I want to live and work in a mountain town this summer, but finding affordable housing is proving to be near impossible. Can you give me any tips or direction so I can turn this dream into reality? —A Frustrated Flatlander

“I came for the winter and stayed for the summer” is a common mountain-town refrain. That sentiment, combined with a pandemic-fueled real estate boom, has resulted in a dearth of affordable housing, both seasonal and permanent, in mountain towns across America.

In many small western communities like Steamboat Springs, Durango, and Snowmass, Colorado; Sun Valley, Idaho; and Mammoth Lakes, California, it used to be that employees and locals lived in houses, and tourists stayed in hotels. The reverse is now true: houses are monopolized by Airbnb and VRBO rentals and second homeowners, and some hotels are being purchased by ski resorts and converted to affordable employee housing.

Sadly, more and more essential jobs are going unfilled, some with six-figure salaries, because potential employees can’t find reasonably-priced rentals. As a result, many mountain towns are shifting their focus to year-round, affordable-housing programs. In Wyoming, for example, Habitat for Humanity of the Greater Teton Area helps to fill critical nursing and teaching positions by building homes for individuals and families making between 30 to 80 percent of the area’s median income.

What does this mean for seasonal workers? Here’s my advice for finding affordable summer housing in a mountain town.

Find Towns Working on Their Housing Shortages

Whitefish, Montana, the gateway to Glacier National Park, is one such place. Its , which supports full-time and seasonal employees, is funded in part by a added to local lodging, food, and transportation. Half of the contributions from its participants go to Housing Whitefish, a nonprofit that facilitates affordable housing.

Part of last year’s $52,000 allocation went toward a newly launched rental-assistance program, modeled after a similar one in . Over 12 months, Housing Whitefish will distribute a total of $64,620—or $5,385 a month—to 17 qualified applicants. (The money goes directly to the property owner or management company.)

The , which advocates for better options in the North Tahoe and Truckee, California communities, aims to add inventory for the local workforce through its recently launched Accessory Dwelling Unit pilot program. Homeowners are incentivized to add rental space that includes a bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen, and in return they receive assistance with building, permitting, and leasing processes.

Although the organization can’t help you find housing, it does direct prospective renters to resources through the .

In 2022, Breckenridge, Colorado, allocated $50 million to a five-year workforce housing plan to create some 1,000 new units. The town’s housing fund also receives money from a short-term rental fee requiring owners to pay a set amount for each bedroom they rent. The goal is for nearly half of the town’s workforce to live in Breckenridge, with a little over a third of the housing inventory reserved for locals.

In 2016, Aspen Skiing Co., the town’s largest employer, purchased six 280-square-foot tiny homes for about $100,000 each and put them in the Aspen-Basalt Campground for both summer and winter seasonal employees. The project was such a success that it now offers 69 tiny homes for hires, and for the first time this year has introduced units designed to accommodate year-round employees.ÌęUnits range from $550 to $750 a month, and summer leases are available from May 15 through October 31. The units currently have a waitlist for Aspen Skiing Company employees.

Employers in Sun Valley, including the Limelight Ketchum hotel, have also purchased tiny homes in the Meadows RV Park, 3.5 miles away, to rent to employees. Many of these programs run on an application system and most take enrollment for summer employees in March.

Land a Job Before You Head Out

Many large employers, notably ski resorts such as Aspen Snowmass, , and , Colorado, or , Vermont, offer housing or make an effort to help you find housing after you’ve been hired. Sun Valley Resort, for example, has two dorm-style buildings with free laundry and fitness centers available for seasonal employees on a waitlist basis. Two-to-four-person accommodations range from $140 to $210 per person every two weeks. There’s also an option to pay day-to-day, starting at $10 a day.

Beyond ski resorts, places like offer town employees short-term seasonal rentals, for jobs at businesses like the recreation center or golf course, as well as rental-deposit-assistance programs.

Betsy Crum, housing director for the town of Snowmass Village, notes that winter housing is typically full, while there’s sometimes more housing available for summer workers.

Montana’s Big Sky Housing Trust has housing for up to 100 seasonal residents in four- and five-bedroom dorm-style configurations. These units are leased to local independent employers. Lone Mountain Land Company, another major employer in Big Sky, offers dorm-style housing for up to 400 seasonal residents employed by their entities.

Check Out These Helpful Housing Websites and Social Media Sites

Due to the huge demand for housing, many landlords avoid popular rental-listing sites Craigslist and Zillow. One resident seeking a new tenant for housing she has in Carbondale, Colorado, 30 miles from Aspen, didn’t publicly post a listing because she knew she’d be overwhelmed with calls. Instead, she put the word out quietly to friends and looked at posts from people in need of housing on a local Facebook group, .

In fact, local Facebook community groups or neighborhood-focused sites like often have rental listings you won’t find on larger, public sites like Craigslist. is a free site where you can find a roommate or a room available to rent within a house.

When posting that you’re seeking housing, be clear about your employment situation, desired rental dates, and budget. Younger people should present themselves as a mature, responsible option, preferably coming in with a job already secured. (For example: “Hello, I’m coming here to work for the Solar Institute and need a place to stay from mid-June through July that’s less than $600 a month.”)

You might find success on , a housing marketplace for vacation towns that pays property owners to convert their homes to short- and long-term rentals for the local workforce. Mountain destinations include Woodstock, Vermont; Truckee and South Lake Tahoe, California; Wood River Valley, Idaho; East Placer County, California; and Eagle County, Colorado.

Finally, is a membership-based platform (starting at $10.75 a month) where you can find house-sitting or pet-sitting gigs.

Consider 5 More Resources

1. Look at a Town’s Website

Many communities offer housing programs or partner with local nonprofits or housing authorities, like the , to administer programs. “It’s always worth a call to any city’s housing development and housing authority to see if they have resources,” says Daniel Sidder, executive director of Housing Whitefish.

2. Embrace Camping or Vanlife

In Colorado, and have options for free car camping for a season. You can shower at local rec centers.

3.ÌęCruise the Town

Some good old-fashioned neighborhood drive-bys to spot “For Rent” signs posted outside of apartments, on community boards at grocery stores, or in coffee shops can lead to deals, too.

