Marcee rules the kitchen, serving up salt-crusted prime rib and pasta with homemade pesto. For the morning frittatas, she collects fresh eggs.

THE SPORTS Leave the river’s thin ribbon of willows, grass, and tamarisk, and hike formiles in any direction up washes, over sandstone shelves, and down slot canyons. Or survey the desert like a sheik from a camel’s back. Terry, a former Hollywood trainer, has tamed five dromedaries for guests to ride. If you’D rather carry your own weight, mountain bike the Amasa Back Loop, 23 miles of road and singletrack starting from the lodge. Bring your own bike or rent one in Moab. The lodge can also arrange single- or multiday raft trips on Class III-IV+ sections of the Colorado.
BACKCOUNTRY FORAY Step off the porch, shoulder a backpack, and head for Dripping Springs Canyon, about four miles from the lodge. Set up a base camp in this parabolic canyon and explore the caves that radiate into Catacomb Rock, hike the myriad unnamed drainages, and taste fresh water from a spring on the canyon’s eastern slope. The lodge also arranges three-day camel treks out to Chicken Corners, a skinny, vertigo-inducing ledge nine miles south of the lodge along a trail leading up to the mesa.

Triple Creek Ranch

Two hands deep: off-ranch horseback riding through the Bitterroot Valley

FIRST, THERE’S THE WELCOME basket full of warm oatmeal-raisin cookies. Then, you look out the window of your log cabin at the surrounding millions of acres of national forest in the foothills of Montana’s Bitterroot Range, and you realize that you’ve just passed on to sublime mountain paradise. General managers Wayne and Judy Kilpatrick and their staff of 50 (who serve 46 guests, max) will spare no effort to make your stay worthwhile: They’ll arrange a day on the Big Hole River with legendary fly-fisherman John Foust, send a masseuse to your cabin, or take a run into Darby, the nearest town, to satisfy your craving for a pint of B&J’s Wavy Gravy.
AT THE LODGE Nineteen pine-log cabins surround a main lodge with three-story-high windows. All boast special accoutrements, some coming with stocked wet bars, others with double-headed steam showers. Sit on your private deck for a morning with your favorite book or spend an afternoon by the lodge pool with a drop-dead-gorgeous view of the Bitterroots. Then slothfully move to the firelit dining room for filet mignon.

THE SPORTS Tease the browns into rising for the spring squala hatch on the Bitterroot River. Later in the summer, get in a little “rowing and throwing” during the salmon-fly hatch on the river’s west fork. Both stretches are only a few miles from the lodge. Be sure to set aside at least one afternoon for a horseback ride over brooks and through alpine meadows with Lady, one of the ranch’s 40 immaculately trained quarter horses. Or, from the Sam Billings Memorial Campground trailhead, five miles west of the lodge, hike a mellow four miles to a waterfall for a dip in a deep pool.
BACKCOUNTRY FORAY With more than 19 million acres of national forest in the area, almost any trail can become a backpacking adventure. A local favorite: Drive about 23 miles east on the Skalkaho Highway, and park at the Skalkaho Pass turnoff. Hike five miles north on the Easthouse National Recreation Trail and then set up a camp with your tent flap facing 8,656-foot Dome Shaped Mountain. The next day, head four miles up to the 8,463-foot summit of Palisade Mountain, take in the views, and then continue down Trail 86 about 1.5 miles toward Skalkaho Mountain. Camp at an unnamed lake just north of the trail. On your final day, hike the two miles to Skalkaho Peak or take the south loop of Trail 86 to return to your car via the Easthouse Trail. For more details, call the Stevensville Ranger District at 406-777-5461.

