Resorts

The community supported a local ski area—until bigger and better options opened in the high country.

The Chautauqua Movement, which started in 1874 in Chautauqua Lake, New York, initially focused on religious education, but soon expanded to include the arts, culture, entertainment and literature along with an appreciation of the great outdoors. After visiting, Theodore Roosevelt deemed the Chautauqua Institution, the movement’s initial setting, “a gathering that is typically American in that it is typical of America at its best,” according to the Colorado Chautauqua’s website.

Since 1898, the Colorado Chautauqua has operated on a mesa in southwest Boulder. With its original structures intact, it is the only Chautauqua west of the Mississippi that has continuously operated largely in the way it was originally built. Meanwhile, 40 miles of trails framed by Boulder’s famed Flatirons—rock faces named for their resemblance to old-fashioned clothing irons—weave through the surrounding Chautauqua Park.

Few of today’s estimated one million annual visitors know that the site was once home to the Chautauqua Mesa Ski Area.

Photo top: Skiing in the shadow of the Flatirons. University of Colorado 1957 Yearbook

Operating on and off from 1947–1952, then re-opened in the early 1960s, the area relied on a 200-foot rope tow, powered by a gasoline engine from a World War II Dodge army truck, to service three lighted ski jumps and one slope, according to Boulder historian Silvia Pettem.

Strong Backs Wanted

In October 1947, sporting goods entrepreneur Bert Street asked local officials for help in creating a place for Boulder residents to ski in their backyard. The town cleared a portion of Chautauqua Park of rocks and other obstacles.

By January 1948, enough work was completed to create a children’s ski jump out of dirt and snow. It was so well received that a junior ski championship was held on the slope, attracting 100 competitors. Felix Dunbar—recently back from World War II, when he served with the U.S. Army’s 10th Mountain Division—was recruited as a ski instructor.

“Operation Big Push” began in October 1948, soliciting more than 25 volunteers with strong backs to clear the runs. It was a hump trying to get University of Colorado at Boulder (CU) students to volunteer. As organizer Steve Bradley complained in the Boulder Daily Camera (Nov. 1, 1948), “Hardly a skier exists who enjoys splintering his skis or ripping off his steel edges by running over hidden rocks, but pitifully few of them seem to be willing to do anything about it, if it means work.”

Boulder’s junior chamber of commerce also invited “girls or women” to be on hand, “for there will be lighter jobs for them,” the local press reported. The City of Boulder and the National Guard supplied the bulldozers, trucks, shovels and picks to help remove rocky debris. The guard used it as an
opportunity to train bulldozer operators.

After various upgrades, the Chautauqua Mesa Ski Area formally opened in January 1949, offering “slatsmen” as they were often called, three ski jumps of varying heights, for beginner to advanced levels. In addition, the area boasted one ski slope and an extended rope tow, which had been moved uphill, as well as night-skiing lights and field telephones connecting the base and summit lift operators.

Lift tickets cost one dollar, and just 50 cents for children under age 12. “Most skiers bought surplus boots and skis left over from the U.S. Army’s 10th Mountain Division,” wrote Boulder historian Pettem.

Peggy S., once a student at CU, located a mile away, commented on her ski experience on the Colorado Ski History website: “I skied at Chataqua (sic) Mesa, Boulder, in 1949, with my Phys Ed ski class (for credit) during winter quarter of my freshman year. As an absolute beginner, I found the rope tow so hard to ride that I preferred to remove my skis and walk up.”

Undeterred, she continued, “We were glad there was just enough snow to go there at all, after initial lessons on the lawn by the freshman girls’ dorm. At least we learned to walk on skis, fall, get up, and snowplow.”

During Summer 1949, volunteers again improved the slopes, clearing away even more rocks and raking and seeding to reduce erosion. (Jane Barker, Daily Camera, Oct. 24, 1971).

Going Downhill

As quickly as it came, Chautauqua Mesa’s ski history went downhill in the early 1950s. Plans called for a permanent “city ski jump” and a ski school to capitalize on the increasing interest in the sport. But these improvements came to a halt thanks to vandalism, a lack of snow and the Chinook winds common to Boulder’s highly variable winter climate.