4. Talk to Locals

Lindsay Nohl, 46, enjoyed free communal housing in Tucson, Arizona, while working as the director of NOLS Southwest. But when the campus closed during Covid, she moved to Teton Valley, Idaho. Recently, she made her eighth move in four years, as landlords continue to increase prices or start to rent their properties on Airbnb.

Her go-to strategy for finding cheap housing on the fly? Word of mouth. Another lesson: be flexible. Even though Nohl hasn’t had a roommate in two decades, she’s now paying $1,000 a month to share a two-bedroom, 800-square-foot house so she can remain in Teton Valley for the summer.

5.ÌęScan Newspaper Classifieds

You might come across opportunities to pet-sit or nanny. Or working as a property manager can also lead to free or affordable housing.

Weigh Your Options

The last thing you should consider, Flatlander, is which mountain towns are too pricey or too popular. For example, Steamboat, Aspen, and Telluride, Colorado, as well as Jackson, Wyoming, and Big Sky, Montana, have reputations as luxury vacation escapes, which means housing is in high demand and the cost of living will be greater there than in lesser-known but more economical mountain towns like Le Grande, Oregon, and Reno, Nevada. Or even Laramie, Wyoming, which has a lot going for it.

Many seasonal jobs pay minimum wage, which varies from state to state. In Utah and Wyoming, for example, the federal minimum wage is $7.25 an hour, while Montana pays $10.30 an hour, Colorado $14.42 an hour, and California $16 an hour.

You should also consider free services offered by the mountain town you’re considering. Aspen is expensive, but it offers free public transportation, which is another way to help save on costs.

Spending a summer working in a mountain town can be one of the best experiences of a young person’s life. I hope my advice lands you good, affordable housing. I’ll be pulling for you.

Travel-advice columnist Jen Murphy has scored affordable rent by offering free travel tips to her landlord, as well as volunteering to take out the building’s trash cans on garbage day and maintain the gardens.Ìę

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Located at the edge of Glacier National Park, the welcoming ski town of is packed with charm and world-class amenities. Rising above is Whitefish Mountain Resort. Ranked among the best-value ski areas in the United States, it has 3,000 skiable acres, pristine groomers, stellar tree skiing, and 360-degree views. and would like to express thanks to its many partners featured in the video above:

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With mostÌęski lodges and hotelsÌęimposingÌęlimited capacityÌęthis winter due to COVID-19, why not bring or rent a camper or RVÌęinstead? MostÌęresorts don’t allow for overnight parking, but we found eight ski hills across the country that have dedicated lots for your cabin on wheels.

If You Have an Ikon Pass

Crystal Mountain, Washington

Ìę(ticket pricing to be announced), outside of Enumclaw, Washington, allowsÌę (from $30) in the resort’s slopeside RV lot. This winter, reservations will be required—book a month in advance if you can, as spots will fill up quickly. The lot offersÌę66 sites and electrical hookups for RVs. Also new this year, Wi-Fi will cover the entire lot, in case you need to call in for a Zoom meeting mid-ski day. The on-site in the base area will have online ordering this winter, so you can request pickup for groceriesÌęor a six-pack of local lager.

If You Live on the East Coast

Gunstock, New Hampshire

Not many ski resorts on the East Coast allow overnight camping, but does (day passes from $84). This small ski area, locatedÌęin Gilford, New Hampshire, 90 miles from Boston, has a Ìę(from $45) that comes with access to a bathhouse with hot showers and laundry machines. Make a reservation online ahead of time. Some folks even book sites for the entire winter season. If you want to ditch the RV for a night, the resort also rents out two rustic cabins in a forested area along the cross-country ski trails.

If You Have an Epic Pass

Stevens Pass, Washington

The Ìęat , Washington, (day passes from $124, if you buy a four-pack Epic Day pass)Ìęwill be operating this winter with reservations required. Book one of the 60 free RV parking spots in advance to secure your space. Many of the families and individuals who stay overnight here do so every season, so there’sÌęa real community feel to it. And you can’t beat the location, right at the base of the ski hill, which is two hours east of Seattle. The T-Bar Market, inÌę, has espresso and to-go itemsÌęto bring back to your camper.

If You Want Uphill Access

Whitefish Mountain Resort, Montana

It’s a few minutes’ walk from the Willow Tail Lot—where to park for up to three nights—to the base lodge at , inÌęMontana. No reservations are required for RV parking—it’s first come, first served—but there is a $15 fee per night, and you’ll need to fill out registration paperwork at the main lodging check-in. From the base lodge, it’s a couple lifts to the top of the mountain, where you can enjoy views of Glacier National Park before dropping into powder stashes through the trees of North Bowl. If you like skinning, Whitefish allows uphill access on designated routes throughout the day, but this year, you’ll need to buy aÌęÌę(from $85).

If Your Season Pass Is Part of the Powder Alliance

China Peak, California

, 65 miles northeast of Fresno, California, doesn’t bring in the same destination travelers who flock to the ski resorts closer to Lake Tahoe, so you’ll find few crowds at this locally owned resort (day passes from $104). Plus, there’s plenty of room to spread out, with seven chairlifts and more than 1,400 skiable acres. The best part? You can pull your van or RV into one of (from $49) in a designated overnight lot not far from the slopeside . The resort is part of the —if you have a season pass to any of the participating resorts, you get three free days of skiing here.ÌęReservations are required for overnight parking.

If You’re with theÌęFamily

Schweitzer, Idaho

It’s free to park in the at Ìę(day passes from $89) in Sandpoint, Idaho, but there is a three-day limit. You’ll come for the empty glades—this independently owned resort in the Selkirk Mountains has some of the best tree skiing around—and an average of 300-plus inches of snow perÌęyear. Road-tripping families will find many conveniences here, from resort daycare to kids’ nights out to snow tubing and entry-level terrain parks.

If You’reÌęa Backcountry Skier

Grand Targhee, Wyoming

The nicest thing about the (from $25) at , in Alta, Wyoming, is that there are different lots for different rigs. If you’re coming in a Sprinter van, park in the Meadow Campground. If you’ve got a big pull-behind trailer, Lot 4 is for you. Need a rig? , located over Teton Pass in Jackson, Wyoming, rents four-wheel-drive truck campers. As for the skiing, there’s coldsmoke powder, resort-operated cat skiing, and great backcountry access (with options for ) through designated gates (day passes from $103).