Irwin Lodge

Emerson, eat your heart out: the front porch of Irwin Lodge

COMPARED WITH THE QUAINT, Victorian B&Bs in nearby Crested Butte, Irwin Lodge more closely resembles a barn. But you forgive the lack of cutesy wainscoting when sipping a gin and tonic on the 10,700-foot-high veranda, watching meadows brimming with wildflowers, and basking in the glory of the West Elk, Raggeds, and Maroon Bells-Snowmass high-alpine wilderness areas. Guests at this weathered, unpretentious lodge spend most of the day outdoors, exploring 13,058-foot Mount Owen and slightly shorter mates Ruby Peak, Purple Peak, and Afley Peak (shaped like a Hershey’s Kiss). At day’s end, they return for fine dining and the evening show: sunset and mountains alight with alpenglow.
AT THE LODGE Built in 1977 and refurbished in 1997, Irwin sports a massive fieldstone fireplace surrounded by 8,000 square feet of common area (couches, board games, pool tables, books, and two hot tubs). Kitschy paintings of rams and bears adorn the walls, as do antique skis and snowshoes. Old West memorabilia are scattered throughout, helping distinguish the eminently casual lodge from a high-altitude frat house. (The 22 guest rooms, however, part ways with the Old West, offering up their own themes: Sunflower, Birch, Snowflake, and African, to name a few.) Irwin wisely pours its upscale energies into the kitchen, whose dinner specialties include elk medallions in shiitake-mushroom sauce.

THE SPORTS Mountain biking is spectacular here, for Irwin sits just 12 unpaved miles from Crested Butte and its world-famous trails. But you don’t need to go that far: The Dyke Trail starts right out Irwin’s front door, with 16 glorious miles of serpentine turns. Anglers fish for trout in Lake Irwin, just a few hundred yards below the lodge. Horseback riders hoof up to clear, glacier-fed Green Lake on lodge-supplied mounts. Hikers either stroll among the columbines and Indian paintbrushes or bag an alpine peak via the dramatic granitic rock of nearby Scarp Ridge.
BACKCOUNTRY FORAY With trails spidering off in every direction, Irwin can launch any number of backpacking trips, including the historic three-day favorite: hiking through the Maroon Bells to Aspen. Less trodden is a multiday trail through the West Elk Wilderness to the Castles of Breccia—startling pinnacles of volcanic fragments about 26 miles from the lodge. Follow the Dyke Trail to Trail 840 over Beckwith Pass, and then take Trail 438 southeast over Swampy Pass to Trail 450. From the Castles, either return the same way to Irwin or do a clockwise loop around the heart of the Elk Mountains, via Storm Pass.

Pavillon du St. Jean

It can be easy bein’ green: the emerald waters of the St. Jean River

QUEBEC’S GASPE Peninsula is known primarily for its coastline, where the Appalachian Mountains drop dramatically into the sea. But a 45-minute drive from the coastal town of Gaspe reveals the peninsula’s hidden heart—its mountainous interior of old-growth spruce, cedar, and poplar that’s the Pavillon du St. Jean’s backyard. The handsome, no-frills lodge is located on perhaps the best dry-fly salmon river in the world, the St. Jean, whose pools are so brilliantly emerald you’d think the water should taste like mint. Fifteen-pound Atlantic salmon make heart-stopping rises to your fly on the 25 miles of river, on which only eight rods are allowed daily. Head guide Austin Clark, a 54-year-old with a disobedient wisp of white hair, will dance a jig when you catch your first one.
AT THE LODGE Founded in 1958, the Pavillon comprises a main lodge and four cabins; each cabin has two bedrooms, a living room with a wood stove, a private bathroom, and a porch perfect for listening to the gurgle of the river while sipping the local (9 percent) beer, Le Fin du Monde. There’s a convivial main room in the lodge, with reading chairs, a grand stone fireplace, a pool table, and a dining table for 14. Dinner is a four-course affair that might include Gaspesie favorites like ginger-and-carrot consomme, lamb, and lobster, all specialties of the lodge’s renowned Quebecois chefs.
THE SPORTS In addition to fishing, there is excellent hiking in the nearby Chic-Choc Mountains. A short drive from the town of Gaspe will take you to Forillon National Park, where you can hike six miles along the Mont Saint-Alban trail, which provides spectacular views of cliffs that drop vertiginously into the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Try sea kayaking along the park’s jagged coastline in Gaspe Bay (for park information, call 800-463-6769; for kayak rentals, call Cap-Aventure at 418-892-5055), or take a whale-watching cruise to see blues, humpbacks, and minkes (Croisieres Baie de Gaspe, 418-892-5500).
BACKCOUNTRY FOREY Drive 140 miles to Le Pluvier L’Hirondelle, in the center of the Chic-Choc Mountains. There you can access the newly christened International Appalachian Trail and hike south for five days and 60 miles. Along the way, you’ll ascend 3,770-foot Mount Logan, home to the last caribou herd south of the St. Lawrence River. Then descend to the Cap-Chat River and take a prearranged shuttle back to civilization. (For shelter reservations in Parc de la GaspEsie, call 866-727-2427; for shuttle information, call IAT Quebec at 418-562-1240, ext. 2299.)