An attempt to rekindle skiing at Chautauqua Mesa in the early 1960s lasted only a short while. Jumps were built and slopes were groomed by hand, but again, inconsistent snowfall thwarted skiers.

The year 1962, though a significant one for Colorado skiing, did not bode well for Chautauqua Mesa. Eldora Mountain ski area opened in nearby Nederland, and lifts began turning at Vail and other big-time resorts in Summit County. Now there were plenty of opportunities for Boulder-area skiers to log vertical, although they had to travel a bit higher and farther west of the Flatirons.

Occasionally, though, in the hours just after a major snowstorm and before the intense Colorado sun radiates its heat, you can see skiers and snowboarders poach the same slopes picked clean two generations ago as they follow the tracks of history in Chautauqua Park. 

Jeff Blumenfeld is a vice president of ISHA and past president of the North American Snowsports Journalists Association. A fellow of the Explorers Club, he’s covered the adventure field for ExpeditionNews.com for 30 years.

Utah resort's massive expansion will make it one of the largest ski areaas in North America.

Deer Valley Resort, up valley from Utah’s Park City, has long been a go-to for the well-to-do, offering impeccably groomed skiing, high-end amenities and stellar accommodations while maintaining what may be the highest service levels found at any ski hill in the world.

Photo, top of page: Beginning in 1947, Snow Park ski area featured lodgepole-pine lift towers. Ski Utah photo.

It may not be the steepest, the deepest or the gnarliest of mountains, but it’s one of the most rarefied Alpine experiences anywhere on snow. It starts when staff members rush to help you unload your gear at the Snow Park base area. It continues as you make turns on the mountain’s state-of-the-art corduroy, knowing that the hill limits the number of skiers on busy days. It also remains one of the few resorts in the U.S. that is still a skiers-only mountain—alongside neighboring Alta (about an hour’s drive away) and Vermont’s Mad River Glen. Then factor in luxury lodging and dining to match, and you have one of the most finely tuned ski experiences anywhere.

Now the resort has rolled out phase one of an extraordinary expansion that will more than double its size. Once complete, the massive growth project, tagged with the corporate moniker “Expanded Excellence,” will add 3,700 acres of new terrain, plus hotels, restaurants and retail. As a result Deer Valley will be one of the largest resorts in North America (though only the second-largest in the valley, behind Park City Mountain Resort). But first, take a look at where this luxury lair got its start.

At First, Frog Valley

Initially, what is now Deer Valley was called Frog Valley. Trails in the present-day Snow Park area were built by the Works Progress Administration to spur winter recreation and employment in the region. In 1936 some 600 people came via a rail connection from Salt Lake City up Parley’s Canyon to the Park City/Snow Park Winter Carnival .

The first lift-serviced access in the area opened on Flagstaff Mountain in 1947 and was named the Snow Park Ski Area. It was founded by two Park City locals, Bob Burns and Otto Carpenter, who salvaged tram machinery from disused mines, then felled aspens and lodgepole pines to construct rudimentary lift towers. Skiers paid $1.50 to ride the lifts for the day. The resort was in operation until 1968, and today’s Burns and Carpenter lifts, at the base of Bald Eagle Mountain, are named after the ski area’s original owners.

Deer Valley Is Born

Deer Valley came to life under Edgar and Polly Stern, who had spent years working in the broadcasting and hospitality industries. In 1948, the Stern family launched Royal Street Corporation in New Orleans. The company owned and operated NBC affiliate stations in Louisiana and Alabama before transitioning into real estate development and then resort and hotel operations. Its successes included the Royal Orleans Hotel, located in the heart of the French Quarter, and the legendary Stanford Court Hotel on Nob Hill in San Francisco.

The Sterns first visited Park City in 1968 and purchased the existing Treasure Mountain Ski Area (now known as Park City Mountain Resort) in 1971, along with additional land that would later become part of Deer Valley. After a few years, they sold Park City Mountain to Nick Badami (U.S. Ski and Snowboard Hall of Fame Class of 2011) to focus on developing Deer Valley Resort.