If You’reÌęanÌęIntermediate Skier

Sipapu, New Mexico

Not many ski areas also operate their own year-round campground, but you’ll find one at family-owned , outside of Taos, New Mexico (lift ticket pricing to be announced). Ìę(from $40) in designated lots a short walk from the ski area’s base lodge. You won’t find the same steep terrain as nearby —most of it is more intermediate thanÌęadvanced—but the snow quality can be just as good.ÌęSipapu also boasts one of the longest ski seasons in New Mexico—typically from November through April. Plus, kidsÌętenÌęyears old and under get to ski free all season long.

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Somer Treat has run the trailÌęwhere a grizzly bear killed her husband, Brad, nearly every day since his death in June 2016. BradÌęwas mountain biking on a national-forest trail near Glacier National Park when he came around a blind corner and rodeÌęstraight into a bear. Somer, 40, doesn’t blame the grizzly. With her husband goingÌę30 feet a second, the animalÌęjust didn’t see him coming.

Somer grew up near the southern edge of Glacier, in northwestern Montana, and she and Brad lived only a couple minutes away from the site of the attack; the area has always been her home. So no matter the weather, she pulls on her bright purple Brooks shoes and hits the trail. “Running has been my therapy,” Somer says. “It’s the normal in the not normal.” Lately, she says her daily strides are taking on new meaning.

Over the last five decades, grizzly populations in the lower 48 have rebounded from near extinction. After Brad’s death, a debate began: one side argued thatÌęmountain biking where grizzlies are making a comeback leads to both more dead bears and dead people, while the other side said it’s up to the biker to shoulder the risk, and the chances of an encounter are slim. Both parties spiked Brad Treat’s name back and forth like a volleyball. Now, as more grizzlies and more recreationists roam the northern Rockies, this long-stewing tension over mountain biking in bear country is heating up. At the same time, new but related concernsÌęare surfacing about another outdoor sport: trail running.

In Flathead National Forest—Somer’s neck of the woods—permits for foot races have drawn the same ire over risk in grizzly habitat . As we talk at a patio table in downtown Whitefish, Montana, Somer says that even though Brad was killed by a grizzly bear while biking, he would never have wanted access limited. He was a law-enforcement officer for the Forest Service. If a grizzly had killed someone else in the same place, he would have been one of the people investigating the death. She points to the summit of Big Mountain, looming more than 3,500 feet above the city. It’s the highest point of the , a race scheduled for October 5 and 6. From its birth in 2010 as a 10K run, the event has grown over the years, along with the trail system around the city. For the first time, this yearÌęit will include a 50K. The added mileage goes through some Flathead National Forest trails, meaning the Forest Service had to issue a special-use permitÌęfor the race. Somer signed up for the 50K, and unless she breaks a leg, she says, she’s running that damn race.

Across grizzly country, newly released and upcoming versions of national forest land-management plans are shifting how the Forest Service balances access and recreation. Those plans are technical documents, thousands of pages long, about how the Forest Service prioritizes uses like timber harvest, habitat standards, and wilderness areas. Due to their size and scope, forest plans only come out once every few decades and take years for forest managers to finalize. The newly released Flathead National Forest plan set the stage for permitting the Whitefish Legacy Trail Run. Near Yellowstone National Park, revisions underway on the Custer Gallatin National Forest plan are drawing outrage over the potential to classify some of the country’s premier alpine mountain-biking terrain—which also happens to be right where grizzlies roam—as wilderness, thereby prohibiting cycling in the area. TogetherÌęwith revisions across other national forests in grizzly country, these documents will decide the fate of some of the nation’s wildest ecosystems for the next 20-odd years.Ìę

From Texas to California to Montana, grizzlies were once a mighty population that roamed the forests, mountains, and plains. It’s an iconic species that has long inspired fear and awe in humans. But the bruins were reduced to a fraction of their historical numbers as white settlers colonized the West. In 1975, they were listed as threatenedÌęunder the Endangered Species Act.

NowÌęthere are only two large populations of grizzlies left in the lower 48: about 1,000 in and around Glacier National Park, and a little more than 700 around Yellowstone. (The federal government tried to delist Yellowstone bears twice, but both populations remain on the endangered species list.) Both the Yellowstone and Glacier grizzly populations have grown steadily in recent years. Around Glacier, the number of bears is increasing 2Ìęto 3Ìępercent annually, and the animals are sprouting up in new places—like way out east of the mountains, in the prairies of the Rocky Mountain front.

At the same time, Glacier and Yellowstone National Parks continue to set visitation records nearly every year. And the landsÌęaround the parks are burgeoning with growth, due in large part to their beauty and the accessibility of recreation. The population of Flathead County, near Glacier, grew by about between 2000 and 2018. Gallatin County, northwest of Yellowstone, ballooned by Ìęin the same time period, according to census data. In Montana, the outdoor industry brought in more than $7 billion last year alone.

The future of grizzlies, some experts say, will depend on how well they can get along with humans across the landscape. And biking and running? Those activities might just make the two collide.

But Flathead National Forest supervisor Chip Weber says land managers won’t get anywhere by telling people what not to do. There’s no way to separate humans from the natural world. We should focus on bigger questions, like: How can humans and grizzlies coexist? “I reject the notion that we should steer clear of sponsoring things just because there is some risk,” he says. “I think there’s a huge amount of Americans’ use and enjoyment of wildlands, national forests, parks, and state landsÌęthat comes with some level of risk, and they’re the ones who can make that choice about whether they take those risks.”

Statistically, grizzlies really aren’t all that dangerous. Yellowstone National Park’s website puts it bluntly: the odds of getting hurt by a grizzly in the park are about oneÌęin 2.7 million. Combined, grizzly and black bears have killed fewer than three people per year in the U.S. and Canada since 2010. By contrast, in the U.S. alone, 94 people died kayaking in 2017 and 44 died skiing duringÌęthe 2016–17 season. It’s all about personal responsibility, Weber says. He encourages recreationists to be smart when they’re outsideÌęand choose the risks they’re willing to take carefully.

While public lands face budget cuts, oil and gas drilling, and other threats, Weber sees the debate around recreation in grizzly country as antithetical to the larger conservation movement. “Ultimately, it drives people apart who could be working together for the greater good,” he says.

