Powder Ghost Towns. Peter Bronski
Lost Ski Resorts in the Central Mountains
Lost Ski Resorts Along the Interstate 70 Corridor
Lost Ski Resorts in the Steamboat Zone
Lost Ski Resort on the Western Slope
PREFACE
For years my love affair with skiing in Colorado held dual citizenship: in the backcountry, and at the resorts. It wasn’t until the 2005/2006 winter season that the two came together in a unique marriage, and it all happened because of an unassuming email from my good friend Tom.
“We should go find and ski these places,” was the full content of his message, plus a hyperlink to an Internet website, www.coloradoskihistory.com. It was the Rocky Mountain manifestation of a movement that had started in New England years earlier, known as the New England Lost Ski Areas Project. Ski history buffs were documenting the history of “lost” ski areas, ones that had long since closed their doors and shut their lifts. Some researchers hiked the ski areas during the summertime, walking up their grassy slopes and snapping photos of old buildings, lift foundations, whatever they saw. As far as Tom and I knew, though, no one was actually skiing these places in winter.
Tom was onto something, I thought. His idea gave birth to “Powder Stash,” an article I wrote for 5280: Denver’s Mile-High Magazine, about four of Colorado’s lost ski areas. It was during the research phase of that article that another friend, Andrew, made the suggestion that resulted in this book. We were backcountry skiing at Geneva Basin, the fourth and final area of my magazine article. Andrew and I were halfway down a run, grinning at each other—it was a powder day at a “resort,” and we had the runs all to ourselves. “Have you thought about writing a guidebook to these areas?” he offered. “I would definitely be interested in skiing at more of these places.” Andrew had a point.
Since that day in March 2007, I’ve skied at nearly 40 lost areas throughout Colorado and southern Wyoming. It’s been a fantastic journey in so many ways—days spent in the backcountry with good friends; touching the history and heritage of Colorado’s skiing past; powder days like I haven’t had in years.
I initially worried that researching and writing this book would “burn me out” on skiing. That, by making skiing my job for a winter, it would cease to retain its casual pleasure, and would become drudgery as I obsessed about meeting my deadlines. But to my great joy, Powder Ghost Towns has been a rewarding, enlightening, and most of all, fun experience. And I hope the information contained within these pages offers the same to you.
Peter Bronski
September 2008
FOREWORD
When one considers skiing in Colorado in the 21st century, names like Aspen, Vail, Telluride, and Breckenridge inevitably come to mind. The ski resort industry in Colorado has grown immensely from its humble, pre-World War II beginnings into one of the dominant winter sports regions in the world. But what few modern skiers and snowboarders realize is that the history of skiing and ski areas in Colorado is as rich as the gold and silver that were mined from these hills.
Scattered throughout the seven major mountain ranges in Colorado lay many forgotten ski hills, some small and others large, but all overgrown relics of a once vibrant skiing community, a community focused solely on the experience of skiing, and not the bottom line. From the earliest ski hills at Chalk Mountain, Pikes Peak, and Cement Creek, to more modern “lost ski areas” like Ski Rio, Berthoud Pass, and Conquistador, the shared history of vibrant Front Range ski clubs hosting jumping events and miners using immense wooden skis to race each other back to the bars runs deep.
Fortunately, modern backcountry skiers can relive much of the colorful history of these lost ski areas with a keen appetite for adventure and a desire to relive the old days. As a lifelong skier and college history major, I have spent many days ski touring over the deep and untracked snows of lost resorts like Marble, Montezuma, Geneva Basin, Berthoud Pass, and Dallas Divide, soaking up the sense of good times gone by and imagining myself as a skier in the 1930s or 1940s. While skinning up, one can contemplate the ghost skiers that once carved turns down these slopes, and take solace in the fact that our sport evolved to what it is today because of the experiences of those skiers and ski area operators. I love inspecting the old rope tows and broken-down lift shacks, imagining the joy that these slopes and tows brought to generations of skiers.
Inevitably, these ski hills will fade into the memories of the skiers that cared about them, and unfortunately, modern skiers and snowboarders may not know or care enough to keep their memories alive. Fortunately for backcountry skiers and ski history buffs, Peter Bronski has taken the time to accurately and with great detail guide us into the past so that we all might relive the glory days of skiing in Colorado. Powder Ghost Towns will inspire skiers to search out the ski history that may lie in their own backyard. With this book I’m confident that many of our lost ski areas will get a chance to relive their glory days as skiers once again seek out the joys of skiing and riding on their slopes.
Enjoy,
Chris Davenport
Old Snowmass, Colorado
September 2008
Chris