As envisioned by the Sterns, Deer Valley would provide a service-oriented skiing experience, with fine accommodations and memorable dining. They intended to create this five-star destination resort from the ground up. While many individuals contributed to making Deer Valley a reality, 1952 Olympic champion and freestyle skiing pioneer Stein Eriksen was at the forefront. Eriksen advised Edgar Stern on creating the world’s finest ski area and best ski hotel. He then served as the director of skiing at Deer Valley for 35 years while fronting the Stein Eriksen Lodge, which celebrates his legacy.

When the resort opened on December 26, 1981, it had five chairlifts, 35 ski runs on Bald Eagle and Bald mountains, and two day lodges. Over the next 38 years, additional facilities were built, which up until the expansion totaled 21 chairlifts, 103 runs and six bowls spread over 2,026 acres.

In 1987, Roger Penske, an owner at Stein Eriksen Lodge since its inception, became a partner in Deer Valley Resort. The founder of Penske Corporation, which includes Penske Truck Leasing and Detroit Diesel, he also owns Team Penske, the most successful team in the history of the Indianapolis 500.

The expanded ownership helped with the launch of the Crown Point lift in 1991, along with the resort’s first high-speed quad, the Carpenter Express, on Bald Eagle Mountain. The Red Cloud and Viking lifts were built on Flagstaff Mountain, and in 1993, the Northside Express opened. New high-speed quads replaced the Carpenter and Wasatch lifts in 1996. In 1997, the Wasatch triple was relocated to make room for the Quincy lift, and the Deer Crest quad was constructed. 

A major terrain expansion occurred during the 1998–1999 season, when two additional mountains were added: Little Baldy Peak and Empire Canyon.

During the 2002 Winter Olympics, Deer Valley hosted freestyle mogul as well as aerial and Alpine slalom events. It has continued to host World Cup and Olympic Qualifier competitions.

New Owners, Rival Development

In October 2017, it was announced that Deer Valley was to be purchased by a newly formed entity between KSL Capital Partners and the Aspen Skiing Company, which soon became the Alterra Mountain Company.

The ski area’s story took an even more unexpected turn in 2019 with the announcement of the Mayflower Mountain Resort, a significant and independent development situated on the backside of Deer Valley Resort, adjacent to the gated Deer Crest subdivision. It would face Jordanelle Reservoir and lie close to U.S. 40.

Mayflower’s developer, Extell Development Company—best known for Manhattan trophy real estate—planned to build three hotels, with at least one of five-star caliber, for a total of around 800 rooms. One hundred of those hotel rooms would offer reduced rates to military personnel, since the project was partly funded by Utah’s Military Installation Development Authority (MIDA). Under the agreement, Extell will receive a portion of the property tax generated from the development in exchange for the reduced fees for the military. The developer anticipated adding more than 1,500 residential units. Plans were also in place for bars, restaurants and retail stores that would occupy approximately 250,000 square feet of commercial space. New ski lifts were part of the design, too.

Extell and Deer Valley’s owner, Alterra Mountain Company, signed a 199-year lease in 2019 to enable a connection between the two resorts in the future. Given the nature of the ski business, the smart money was on an eventual joint project. If the plans for this adjacent resort sound familiar, it’s because they became the blueprint for the current expansion. In August 2024, Extell and Deer Valley announced a collaboration, with the two resorts becoming one under the Deer Valley moniker. The first phase of the expansion is scheduled to open this coming winter.

Expanded Elegance

Deer Valley is now poised to become one of the largest ski resorts in North America. When “Expanded Excellence” is completed, the resort will feature more than 5,726 acres of skiable terrain across 10 mountain peaks, accessible by 37 chairlifts serving 238 ski runs, as well as the new Deer Valley East Village at the base. This development comes as the state prepares for the 2034 Olympics hosted by Salt Lake City.

The new base village will host ski school facilities, children’s programs, rentals, retail and dining options. For those who’ve routinely been caught up in Park City traffic on the way to Deer Valley, the good news is that the village provides an additional gateway via U.S. Route 40, bypassing most of the congestion.

The East Village debuted in November 2024 with the opening of the new Grand Hyatt Deer Valley. It’s an elegant and well-sited hotel with a vast, atrium-style lobby that offers expansive views across Jordanelle Reservoir and the Uinta Mountains. It meets the development’s MIDA requirements, with 100 rooms designated at discounted rates for military personnel.