Sentry Mountain Lodge

In the back of the backcountry: ski touring near Glacier National Park

YOUR JOURNAL MIGHT READ LIKE THIS: “We flew in by helicopter, dazzled by Kinbasket Lake, Mount Bryce, the Columbia Icefields, and high points of the Canadian Rockies. The bird dropped us at a cedar hut, on a 7,128-foot col cradled by the Selkirk Mountains. Before settling in, we explored some of the lodge’s 13 square miles of alpine meadows, heather-swathed valleys, and interlaced ridges. A herd of caribou crossed our path, but otherwise we didn’t see a soul. Afterward, we sipped Big Rock Ales, basked in the alpenglow rosying up the surrounding granite peaks, and waited for Venus to pop out, which would later guide us on a midnight hike.” Of course, that would be just the first entry.
AT THE LODGE This just-built hideaway feels like a European-style mountain home, one that you share with only seven other guests: a red tin pitched roof, soaring vaulted ceilings, mural-size windows, a gray-pebble hearth, and handcrafted bookshelves overflowing with maps, fraying paperbacks, and the best local reads, like Chic Scott’s The Story of Canadian Mountaineering. The kitchen, festooned with garlic braids and lined on one side by a pine bar, is where your hosts rustle up items like cheese fondue and coq au vin from the French-inspired menu. Each of the four airy bedrooms is outfitted with a custom-made mattress, downy duvets, and fluffy bathrobes for trekking to the sauna hut.

THE SPORTS There are countless hiking and mountaineering options, and best of all, the terrain connects effortlessly, with gentle meandering accesses to most ridge tops. One morning you might walk down a half-mile to spring-fed Tetras Lake, with its east-end waterfall, and then wrap back up through stands of subalpine fir into Secret Valley, where pine marten pop up like animatronic jack-in-the-boxes. Or follow mountain-goat tracks up a 1,200-foot climb to the crest of 8,344-foot Sentry Mountain. Come winter, the snowshoe, heli-ski, telemark, and ski-touring options are bountiful.
BACKCOUNTRY FORAY SML’s guides can help fashion multiday backpacking excursions, set up heli-hiking jaunts to the celebrated glaciers of the Selkirks, or arrange a hut-to-hut itinerary. The “Esplanade Haute Route,” an eight-mile south-to-north traverse over the Esplanade Range, leads to Vista Lodge, the first in Golden Alpine Holiday’s chain of three rustic huts. From here carry on to Meadow and Sunrise, each an alpine scramble and a day’s hike away.

The post Windows on the Wild appeared first on ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Online.

When it comes to ski resorts, split personalities come in handy—especially when you’re traveling with a significant other. At these 18 great North American playgrounds you can huck big air off cliff bands while your partner shusses corduroy, then follows it up with a seaweed facial wrap. Throw in some apres-ski togetherness on a horse-drawn sleigh ride, and you can rest assured that no knock-down, drag-’em-outs about “my needs” will be surfacing on this vacation.

CALIFORNIA

Alpine Meadows Ski Resort, CA
800-441-4423;
Diagnosis: With family-friendly programs like the Parent Interchangeable Ticket (parents can share one ticket, exchanging it and the baby like batons) and the ski-bum-friendly open-boundary policy (visitors can ski at their own risk out-of-bounds), Alpine spans the gap between ear-to-the-baby-monitor parental needs and rabid fanaticism.
Extremes
Heli-ski with Ruby Mountain Helicopter Skiing (775-753-6867) for hidden powder stashes, or drop the steeps of Keyhole for in-bounds fright.
The Subway run keeps it simple: groomed, open, and nearly flat.
Neutral Territory
If your trip coincides with season’s end, watch the trough-crossing Gates and Wakes, where skiers and snowboarders skim across a shallow pond—spectacular crashes guaranteed.
Average Annual Snowfall 495 inches
Breakdown 25% beginner, 40% intermediate, 35% expert
Acreage 2,000