Chris Servheen served as the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service’s grizzly bear recovery coordinator for 35 years. He also led the investigation into Brad Treat’s death. “Public land and wildlife-management agencies have been telling people for years the ways to be safe when you recreate in bear country,” Servheen says. “Do not run in grizzly bear habitat. There’s no safe way to run in grizzly bear habitat.”

Unless they’re protecting their young, bears usually kill or maim people when victims are engaged in fast-moving sports like running or mountain biking, he says. Being quiet in the woods—while hunting, for example—can also lead to trouble. Servheen says those behaviors can surprise the animals, causing them to act defensively and attack.

Many grizzly encounters never get reported.ÌęSo the relationship between grizzly bear and recreationists is a hard thing to study. But Stephen Herrero, an expert on grizzly attacks, has tried anyway. In 2000, he published a study on grizzly bears and cyclists for Parks Canada. He found reports of 33 grizzly bear-biker incidents across North America, all of which were in Canada and Alaska. In 95 percent of those encounters, the bikers only caught sight of the bear within 164 feet. More than half the time, the cyclists ended up injured.

In the study, Herrero wanted to find out if there were incongruities in the rates at which bikers and hikers had bear encounters. So he posted up on a trail in Canada’s Banff National Park to count users. He found that hikers outnumbered bikers by at least three to one. But between 1997 and 1998, about three times as many cyclists as hikers had negative run-ins with grizzlies, despite their much smaller numbers overall.

Nearly two decades have passed since Herrero’s study, but there’s not much new data on bear-cyclist interactions. No centralized source tracks this stuff.ÌęBut in 2017,ÌęAnchorage Daily News Ìęat least 18 bikers have had run-ins with both black and grizzly bears since the new millennium. Two of those encounters, including Brad Treat’s, were fatal.

There’s no science at all on if and how running increases the likelihood of a bear encounter. But news reports give a glimpse into runner-grizzly incidents: aÌęwoman was mauled by a grizzly while running with her coworker in Alaska in 2015. A charged a pair of Canadian ultrarunners at close range in 2018; the two fended off the bears with rocks, trekking poles, and bear spray. And earlier this year, aÌędog died protecting its owner from a grizzly while they were on a run in Sitka, Alaska. The dog’s owner said it wasn’t the first time the pair had had this sort of encounter.

At its core, the issue is simple, Servheen says: runners and bikers cover a lot more ground in a lot less time than hikers, and they do it quietly. He wrote a decisive letter in opposition to the race Somer plans to run while the Forest Service was considering issuing a permit last summer. “I don’t think that the public agencies should be permitting, and thereby endorsing, those activities, counter to everything we tell the public to do,” Servheen says. He thinks thatÌęfederal and state land managers need to prioritize communication and education. Part of that means sending consistent messages across the board.

Servheen says it’s not just about risk to people; all that traffic can be bad for bears, too. When a bear attacks someone, he says, officials nearly always feel pressure to trap and kill that bear. Gruesome grizzly attacks also feed public resistance to bears, meaning the more people areÌękilled by bears, the less likely communities are to tolerate living near them as bruin populations expand.

Then, he says, there are the hidden costs; you don’t have to smash into the haunches of a grizzly for the bear to have a bad day. More people using those trails can cause what he calls “avoidance behavior,” meaning spooked bears start to stay away from prime habitat. “It’s not something we can just whistle on by the graveyard and think bears are gonna be fine forever,” he says. “To have healthy bear populations, it will take continuous, careful management of the bears and their habitat.”

Keith Hammer, chair of the environmental group , has been one of the loudest voices in the crusade against forest-sponsored races in northwest Montana. But his issue isn’t recreation as a whole in grizzly country. The trouble with mountain biking and running really amps upÌęwhen “the Forest Service is part of the ringleaders and the cheerleaders and the booster club for it,” he says.Ìę

“As we have more and more people in these areas with sensitive ecosystems, with threatened and endangered species, each person needs to take on the burden of having less impact, not more,” he says.

In part as a symbolic protest of the race Somer signed up for, Hammer is organizing a sort of anti-race in which participants are encouraged to “see how long you can take to hike 70 miles.”ÌęSit in the shade and take in the beautiful scenery, he says, and “carry lots of heavy plant- and bird-ID books to help slow you down.”ÌęHe calls the event the ÌęThere’s no date or time for the event. Crawlers can their track progress viaÌęan online chartÌęand start and finish at will.

Back in downtown Whitefish, as tourists chirp by, Somer Treat is telling me about a run she went on the day before we spoke. It was a 20-mile loop through Glacier. She always carries bear spray when she runs in the area, and she saw a grizzly when she didÌęthat same loop last year. She says she knows it’s cheesy, but whenever she sees the animal, she still gets a tingle, something magical, a sensation to which she can’t quite put words.

“I feel lucky to have the choice to still go out and use any of the public lands we’re surrounded by,” she says. “To limit that because of something political like the grizzly bear is something I wouldn’t want to be part of. And I know Brad wouldn’t want to be part of it either.”

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If there was a defining trait among the several dozen people who gathered recently to hear Ammon Bundy speak at the New Code of the West conference in Whitefish, Montana, it was their age—on average, well into eligibility for Social Security benefits. I don’t mention this to promote ageist ideas about who should be involved in political activism—the baby boomers comprise the —but rather to suggest that the “Bundy movement,” such as it exists, appears conspicuously long in the tooth.

The event was hosted by a Kalispell-based group called This West Is OUR West. The group’s founder, Lauralee O’Neil, told me they spent $8,000 to rent the facility and provide a catered lunch. Perhaps it was the $150 price tag for the day’s event that kept younger attendees at bay, or perhaps it was a classic Montana scheduling conflict: Saturday, October 13, was the second-to-last day of big-game archery season. Whatever the reason, if the Whitefish event left me convinced of one thing, it’s that the Bundys and the fringe ideology they espouse has little purchase on young people—at least in this corner of the northern Rockies. And that ought to be encouraging to anyone who has worried in the nearly three years since the Bundys staged their takeover of the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge in Burns, Oregon, that a new and vigorous anti–public land rebellion was catching fire. The opposite seems more likely. The Bundys’ antics—along with the efforts of the Trump administration and congressional Republicans to undermine environmental laws and regulations, shrink national monuments, and open millions of acres of public land and water to oil and gas development—have galvanized a movement around environmental and conservation advocacy that is nonpartisan and transgenerational.