Yet the hotel is also chic enough that it hosted the opening party for the Sundance Film Festival in its ballroom in January 2025. The Grand Hyatt has 387 guest rooms, 40 suites, 55 private residences and nearly 40,000 square feet of conference and event space. The pool deck features multiple hot tubs. The signature restaurant is Remington Hall, and the atrium serves “High Chocolate,” the hotel’s answer to afternoon tea in a London hotel.

Next door, construction is underway on the new Four Seasons Resort and Residences Deer Valley. There’s a rumor that Aman Resorts, a hotel chain that targets billionaires, will build here, too. The company already operates the super-luxurious Amangiri desert resort on Utah’s southern border, as well as the Amangani in Jackson, Wyoming.

On a recent visit, I was amazed by the vastness of the new terrain, which stretches for miles. The resort sprawls east of Bald Mountain and includes South Peak, Park Peak, Big Dutch, Pioche and Hail Mountains. Many runs have already been cut and include open intermediate terrain plus some steep slopes, bowls and glades for expert skiers. The Green Monster, a new run snaking down the mountain for 4.8 miles, opened in February 2025. It’s an easy run that beginners can enjoy, extending from Bald Mountain down to the new East Village.

The expansion began rolling out in the 2024–2025 season and is expected to gain momentum in the 2025–2026 season and proceed over the next few years. Deer Valley will continue to limit the number of daily guests and intends to remain a skiers-only mountain.

For those who enjoy Deer Valley, the resort has long epitomized a level of service and perfection that’s set a high standard in the ski world. The question is whether this beloved enclave of privileged powder and expert grooming will retain its core values and elite standards across its greatly expanded footprint. 

 A brief history of skiing in Bariloche.

While much of haute skiing culture in South America centers around Chile’s Valle Nevado and ritzy Portillo, as well as Las Leñas in Argentina’s wine region of Mendoza, the Argentinian mountain town of San Carlos de Bariloche has a richer history of European immigration and, therefore, deeper roots in mountaineering and skiing. Like Aspen and Chamonix, Bariloche, as it’s commonly known, was a real town long before it became a ski center.

Photo top: In 1936, Innsbruck’s Hans Nöbl chose Cerro Catedral as the location for a
world-class ski resort. Courtesy Club Andino Bariloche.

The Early Years

The Cerro Catedral ski area’s birth and infancy are inextricably tied to Bariloche’s growth (translated from the Mapuche Indian dialect, the town’s name means “people from the other side of the mountain”). The mountain Cerro Catedral was named for its resemblance to a cathedral.

Argentina, like North America, is a melting pot, especially Bariloche. German and Swiss migrants first arrived in the town before the 20th century dawned, bringing many architectural, cultural and gastronomic influences that came to define the region.

Ruben Macaya grew up skiing on Cerro Catedral and raced for Argentina in the late 1960s. He later coached the U.S. Ski Team at the 1984 Winter Olympics, then coached in Aspen and Vail and for decades was the head coach for the Sun Valley race program. Macaya explains that the first European settlers arrived at Bariloche in 1891. Most of these folks arrived via the glacial lakes and Indian trails over the low pass from Chile, which had developed a thriving German community composed mostly of liberal refugees from the failed European revolutions of 1848.

Macaya relates that in 1903, Francisco Pascasio Moreno, a pioneering scientist and explorer, donated land near Bariloche for a national park. In 1922 Parque Nacional de Sur was established as the first national park in South America and the third in the Americas. Argentina’s powerful national parks office planned to make Bariloche into a touristy, European-looking town using its own public funds.

Beginning in 1913, a German named Ricardo Roth had the concession to the road and the boats that transported people between Chile and Bariloche, a four- or five-day trip. On the Argentine side was another German, shop owner Carlos Weitherholdt, now considered the founder of San Carlos de Bariloche, which sits at an elevation of 2,600 feet on the south shore of Lake Nahuel Huapi. In the other direction, toward Buenos Aires and the Atlantic, stretched the desert prairie, the Pampas. Crossing the Pampas via stagecoach or ox cart took four to six weeks—it was like crossing the Great Plains in North America.