Bear Valley Mountain Resort, CA
209-753-2301;
Diagnosis The un-Tahoe resort, Bear Valley is small and family owned, but the terrain is big and ambitious. Grizzly Bowl is 1,400 jumbled feet of chutes, trees, glades, and cliffs, but the Backside is all sun-soaked blues.
Extremes
On a powder day, ski Grizzly Bowl’s finest and most consistent fall line: West Ridge to the trees of Uptight (the steepest chute on the mountain at 45 degrees) into the alluvial Strawberry Fields.
Ego Alley. The name says it all.
Neutral Territory
Bear Valley Cross-Country (209-753-2834; ), on the valley floor, has 43 miles of ski skating and classic trails. Reggae on the Mountain ends the resort’s season with live music, pond-skimming, a big-air contest, and a brew festival.
Average Annual Snowfall 360 inches
Breakdown 30% beginner, 40% intermediate, 30% expert
Acreage 1,280

Heavenly Ski Resort, CA
775-586-7000;
Diagnosis Views of Lake Tahoe, the Sierra Nevada, and the open sky are combined with miles of groomers and diabolical steeps that make for grace- or terror-filled days—you pick.
Extremes
The 38-degree Snakepit chute in Mott Canyon is barely wide enough to make a turn, but the snow is protected and soft.
Edgewood Bowl meanders through the forest and exemplifies the cruising Heavenly is known for.
Neutral Territory
The Olympic Terrain Park features a combination of jumps and slides, and the High-Altitude Half-Pipe on California Trail is sure to result in massive air. The boardercross course on Comet is a Mad Max–inspired run with high-banked turns, rollers, tabletops, and hits. Try tubing, nordic skiing, and snowshoeing at the Heavenly Activity Center, new for the 2001–2002 season, and of course, gambling in Stateline, Nevada.
Average Annual Snowfall 360 inches
Breakdown 20% beginner, 45% intermediate, 35% expert
Acreage 4,800

Mammoth Mountain Ski Area, CA
800-626-6684;
Diagnosis Ski from November to June at this eastern-Sierra institution. Eight high-speed quads spread the masses over 3,500 acres—at 11,053 feet, Mammoth’s highest lift is well above tree line.
Extremes
Exit the resort and ski Hole in the Wall off Dave’s Run, then hop the free shuttle at Tamarack Lodge back to the resort.
Sesame Street is a wide, open boulevard, good for learning to carve.
Neutral Territory
Poke around for the many free, undeveloped soaking pools, like Wild Willy’s, off Benton Crossing Road, ten miles south of town. Ski skate, stride, and snowshoe on the 16 miles of groomed trails at the Tamarack Cross Country Ski Center (760-934-5293). Dogsled with Mammoth Dog Sled ºÚÁϳԹÏÍøs (760-934-6270).
Average Annual Snowfall 385 inches
Breakdown 30% beginner, 40% intermediate, 30% expert
Acreage 3,500

Ski resorts that give you the best of both worlds: Colorado

Copper Mountain, CO
800-458-8386;
Diagnosis Copper is naturally divided by skier ability: The gradual slopes of the West Side are for beginners, the steeper pitches of the midmountain are for intermediates, and the East Side and the four Arctic-like bowls that cap the mountain please the experts.
Extremes
Spaulding and Resolution Bowls top the mountain at over 12,000 feet and feel like gnarly out-of-bounds terrain.
The gentle grades of Roundabout and Soliloquy are easier on the nerves.
Neutral Territory
With one terrain park, a half-pipe, and a superpipe, Copper caters to the young at heart (and limb). Tubing, ice-skating, snowshoeing, and cross-country skiing are also available, and the Sunsation event at season’s end tops the silliness chart with the Eenie Weenie Bikini Contest.
Average Annual Snowfall 280 inches
Breakdown 21% beginner, 25% intermediate, 54% expert
Acreage 2,450

Monarch Ski and Snowboard Area, CO
888-996-7669;
Diagnosis Perched at 11,961 feet in the Sawatch Mountains of southern Colorado, Monarch gets hit with storms regularly. Its isolation on the Continental Divide keeps crowds away, giving beginners plenty of room to practice and experts plenty of terrain to ski hard.
Extremes
The Panorama Lift, with its perfectly spaced tree runs, is your best bet in-bounds, but splurge with Monarch Snowcat Tours ($180 per person; 888-996-7669) for the real steeps.
The Thumbelina Lift is a short ride to an open field of green circles.
Neutral Territory
Ski, board, or snowshoe up 11,312-foot Monarch Pass, or tromp out to Lost Wonder Hut—a swanky backcountry log cabin (970-382-9722; ). Drink Il Vicino’s Wet Mountain Pale Ale in the Sidewinder Saloon.
Average Annual Snowfall 350 inches
Breakdown 21% beginner, 37% intermediate, 42% expert
Acreage 670