A crowd of 300 gathered at Whitefish Depot Park to protest the Bundy event, which was taking place at the Grouse Mountain Lodge, a mile and a half away. The competing rally was organized by the and , a group affiliated with the Montana Human Rights Network and formed in response to white supremacist activity in the Flathead Valley. Judging by attendance, there’s no question which movement—Bundyites or public land advocates—has the numbers. Beyond Whitefish, the rapid growth of groups like Missoula-based Backcountry Hunters and Anglers illustrates the rising pro–public land consciousness in the West and across the country. Membership has doubled every year for the past four years, topping 18,000 in 2018. The group now has chapters in 39 states and two Canadian provinces and on dozens of college campuses. One wonders what the Bundys’ on-campus presence looks like.

I didn’t meet any of the protesters who turned out to Depot Park, because I spent the entire day listening to jeremiads about the and the to implement one-world government. According to speakers at the Bundy event, shadowy international bureaucrats and billionaires are the font of such devious urban concepts as “sustainable development” and “smart growth.” Alex Newman—a bearded young correspondent for the John Birch Society’s New American magazine, whom the moderator hailed as “our next George Washington”—said these concepts are part of “a global war on farmers and ranchers and loggers.” The audience gasped knowingly. Newman went on to pull the old , suggesting that because in the sea ice off Antarctica one time in 2013, global warming clearly isn’t real. “I’ve interviewed dozens of these UN scientists,” said Newman, without mentioning any of the defectors’ names. “They told me [climate change] was a hoax, and no one would correct it, so they resigned.” Phew, I thought: I guess we don’t have to worry about the UN’s updated projections—which give us a mere to take drastic action to avoid Biblical climate catastrophes. ( place the scientific consensus at a minimum of 80 percent supporting the idea of human-caused climate change, with some estimates as high as 97 percent.)

There were shimmers of underlying anti-Semitism and white nationalism in some of the presentations, like when Washington state legislator Matt Shea channeled his inner Richard Spencer, shouting, “Let’s be American again! We are a Christian nation, and anyone who says we’re not is a liar
I think we need to be unashamed about our heritage and our history. Amen!” Spencer—whose parents live in Whitefish and who have for their son’s racist neo-fascism, which they disavow—did not attend.

The UN’s platform was the main lightning rod for the assembled conspiracy theorists. Drawn up in 1992 at the UN Conference on Environment and Development in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, Agenda 21 is a legally nonbinding policy document that does not force anyone at any level of government of the 178 signatories to do anything. The document lays out strategies for “combating poverty,” “protecting and promoting human health conditions,” “combating deforestation,” “managing fragile ecosystems,” “recognizing and strengthening the role of indigenous people,” and that sort of thing. I don’t know about you, but whenever I hear global bureaucrats talking about “managing fragile ecosystems,” I think to myself: Charlie’s in the wire.

“You’d have to be pretty dang stupid not to be able to connect some of these dots,” said the moderator, Dan Happel, who hosts a podcast called . A retired commercial building contractor, Happel once served as of the Montana Republican Party and as a Madison County commissioner. An avuncular fellow with a warm smile, dressed in a blazer, khakis, and ostrich-skin slip-ons, Happel provided the highlight of my day when, in the midst of his presentation, he said, “You thought the Kavanaugh hearing sucked? These are quotes from the leading Democrats in the country.” He then read from a slide with quotes from Chuck Schumer, Elizabeth Warren, and Cory Booker. Here’s one:

“Time and time again, we find progressive laws getting struck down,” Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer said in a Senate address. “And it’s always—always—the ones the Constitution is against. These right-wing judges don’t think for themselves, they just do whatever the Constitution says. And it’s time for that to end.”

They perfectly fit Happel’s narrative about Democrats’ disregard for the Constitution. The problem was, the quotes were fake. They came from an article headlined “Senate Democrats Demand Supreme Court Nominee Not Be Unduly Influenced by U.S. Constitution” in the now-defunct Babylon Bee, a satirical online paper in the model of the Onion. Happel was not the only one to take these quotes out of their native habitat. Fox News contributor David Clarke—the erstwhile Milwaukee sheriff who caught hell for with flair pins— with the same fake quotes.

The conference ground on for ten hours before Ammon Bundy finally took the mic to sing his paean about triumph over the murderous feds. This was the I’ve attended, and the script did not vary much: of the Constitution mingled with tearful recitation of his family’s long “stand,” which most of us would just interpret as “breaking the law and getting away with it.” (The Bundys still in unpaid federal grazing fees. Although several of their , the Bundys were acquitted of all charges for a 2014 standoff and the Malheur occupation, due to .)

Bundy wore a straw cowboy hat and a suit coat. Toward the end of his remarks, he pulled out a garment bag with items for show-and-tell. The first was a ball cap with the Army Airborne logo that he claimed was given to him by a vet. Bundy ratcheted up the totemic power of the items until he was holding up a bronze star medal, claiming a wheelchair-bound man who’d lost his legs “serving in the military” had given it to him at Malheur. Bundy told the audience about how he’d said he didn’t deserve it, because he’d never served, and the man “told me I was to never say again that I didn’t deserve it.” Next, Bundy pulled out a folded American flag, which he claimed was “presented to me by a man who said this flag was draped over his brother’s casket because he died serving this country.” Choking back tears, Bundy said, “This man gave me this flag, and he felt that this is what his brother died for
we were standing up for the very purpose his brother gave his life for.”

To me, it all seemed like cheap theater, but maybe Bundy believes his own myth. Many in the room seemed to. Then again, they also looked on with jaws agape as Happel warned about the UN’s plans to “eliminate anywhere from 95 percent to 75 percent of our population.” While their credulity was astonishing and depressing, I doubt that these would-be crusaders present any meaningful threat to the future of public land or the republic on which it stands. They barely filled a small conference room. The only presenter who actually addressed a Montana public land issue in-depth was Kerry White, a Republican state legislator from Bozeman. White gave a talk on megafires, advocating for more thinning projects in national forests to reduce the severity of fires and boost the timber economy. While White’s interpretations of wildfire science would raise eyebrows in the company of scientists, the basic premise of thinning forests to minimize wildfires’ destructive capacity has in the West.