Just before World War I, construction began on a narrow-gauge railroad from Buenos Aires to Bariloche and, eventually, to the Pacific coast. But the war halted investment by European and American financiers. Argentina profited from the war mainly by exporting beef and horses for use by European armies. Osvaldo Ancinas, the Bariloche-born Olympic skier who settled in Squaw Valley in 1960, jokes that Argentina raises “not only the fastest horses, but the best-tasting horses!”

After the war, Austrians, Italians and Slovenians arrived, fleeing the political and financial chaos accompanying the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. At Bariloche they found a region as gorgeous as their beloved Alps and Dolomites.

The railroad from Buenos Aires finally reached Bariloche in 1934. At that point, wealthy folks from the city made the town and its surrounding mountains a holiday getaway.

By the 1940s, Bariloche had grown from a remote regional outpost of 1,000 inhabitants into a bustling city of 5,000 residents and Argentina’s epicenter of skiing and hiking, with around 55,000 annual visitors. After World War II another influx of Europeans—refugees from both Axis and Allied nations—came to start a new life in a setting that felt European.

Now close to a quarter of a million inhabitants live in the region (Bariloche has a permanent population of about 145,000), and as the gateway to Cerro Catedral, the city welcomes more than 600,000 tourists each winter alone. The Alpine influence still shines brightly, from torchlight descents down Catedral’s slopes during the annual Winter Festival (Fiesta de la Nieve) to the veal Milanese lunches pounded out for diners in the mountain refugios to locally made chocolates that would knock the socks off Ferrero Rocher.

A Ski Area Is Born

Juan Javier Neumeyer was one of the first physicians to establish a practice in Bariloche. Argentine-born to Swiss parents, he spent several years in Switzerland and became an accomplished climber and skier. In 1930, Neumeyer introduced the Bavarian gymnast and climber Otto Meiling to skiing; their climbing partners included Reynaldo Knapp, a British pilot who set up a tour-guiding service, and Swiss-trained surveyor Emilio Frey.

In 1931, these four friends founded the Club Andino de Bariloche to promote mountain sports. In 1934, Frey was appointed the first superintendent of Nahuel Huapi National Park. The four founders built seven refugios, the first one on 4,500-foot Cerro Otto, four miles west of Bariloche. Today, all seven huts continue to shelter skiers and climbers throughout the millions of acres of wilderness in both summer and winter.

Catedral’s roots were planted shortly thereafter. In 1936 the National Parks Directorate signed a five-year contract with Innsbruck-born skier Hans Nöbl to scout a suitable location near Bariloche for a winter resort of international caliber. Nöbl came well-recommended: Working for the Agnelli family, owners of Fiat, he had helped manage the launch of Italy’s Sestriere ski resort in 1934 and then became head of its ski school. According to Andreas Praher, author of Austrian Skiing in the Nazi Era, Nöbl avoided entanglement with the Nazi element while he was in the Innsbruck Ski Club, but got the Sestriere gig after teaching Mussolini’s sons to ski.

Macaya explains that Nöbl came to Buenos Aires and charmed the wealthy skiers there. Arriving in Bariloche, he surveyed

several potential sites for the big resort. “There were two other locations he considered, but at one of them you would have had to take a boat to get to the ski resort, and the other was closer to the Chilean border than to Bariloche, so they ruled it out,” explains Roberto Taddeo, nephew of Osvaldo Ancinas and a well-known ski coach.

Bariloche native Vicente Ojeda, who grew up to be a downhill ski champion, remembers that “Nöbl was tall and very skinny with big, blond hair. He was a classy dresser and an elegant skier. [Local] people didn’t really like him; he was arrogant and business-like, pinching money wherever he could, so people were a little wary of him. But he did a lot for the town of Bariloche, and we got Catedral because of him.”