Telluride Ski Resort, CO
866-287-5016;
Diagnosis In 2000, Telluride spent $14 million to put three new high-speed detachable quads into Prospect Bowl, adding 733 acres and nearly doubling the skiable terrain. Yet the town remains unchanged: quaint Victorian buildings and lots of cafés, like the Steaming Bean, for sipping lattes and jawing with locals.
Extremes
If skiing The Plunge off Lift 9 or ducking out-of-bounds through the backcountry gate off Gold Hill doesn’t get your blood pumping, then call Telluride’s Helitrax (800-831-6230), the only heli-skiing outfit in Colorado.
Double Cabin off the Sunshine Express meanders for two miles with great views of the San Sophia Range.
Neutral Territory
The in-town network of cross-country trails is free. For gear rentals call Telluride Sports, (800-828-7547). Ice-skating is also free at the town park. Call Telluride Parks and Recreation (970-728-2173) for times and rentals. Wintermoon Sled Dog ºÚÁϳԹÏÍøs (970-729-0058) is an option, and so is the San Juan Hut System (970-626-3033), a series of eight backcountry huts spread over 206 miles.
Average Annual Snowfall 311 inches
Breakdown 22% beginner, 38% intermediate, 40% expert
Acreage 1,700

Vail, CO
800-404-3535;
Diagnosis With everything from superpipes to five-star hotels to world-class spas, Vail is the Disney World of ski resorts. It’s got everything for the entire family…for a price.
Extremes
For a real leg-burner, link up the bumps, steeps, and chutes of the Prima, Pronto, and Log Chute runs (The PPL, to locals).
Any run from Chair 14 (the Sourdough Lift) is groomed to perfection—like a putting green on a slope.
Neutral Territory
The superpipe is 425 feet long with 15-foot walls and 17-foot transitions. Need we say more? If you’re pooped, check out the Dew Drop Inn—a heated yurt with video games, a sound system, and a 40-foot sundeck. And who needs cross-country skiing when you can Thrill Sled (a headfirst ride on an independently suspended, four-ski sled), tube, ski-bike, and play laser tag at the ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Ridge activities center (970-476-9090).
Average Annual Snowfall 346 inches
Breakdown 18% beginner, 29% intermediate, 53% expert
Acreage 5,290

Ski resorts that give you the best of both worlds: Idaho, Maine, and Montana

IDAHO
Schweitzer, ID
800-831-8810;
Diagnosis Only 50 miles south of Canada in northern Idaho, Schweitzer has exceptionally dry snow (for the Northwest) and plenty of it. Add to this a high-speed six-pack lift and a stunning view of Lake Pend Oreille and the mountains surrounding Sandpoint, and you’ll know why Schweitzer’s owners are building a new 48-condo lodge slated to open this spring.
Extremes
2,400 feet of vertical and powder-choked tree runs, like Big Timber off Chair 6, are enough for most people, but the open-boundary policy satisfies those desiring more vertical challenge.
The Musical Chairs lift tops out at Happy Trails run, an open, mellow meadow.
Neutral Territory
Imitate Doctor Zhivago on sleigh rides with Mountain Horse ºÚÁϳԹÏÍøs (208-263-8768), or rate the overabundance of ugly Hawaiian shirts at the season-ending Caribbean Carnival’s Downhill Dummy Derby.
Average Annual Snowfall 300 inches
Breakdown 20% beginner, 40% intermediate, 40% expert
Acreage 2,500

Sun Valley Resort, ID
866-786-8259;
Diagnosis Sun Valley is a high-tech oasis in rural central Idaho. Seven high-speed quads (20 lifts total) span more than 2,000 skiable acres and 3,400 feet of constant pitch. The 630 acres of man-made snow extend the season and attract international Olympic teams.
Extremes
Hot dog like the 1970s competitors who raced down the steep pitch and VW Bug–size bumps of Exhibition off Bald Mountain (“Baldy”).
Adjacent Dollar Mountain offers 685 vertical feet of open, treeless skiing.
Neutral Territory
Sun Valley owns two ice rinks (an Olympic-caliber one inside for hockey and an outdoor one open year-round for shows), over 90 miles of cross-country skiing and snowshoe trails, and, for visitors who really miss suburbia, a bowling alley.
Average Annual Snowfall 200 inches
Breakdown 36% beginner, 42% intermediate, 22% expert
Acreage 2,050