In an unexpected bit of drama, Bundy took the mic during the question-and-answer period and harangued White for tacitly acknowledging the federal government’s right to manage public land. Waving his weathered pocket Constitution, Bundy asked, “Do you see or do you not see that the control of our lands in federal hands is the problem?” White seemed taken aback. “I disagree with that,” he said. In a tense back-and-forth, White—a conservative warhorse in the Montana legislature, born and raised on his family’s ranch in the Gallatin Valley—refused to give in to Bundy. Exasperated, he said, “The people gave the government the power to do things for us. If they don’t do it correctly, it is the power of the people to change that. Does that make sense?” Indeed, it was the most sensible thing anyone said all day.

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In 2015, received its 100 millionth visitor since its establishment in 1910. It’s still every bit as enchanting now as it was back then. Hike a few miles into the backcountry from practically any trailhead and you’ll feel like you have the million-acre wilderness to yourself. The real exploration in these parts, however, takes place beyond park boundaries.

Columbia Falls to Two Medicine Lake

The Middle Fork of the marks the southwestern boundary of the park. With the on the other side, paddlers can raft Class II–III whitewater. , in West Glacier, offers half- or full-day trips. One of the best ways to access the park is the Two Medicine entrance, a short nine-mile drive that ends at , where the water is so clear that on some days the surface provides an exact simile of 9,513-foot Rising Wolf and 8,271-foot Sinopah Mountains.

EAT & STAY: features locally raised beef and makes a mean huckleberry pie. With amazing views, cascading waterfalls, and access to lots of hiking trails, is one of the most spectacular sites in the park.

Going-to-the-Sun Road

, which is open only during the summer, winds from one jaw-dropping vista to another. Let someone else do the driving so you can take pictures by booking seats on one of daily interpretive bus tours. For a stunning day hike, park at Siyeh Bend and lace your boots up for a 4.5-mile hike up to . You’ll be rewarded with fields of wildflowers and panoramic downvalley views.

Whitefish

is a hub for recreation, with a seven-mile-long glacial lake, the ever-expanding , and Whitefish Mountain Resort overlooking it all. Hike Danny On National Recreation Trail to the 6,817-foot summit of the resort, or rent a mountain bike at Village Equipment Rentals and explore the town’s incredibly well-maintained network of multi-use trails. At Whitefish City Beach, rent a SUP or kayak at Paddlefish Sports. Back in town, treat yourself to an ice cream cone at Sweet Peaks Ice Cream and then take a leisurely stroll along the Whitefish River at nearby Riverside Park.

EAT & STAY: Order elk meatloaf and a glass of wine at Tupelo Grille. At Good Medicine Lodge, the breakfasts, like Montana Morning—a trout cake topped by a poached egg—are so delicious that they win national competitions.

Eureka

Six miles south of the Canadian border, sits in the far northwest corner of Montana. With easy access to and , the recreation potential is endless. has 500 routes rated 5.10 and higher and great views to 90-mile-long .

EAT & STAY: serves up soups, salads, juicy burgers, and classic old-fashioned malts. are brand-new and sit eight miles south of Eureka in the heart of the .

Libby

For a sense of just how pristine the wilderness around is: were both filmed in Kootenai County. North of Libby, check out , which crashes more than 90 feet over the course of a mile. Hike across the swinging and continue on Trail #218 up high cliffs overlooking the river to excellent viewpoints for bighorn sheep and peregrine falcons.

EAT & STAY: has tasty homemade everything, from the chips and salsa to cheese enchiladas. has a friendly staff and serves a complimentary continental breakfast.

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Residents of Whitefish, Montana, were curious about why the ski resort just north of town left the lights on all night. Night skiing ended March 3, and now it was Saturday, March 17—Saint Patrick’s Day. If they had pulled out binoculars, they would have caught glimpses of a lone headlamp inching up Ed’s Run, a steep intermediate shot that drops right into the mountain village. That headlamp belonged to professional ultrarunner Mike Foote, 34, of Missoula, who was attempting to break the world record for most vertical feet climbed and skied in 24 hours.

Austrian ski-mountaineering racer Ekkehard Dörschlag set the existing record—60,350 feet—back in 2009. Foote was shooting for 61,200 feet with a plan to make 60 laps of the 1,020-foot Ed’s Run. At about 9 p.m. on Friday night, he was more than halfway done, with 31 laps under his belt in less than 12 hours. But the conditions were deteriorating as snow that had warmed and melted during the day began to freeze into chunks the size of small hailstones.

Foote’s skis were beginning to slide backwards on the last pitch of the run, which was the coldest, windiest, and steepest. His laps were gradually slowing down as his body started to show the effects of the more than 30 miles he had already skinned, all of it straight up. He’d built a buffer that morning under an unusually blue sky—Whitefish Mountain Resort is famous for its inversions—shaving more than two minutes from his projected average of 24 minutes per lap for the first 20 laps. By late afternoon, Foote had bought himself two laps’ worth of time—but now the knife was cutting the other way.

At the base of the run, Foote’s support crew of more than a dozen friends manned a folding table with homemade snacks and an assortment of fluids, like water mixed with supplements and warm tea. Foote was burning an average of 500 calories per hour—twice what he consumes while running. His crew made sure to have a pair of skis waiting for him with skins already mounted so Foote wouldn’t have to waste a second during transitions. He skidded down from lap 31 and made a sweeping turn around a stake planted in the snow that served as the official lap marker. He popped out of one pair of 65-millimeter-waisted pink and green Dynafit race skis and stepped right into the next pair. Without a moment of pause, Foote stepped off.

A support crew member walked beside him for the first hundred yards, holding a bag of potato chips and a plate with boiled sweet potato slices, preopened energy gels, and bacon-and-rice balls. Foote gobbled as much as he could stomach, took a swig of Coca-Cola from a two-liter bottle, and said, “I should do this more often.” He mustered a half-smile and was off again into the night.

Foote grew up in Jefferson, Ohio, a town of a few thousand an hour east of Cleveland. The highest point in Ashtabula County is Owens Mound, which, at 1,150 feet, is not quite 600 feet higher than nearby Lake Erie. Needless to say, Foote was not born with hooves like his rivals in the Pyrenees and the Alps, or like his longtime friend and training partner Luke Nelson, a native Idahoan and a top-ranked American skimo racer and ultrarunner.