Nöbl’s eventual choice bore sweet fruit almost immediately. In 1938—the year he settled full time in Bariloche—he directed the design of a tram to Cerro Catedral’s 6,300-foot summit. The tram parts were manufactured in Italy before World War II broke out but sat on a dock until trade resumed in 1945. In 1940 the first drag lifts were installed at Catedral, with financing arranged by Dr. Antonio Lynch, president of the Club Argentino de Ski (CAS), founded in 1938. The lifts ran

from the base area to an elevation of 5,600 feet. Two years later, the first ski lodge on Cerro Catedral was completed (managed by CAS), on what was then the highest point of the ski area. It was named Refugio Lynch, and it was there that three-year-old Ruben Macaya came to live with his mother, who worked as the hostel’s chef and housekeeping manager for the concessionaire, Carlos Oertle.

“Oertle ended up being like a grandfather to me,” Macaya says. “When [my mother] got the job cooking at Refugio Lynch, it was a five-star lodge. The whole thing was unbelievable. All the chairs and sofas were cowhide, hand hewn and hand painted, and there were paintings from famous European and South American [artists]. The place was first class. When my mom got there, she said, ‘Oh, my God! Where have I landed? This

place is fantastic.’ It had beds in three big rooms, one for women and two for men. It had room for 15 women and 28 men.”

The resort lay within the national park, and development was funded largely by the national parks office. Park employees built the roads and infrastructure, at times carrying loads up the mountain on foot. The Argentinian government also invited private investment for hotels within the park. In one case, an Italian dowager, the Contessa Gambona, built the Hotel Catedral, and in 1944 the first base accommodations were opened to Buenos Aires elite.

Catalina Reynal, La Madrina (the Godmother)

Osvaldo Ancinas recalls, “I started skiing in August 1944, when I was 10 years old. We had a 1,500-meter surface lift, and the old cable car that was installed in 1950 took us up. I started skiing at the school of Catalina Reynal.” Reynal came from a wealthy cattle-ranching family, with thousands of acres on the Pampas. She became concerned that the children of the community couldn’t afford to ski. “She wanted the children of

Bariloche to learn,” Ancinas says. “So she’d take all the kids up to the mountain in a truck with a cover on it. They had 18 feet of snow at the bottom of the mountain. She always told me Bariloche needed to keep the kids busy with skiing. Her friend Antonio Pelligrino got together the skis and boots and such. What a wonderful woman! She and Antonio were how I learned to love to ski. She introduced me to the sport I still love today.”

Macaya once visited Reynal at her home in Buenos Aires. “I asked her what drove her to help the kids,” he recalls. “She said that at the time, when you went to Hotel Catedral it was just the wealthy elite of Buenos Aires, and that the locals were shut out. ‘How can the locals learn to ski if we don’t help them?’ She got instructors to work with kids on the mountain. She was a visionary in that regard.”

Cosmopolitan Ski School

The first two ski instructors at Catedral were Nöbl and Meiling. “They did not like each other,” Macaya says. “Hans was more interested in big money and exposure, whereas Meiling was a real mountain man—he despised the wealthy people of Buenos Aires. His school was for the people, whereas Hans’s was more for the elites.”

At the end of World War II, Dinko Bertoncelj was 16 years old. When his father was shot, he fled from Slovenia to Austria and spent two years in a British-run refugee camp. He managed to climb and ski and was encouraged by an Austrian coach to imigrate to Argentina. Bertoncelj was still a teenager when he landed in Bariloche but soon became a leader in the mountaineering community, putting up first ascents and joining expeditions to the Himalaya and Antarctica.

“His first job was running the boilers at the Hotel Catedral,” says Macaya. “He skied with the family that owned the concessions.” Bertoncelj traveled back to Austria to get certified in ski instruction at St. Christof and also taught in the United States before returning to Bariloche. “By about 1960, he was head of the CAS ski school,” Macaya says. “There were so many Europeans in Bariloche, they were teaching each other to be instructors.” Eventually Bertoncelj took charge of ski instruction for the Argentine army.

Ancinas remembers taking lessons from a Polish instructor, Andres Nowortya. “He’d say, ‘You got to bend your knees some more or I’m not gonna teach you!’ And then we had another coach, he’d say, ‘We’re going to the mountain to be away from everybody and be closer to God.’ And we walked. We carried everything by foot. Even as a small boy, standing up with snow up to my chest! And we became the first members of the ski patrol in 1950–51. I was 16.”