MAINE
Sugarloaf/USA, ME
800-843-5623;
Diagnosis “The Loaf” has the best above-timberline skiing in the East, not to mention the steepest, plus the town and resort feel almost European with their tucked-into-the-mountain ambience.
Extremes
Hike to the summit of Sugarloaf Mountain (4,237 feet) from the Timberline quad and enjoy boundary-to-boundary skiing (no roped-off obstacles) down the Snowfields and into the well-spaced trees.
You need not even ride a lift. Just click in and ski The Birches, a leisurely run starting at the day lodge.
Neutral Territory
Three terrain parks, one for each level of skier or rider, and a superpipe to challenge the best. Give tubing or dogsledding a go (Guest Services, 207-237-2000), or cross-country ski and ice-skate at The Outdoor Center (207-237-6853).
Average Annual Snowfall 260 inches
Breakdown 16% beginner, 59% intermediate, 25% expert
Acreage 480

MONTANA
Big Mountain Resort, MT
800-858-4157;
Diagnosis Any resort with runs in a place called Hellroaring Basin can’t be half bad. With an open-boundary policy, epic chutes in Canyon Creek, and smooth cruising terrain off the Bigfoot T-bar, Big Mountain lures both hero skiers and your mother-in-law.
Extremes
Try snowcat skiing (406-862-2900) on the resort’s north side for steep faults, cliff bands, glades, and, of course, bone-dry Montana powder.
The Village Lift (Chair 6) is only 250 vertical feet, but it’s free.
Neutral Territory
Sleigh-ride dinners, lift-served snow tubing, Thrill Sled rides, and K2 ski-bike riding are all offered through the Guest Service and Information Center (406-862-2900).
Average Annual Snowfall 330 inches
Breakdown 25% beginner, 50% intermediate, 25% expert
Acreage 3,000

Ski resorts that give you the best of both worlds: Utah, Vermont, and Wyoming

UTAH
Snowbird Ski and Summer Resort, UT
800-453-3000;
Diagnosis Snowbird and its neighbor, Alta, are now connected by a new high-speed quad in Mineral Basin and by a common season pass. Skiers have access to 4,700 acres of Little Cottonwood Canyon’s powder-rich terrain—part of which is in boarder-unfriendly Alta. Sorry, knuckle draggers.
Extremes
Heli-ski with the Wasatch Powderbird Guides (800-974-4354), or go for glory on Great Scott, a steep rock-lined chute, off the tram.
Try the Chickadee run, where the ski school teaches beginner classes. Then move on to Big Emma, a long and classic green.
Neutral Territory
Call the base area Activity Center (801-933-2147) for tubing and luge or the Cliff Lodge (801-933-2265) for outdoor ice-skating.
Average Annual Snowfall 500 inches
Breakdown 27% beginner, 38% intermediate, 35% expert
Acreage 2,500

VERMONT
Stowe Mountain Resort, VT
800-253-4754;
Diagnosis People have been skiing and cutting trails on Mount Mansfield since the 1930s for good reason: loads of snow, high elevation, and a consistent 2,360-foot fall line. Plus, Stowe is a real New England town, complete with a white-steepled church and the oldest sport of all—shopping.
Extremes
Famous throughout the East, Goat—one of the Front Four off Mount Mansfield—is narrow, steep, and heavily moguled.
Spruce Peak is melloowww and separate from the faster skiers.
Neutral Territory
Employees playing hooky from nearby Burton Snowboards dominate the terrain park and half-pipe. Nordic ski on 47 miles of trails (Cross Country Center, 802-253-3688). Topnotch (802-253-8585) and Stoweflake (802-253-7355), both four-star hotels, have luxurious day spas and Tae Bo–trendy fitness centers.
Average Annual Snowfall 260 inches
Breakdown 16% beginner, 59% intermediate, 25% expert
Acreage 480