Foote didn’t start running in the mountains until 2004, when he moved to Missoula to study environmental science at the University of Montana. He had been a baseball player in high school, but out West he quickly developed a love of trail running and started competing in short races around Missoula. After working a few years as a raft guide in and a ski patroller at , Foote moved back to Missoula and took a job at the Runner’s Edge, where he eventually became the race coordinator.

In 2009, Foote ran his first ultra, the . “I had no expectations. I just wanted to survive,” Foote told me. He ended up finishing in the top ten. “I caught the bug then,” he said, “but I didn’t ever want to do a 100-miler again. It was horrible. Super painful. My body was destroyed. I just wasn’t used to it.” After that first 100-miler, Foote’s feet were so beat up that he didn’t run a step for six weeks. But he was hooked. In the years since, he’s finished second in the in Colorado’s San Juan Mountains three times and snagged two top-ten finishes in the , which runs through the mountains of France, Italy, and Switzerland. Now it only takes about a week of rest after a 100-miler before Foote starts running again.

Foote devotes his winters to high-intensity skimo races all over the world. The idea of setting a new vert record came to him in July 2017, after Hardrock. He wanted to do something on skis that would emulate the roughly 24-hour effort of a 100-mile race. It was only after he came up with the idea that he found Dörschlag’s record. “It was pretty esoteric,” Foote said.

His girlfriend, Katie Rogotzke, 30, a nurse practitioner who has completed a 50-kilometer race, captained his support team. “I was pretty incredulous,” she told me with a laugh as she changed out Foote’s skins between laps. Rogotzke said she never doubted him once he made the decision to train for the record. “He’s super steady. He likes faraway goals and getting into a Zen state of focus,” she said. “And the steeper the better.”

To prepare for the feat, Foote worked with coach Scott Johnston, who co-founded with legendary alpinist Steve House. Johnston said determining a race pace was the primary challenge in designing a training program for such a niche event. They settled on a goal of 2,560 feet per hour, including an anticipated average descent time of about 3.5 minutes per hour.

“Once we knew that was the race pace, we had to design a training schedule to optimize his physiology for that pace and develop his efficiency strategy,” Johnston said. Since Foote had such a depth of training experience from 100-mile and skimo races, Johnston said it was “just a matter of extrapolating” what they already knew about his metabolism and applying it to the unique demands of going uphill at a consistent grade for 24 hours. In the training jargon, Foote trained himself to become highly “monodirectional.”

“Rather than going out and doing shorter high-intensity work that’s faster than race pace,” Johnston said, “we needed to make him very efficient at that particular pace.” Foote’s training began last November and reached its apex in early February with two back-to-back 22,000-foot days at Montana Snowbowl, in Missoula. Foote stashed a duffel bag in the trees and set a skin track in fresh snow and banged out laps for about eight hours each day, proving to himself that he had the fitness to maintain race pace for at least a third of the distance, even alone and unsupported in less than optimum conditions.

Unfortunately, those two days took an unexpectedly severe toll on Foote’s body. “He didn’t recover well from the workout. It put him in a hole, and it took awhile for him to climb out,” Johnston said. “We had to go into emergency mode after that, but it’s a testament to Mike that he got the train back on the track again.” Johnston said he was confident Foote could’ve broken the 60,000-foot record then, and when race week finally came around, he told Foote, “The money’s in the bank. You know what you need to do.”

Foote said he had “a lot of nerves” on the day of the event and that he actually began to doubt himself during the first few laps. “I didn’t feel good at all. My heart rate was through the roof. It was just not clicking. I was sweaty,” Foote said. “But then I set into a groove. Having an aid station every 30 minutes forced me to eat and kept my energy levels constant.” The darkest hours of night were the most challenging, not least because the icy conditions forced Foote to yard on his poles to power through the final pitch, which was demoralizing in addition to creating an unanticipated energy demand.

By then, Foote had pacers leading him up the hill, including Nelson, which allowed him to turn off his brain and focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Foote’s community of support from his years as a ski patroller at the mountain paid off. The grooming machines came through and ran extra laps on the downhill portion of the run to soften the snow. At the beginning of the day, the downhill had been Foote’s only rest period. By 3:00 a.m., his quads were shattered, his feet were torn up, and he was screaming in pain with every turn on the downhills.

“When the sun started coming up, I started to feel good,” Foote told me, “or maybe I was just smelling the barn.” His pace had slowed to about 27 minutes per lap, but he was still barely within the window to complete 60 laps in less than 24 hours. When he finished lap 59, Foote officially broke the record with 60,180 feet gained. “The last couple of hours I thought, ‘I feel stable enough—this is probably going to happen,’” Foote told me from his bed at a nearby condo an hour after the finish.

“I felt a little emotional. I put a lot into this. It’s definitely one of the biggest goals of my life so far, and I was very much not confident that I’d be able to pull it off as the day approached. So I felt happy,” Foote said. “But I didn’t really have time to think about it, because we wanted to get an extra lap.” A dozen of his friends stepped off with him for the final lap, and with Nelson pacing him, Foote left them scrambling to catch up. Lap 60 was one of the fastest of the entire effort. He finished with five minutes to spare.

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Unless you live in New England (or, oddly, Florida), this winter feels like it’s off to a very slow start. It’s bone-dry in places around the West right now, with record-low snow conditions in typically snow-drenched locales in the Rockies and the Sierra Nevada. Taos, New Mexico, just saw some of its first snowflakes of the season, and Park City, Utah, has less than 50 percent of its average snowfall for this time of year. But it’s not all bad news. Resorts in the Pacific Northwest, Canada, and much of Europe are off to a fine start. Here’s where to go if you’re craving a dose of deep winter.

Whitefish, Montana

Montana’s Whitefish Mountain Resort has been coated in more than 13 feet of snow so far this season. There are direct flights into the nearby Kalispell airport from ten major cities, or you can ride Amtrak into town from places like Chicago, Seattle, or Minneapolis. The 86-room (from $139) opened in downtown Whitefish in 2016 and has ski-and-stay packages with lift tickets, an on-site spa, and a rooftop hot tub. A free shuttle will take you from town to the ski hill.