Boom Years

The ski scene at Cerro Catedral boomed in the 1950s. Then airline service to Bariloche began in 1967.

“Billy Reynal [nephew of Catalina] was a genius of marketing,” says Roberto Taddeo. Reynal, who had an American mother, left school early to work in the oil business. He loved to ski and loved airplanes, so he acquired Austral Airlines and organized a holding company, Lagos del Sur. Through this company, Reynal developed several new chairlifts on Catedral, which opened a vast bowl east of Refugio Lynch. Then he created Sol Jet, a tourist company, and built several mid-price hotels both in the city and at the ski area.

His goal was to democratize skiing, making it accessible to a middle-class market. Austral flew passenger routes day and night—shuttling skiers from Buenos Aires to stay in Lagos del Sur hotels in Bariloche and Catedral. But Austral competed with the government-owned Aerolineas Argentinas, and in 1980 the country’s military dictatorship nationalized Reynal’s businesses. Reynal left to live in the U.S. For a decade, the management of Catedral was split chaotically between two companies, one controlled by the dictatorship. Civilian rule returned after the 1982 Falklands War. Eventually Reynal and his son returned, and they resumed control of Catedral from 1997 to 2001.

Bariloche Today

“When I left Bariloche in 1960, there were only 25,000 people living there,” says Ancinas. “Now there are 160,000. A friend told me recently there were 21,000 people skiing on Catedral one day. It’s a big change.”

Ancinas traveled to his hometown last spring to celebrate his 90th birthday on the mountain. While there, he realized that some of the hazards have changed. “Now at the Refugio Lynch, they ski by at 100 miles an hour!” he says. “When I was young, you had to watch out because the foxes would steal your lunch!”

“Yes!” laughs Macaya. “Once, years ago, the foxes actually ate through the phone cables. They ate Osvaldo’s long thongs while he was having lunch at the top of the mountain.”

Catedral isn’t the only ski area near Bariloche—Winter Park is the “town” lift network on close-in Cerro Otto. But those who grew up there insist Catedral is by far the most beautiful. Ancinas calls it the most beautiful ski resort in the world.

By day skiers can shred 1,500 acres of in-bounds terrain and another 1,500 acres of backcountry, much of it with stunning views of colossal glacially carved lakes dotted with islands, smaller Alpine lakes, thousand-year-old deciduous and evergreen forests, and volcanos in both Chile and Argentina. (They still occasionally erupt.) Bootpack through a notch off the summit’s backside to access millions of acres of pristine national park. Sunrises and sunsets ignite the silhouetted mountains of Patagonia in a fiery burst of red, orange and gold. And by night, a billion stars illuminate the lazy haze of the Milky Way. 

Jay Flemma practices law and recently moved from upstate New York to Boise, Idaho. He also writes about golf for websites owned by ABC, CBS and NBC.

How a sleepy Swiss resort underwent development on steroids. 

Switzerland’s Andermatt was among the earliest Alpine resorts. (The name, which translates to “at the meadow,” refers to the town’s location, near Gotthard Pass.) Well-to-do adventurers began summering here at the height of the Romantic era in the early 19th century, and skiing arrived with Swiss army trainees around 1890. Historic but sleepy for much of its existence, Andermatt went into fast-forward mode in 2005 with the arrival of an Egyptian billionaire, who invested $1.4 billion to create one of the most luxurious resorts in the Alps. In 2022, Vail Resorts upped the ante, buying a 55 percent stake in the development.

This is a tale with as many turns as a slalom course.

Set at 4,737 feet elevation (1,440 meters) in a dramatic valley with steep mountains on all sides, Andermatt is a charming town of venerable Alpine architecture, quaint shops and onion-domed churches. You are, indeed, in the land of Heidi.

It’s also surrounded by impressive slopes, with two main ski areas: Gemsstock, where intermediate and expert skiers can find challenging runs and a vertical drop of nearly 5,000 feet, and the gentler Nätschen/Oberalp area on the Gütsch, where easier slopes await on the sunnier side of the resort.