WYOMING
Jackson Hole Mountain Resort, WY
888-333-7766;
Diagnosis The Meet Your Maker chute inspired the cinematographers at Teton Gravity Research, while the groomed slopes of Après Vous and Casper make anybody on shaped skis feel like local phenom Tommy Moe.
Extremes
A 50-degree chute at 40 feet wide and 500 feet long, Corbet’s Couloir is the signature trophy run at Jackson Hole, demanding a vertical entrance (read: mandatory air).
Eagle’s Rest Double Chair serves a roped-off beginner area with mellow slopes like Eagle’s Rest run, Pooh Bear, and Antelope Flats.
Neutral Territory
Then there’s always the ski-less ski vacation: Tube at King Tubes Snow Tubing Park (307-734-8823), hot-air balloon with Wyoming Balloon Company (307-739-0900), ice-skate inside at Snow King Resort (800-522-5464), cross-country ski or dogsled at the Saddlehorn Activity Center (307-739-2629), sleigh ride with National Elk Refuge Sleigh Rides (307-733-5386), or paraglide with Two-Can Fly (307-690-8726).
Average Annual Snowfall 402 inches
Breakdown 10% beginner, 40% intermediate, 50% expert
Acreage 5,000

Ski resorts that give you the best of both worlds: Washington, Quebec, and British Columbia

WASHINGTON
Crystal Mountain, WA
360-663-2265;
Diagnosis In the shadow of Mount Rainier, Crystal hosts avalanche clinics for a reason: backcountry terrain, 3,100 vertical feet, and mounds of snow. But not everything is ski-movie steep. The glade skiing of Orgasm Meadows is, well…you’ll want a cigarette at the bottom.
Extremes
Drop into Pinball, a narrow chute off The King mountain (7,012 feet high), and ski into Avalanche Basin in the South Back.
Tinkerbell, a two-mile-long cruiser through the trees.
Neutral Territory
Snowshoe up Bouillon Basin (Rainier Rides, 360-663-0182). Soak in the hot tubs at the East Peak Massage and Fitness Center (360-663-2505). Drink Rainier Beer at the Snorting Elk.
Average Annual Snowfall 340 inches
Breakdown 13% beginner, 57% intermediate, 30% expert
Acreage 2,300

QUEBEC
Tremblant Ski Resort, Québec
888-736-2526;
Diagnosis In the Laurentian Mountains—a steep range on the Canadian Shield with challenging terrain—Tremblant offers action at night as well. Strike a pose at Le Café de l’Époque with the people who invented après-ski.
Extremes
For slush bumps in the Spring, try Expo, a long and steep mogul run. And to test those edges, ski Zig-Zag and Vertige, both double black diamonds on the mountain’s south side.
Cruise the resort’s entire 2,131-foot drop on the snaking, 3.75-mile Nansen trail.
Neutral Territory
Hit the Snow Park with its superpipe, big airs, and rails. Dare we say, compete in the Caribou Splash Cup in April? Ski or board from the resort’s summit, do shots on the way down, then jump into a swimming pool. Simmer down at the Scandinavian Spa (819-681-4848), or try dogsledding, tubing, or snowshoeing with Mont Tremblant Activities (819-681-4848).
Average Annual Snowfall 180 inches
Breakdown 17% beginner, 32% intermediate, 51% expert
Acreage 610

BRITISH COLUMBIA
Whistler Blackcomb, British Columbia
800-766-0449;
Diagnosis With the massive spring snowpack, international crowd, and above-timberline skiing, Whistler Blackcomb’s US$41 ticket is a bargain. The two mountains offer terrain for every level of skier over a whopping 7,070 acres.
Extremes
The glacier-carved West Cirque—menacing and vertical—tops Whistler mountain.
Easy Out on Blackcomb gives you all the views, without the steeps.
Neutral Territory
If two half-pipes, three terrain parks, and a snowcross course—all fitted with on-slope, tower-mounted speaker systems blasting DJ-mixed music—are a tad overstimulating, chill (literally) in a horse-drawn sleigh (Blackcomb Horse Drawn Sleigh Rides, 604-932-7631), cross-country ski and ice-skate (Meadow Park Sports Centre, 604-938-7529), snowshoe (Whistler Outdoor ºÚÁϳԹÏÍøs, 604-932-0647), or dogsled (Cougar Mountain, 604-932-4086).
Average Annual Snowfall 360 inches
Breakdown 17% beginner, 55% intermediate, 28% expert
Acreage 7,070

The post Bipolar Resorts appeared first on ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Online.