Verbier, Switzerland

Verbier is the perfect place to eat fondue in mountainside cabins and ride endless trams over vast, glaciated peaks. This winter in Switzerland has proven plentiful, with a 100-plus-inch base at upper elevations and good early season conditions. The (from $235) is located right next to the Medran lift and has boot dryers and croissant breakfasts. Tbar, the hotel’s in-house watering hole, serves sushi and aprùs-ski drinks.

Jay Peak, Vermont

Jay Peak somehow gets more snow than anywhere else in Vermont. The area has welcomed 190 inches so far, with a base depth of 46 inches. Sure, there have been rain and high winds on a few days, but you might have a better chance of scoring a powder day here than in the Rocky Mountains this winter. is walking distance to the tram, and if you’re traveling with kids, they’ll appreciate the indoor water park, arcade, and pizzeria downstairs in the hotel.

Mount Baker, Washington

Mount Baker once broke the record for most snowfall in a season when 1,140 inches fell in 1999, and while itÌęisn’tÌęhaving that kind of winter, the snow isÌęstill dependably deep. The mountain currently has 114 inches and counting—115 percent of the average for this time of year. Stay in the tiny town of Glacier, at the bottom of the ski resort access road. The has basic, clean rooms (from $119) and is about 25 minutes from the hill. It’s also next door to , a local favorite.

Kicking Horse, British Columbia

Interior British Columbia is having a stellar winter—or at least one that looks better than we’re seeing seeing in the United States. Kicking Horse has gotten more than 236 inches of snow—right on par with average. Stay at the (from $124), steps from the gondola, for upscale rooms and a European-style breakfast spread. Don’t miss the slopeside Double Black CafĂ© for coffee in the morning and beer in the afternoon. You can fly into Calgary, and twice-a-week shuttles—new this year—will take you from the airport to Kicking Horse, 2.5 hours away.

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If the word “hostel” reminds you of backpacking through Central America as a twentysomething, think again. A new breed of affordable shelter for travelers has arrived in North American adventure towns, with great rates, comfortable beds, and hotel-like amenities. You won’t have to bring your own sheets or sift through a sink full of dirty dishes to cook your ramen noodles, and there are some great deals to be had—provided you don’t mind sharing a bathroom or cooking your breakfast in the company of others. What’s more, many of these nine spots also offer private rooms.

Breckenridge, Colorado

The Bivvi

was born when two adventure-loving college friends decided to buy a run-down B&B and transform it into a modern hostel. Stay in a bunk, a private suite with an in-room hot tub, or a four-person apartment, and you’ll get a ski and bike storage room (equipped with boot driers), and a hot home-cooked breakfast of pancakes or eggs served each morning. A free bus to Breckenridge’s gondola picks you up out front, and wine and craft beer are served at the in-house bar. Bunks start at $29; private rooms at $129.

Truckee, California

Redlight Hostel

A block off Truckee’s main drag, offers easy access to skiing at Northstar, Squaw Valley, and Sugar Bowl. Located in a historic building first constructed in the 1880s, the Redlight derives its name from its previous life as a brothel. Bunks are available with privacy curtains, earplugs, and white-noise machines. There are also private rooms with shared bathrooms. A sauna and communal kitchen are on-site, along with ski and bike storage, plus a bar that attracts locals who pop in for a drink. Bunks start at $39; private rooms at $79.

Whistler, British Columbia

Pangea Pod

The private sleeping quarters at aren’t spacious, but you’ll get all the comforts of a nice hotel room, including fluffy towels, ski- and bike-savvy concierge services, and a lobby espresso bar. Guests share bathrooms, the gear storage room, and a more-than-spacious lounge that’s stocked with board games. Pods start around $40.

Ludlow, VermontÌę

Homestyle Hostel

Opened by a world-traveling couple in 2014, the feels like a charming New England bed and breakfast—only way more affordable. Homemade granola and Vermont-roasted coffee is served each morning, and dinner in the on-site restaurant is served Thursday through Sunday. A bar serves espresso by day and cocktails at night. In winter, a shuttle to Okemo Mountain Resort departs from across the street. A bunk in a six-person room starts at $75; private rooms start at $115.

Denver, Colorado

Hostel Fish

At , rooms are decorated with wall-sized maps, chandeliers, murals, and vintage clocks. There’s daily housekeeping, iPads available to borrow, free coffee, and a bar and kitchen. The front desk staff is happy to recommend adventures for you, offering tips on everything from nearby mountain bike rides to happy hour at the Museum of Contemporary Art. Bunks start at $35; private rooms from $160.

San Clemente, California

House of Trestles

Surfers make up the majority of guests at , a few miles from San Onofre State Beach, home to San Clemente’s most popular surf breaks. You can rent a surfboard for $25Ìęa dayÌęand add a cruiser bike with a surf rack for $15 a day. New to surfing? Book a lesson with the Baja Surf Camp. While drinking kombucha in the lounge, you’ll feel like you’re in the pages of a surf magazine, since each room is sponsored by a different surf brand. You’re relegated to a bunk bed here, but they come with curtains for a touch of privacy. Bunks from $29.

Ellijay, Georgia

Mulberry Gap

Mountain bikers love , a collection of cabins, plus a camp kitchen and dining hall, set on a 15-acre forested property deep in the southern Appalachian Mountains. The place is surrounded by a network of mountain bike trails that have been designated with status. Home-cooked breakfasts and dinners come included in your stay. Rent a cabin, a bunk cabin, or a campsite, and enjoy access to outdoor hot tubs, fire pits, and communal bathhouses. The staff will tune your bike or shuttle you to a trailhead for an extra fee. Cabins start at $65Ìęper person, or $19Ìęper person for camping.

Whitefish, Montana

Whitefish Hostel

The grants you superb access to skiing at Whitefish Mountain Resort, lake outings on Whitefish Lake, and hiking in Glacier National Park. In winter, you can book the whole house for up to ten friends for $225 a night. During summer months, reserve one of ten bunks starting at $35. The attached Super Sisters Café serves up tasty vegetarian lunches and smoothies.

Boulder, Colorado

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Lodge

The opened on the west side of Boulder in 2015. You can rent a private cabin or suite, grab a bunk bed, or pitch a tent on wooden platforms on the banks of Fourmile Creek. Midwinter, the hotel offers free weekend shuttles to Eldora Mountain Resort, 30 minutes away. A newly built community room serves beer and wine near a wood-burning fireplace. Bunks start at $65; private rooms at $209.

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