At first glance, it’s a very nice and well-situated resort, without the name recognition of Zermatt or St. Moritz. But then you spot the sleekly modern new hotels and apartments at the edge of town, with cutting-edge Alpine architecture that blends in with the centuries-old neighbors. Due to restrictive zoning, those new buildings are a rare sight in any Swiss ski resort, and they tell a remarkable story of revitalization, unfolding by the day.

Queen Victoria and the Swiss Army

Andermatt sits in the Urseren Valley and is part of the Saint-Gotthard Massif. It is essentially the center of the Alps, where north-south and east-west meet in Switzerland. This is also the headwaters of the Rhône River, flowing westward and south toward the Mediterranean. A few miles in the other direction, the Rhine River emerges and heads north and west to empty into the North Sea. The snowstorms of the central Alps also tend to converge here, making it one of the best powder spots in the country.

Three of Switzerland’s most significant mountain passes also meet here—the Furka, the Gotthard and the Oberalp—making the area an important crossroads even before Roman times. Archaeologists note traces of temporary Neolithic camps (around 4000 B.C.E.), but the earliest documented evidence of permanent settlement was by the Walsers, a Germanic tribe, in the second century C.E. They gave their name to the region and its modern inhabitants.

The main barrier to north-south communication across the region was the raging Reuss River. The first Teufelsbrücke (Devil’s Bridge) across the torrent was built in 1220, opening a mule-train track to Italy. Gradual improvements to the road eventually allowed the passage of horse-drawn coaches, beginning around 1775. The strategic bridge, located about half a mile north of Andermatt’s town center, was the object of a bloody battle in 1799 between Napoleon’s troops and detachments of the allied Russian and Austrian armies. But Napoleon then won the battle for Zurich, which rendered meaningless the Russian success at Andermatt.

The town provided hostel services to the mail coaches crossing Gotthard Pass daily. The very first Baedeker guidebook, published in 1854, listed hiking trails, bridle paths, coach roads and inns in the region. Soon enough, luxurious hotels went up. Queen Victoria came to stay at the Grand Hotel Bellevue, which opened in 1872. That year, work began on a rail tunnel under Gotthard Pass. When it opened in 1882, trans-Alpine traffic bypassed Andermatt and the tourist trade cratered.

However, Andermatt’s enviable strategic position kept it valuable for military purposes. The Swiss army established a major base here in the late 19th century, intended to be a wartime headquarters if the country were invaded. This required construction of a rail spur in 1914, which also enabled skiers to schuss about two miles and 1,200 vertical feet down the valley and ride the train back up. Andermatt got its first proper ski lift in 1937.

Throughout the mid-20th century, middle-class Swiss families favored the resort for holidays, even as wealthier international skiers went to better-known slopes like Gstaad, Zermatt and St. Moritz. The first cable car to the Gurschenfirn glacier on top of Gemsstock opened in 1964, allowing for summer skiing (since 2005, that glacier has been wrapped in a protective cloth to slow melting).

Around the same time, Hollywood came knocking, and scenes from Goldfinger were filmed here, including the famous car chase on the Furka Pass, with Sean Connery as James Bond driving his classic Aston Martin.

That brush with fame aside, Andermatt remained a quiet ski town in the middle of the country, a parochial vacation area that offered untouched powder stashes for savvy ski bums. It was like any other quaint Swiss town, though this one happened to have lift-serviced skiing at its doorstep. It was otherwise notable as a quick stop on the famous Glacier Express train that runs 180 miles between Zermatt and St. Moritz.

By the turn of the 21st century, the town was languishing, and the ski area was losing money. In 2004, the army base was downgraded to a training center, and the town lost most of its military revenue. The region faced economic crisis.

A Fast-Paced Revival

Then along came Samih Sawiris, an Egyptian billionaire. He’d amassed his fortune through his family’s investments in OCI N.V., a global producer and distributor of nitrogen and methanol products, as well as from his construction company, Orascom Development, which builds and operates resorts, including luxurious El Gouna on the Red Sea.

In 2005, Sawiris flew over Andermatt in a military helicopter, invited by a friend in the Swiss defense ministry who’d asked his opinion of what might be done following the departure of the army. Sawiris was impressed by the vast, open mountain terrain, the lack of development and the proximity to Geneva, Zurich and Milan. This eventually led to an invitation from the Swiss government to help develop Andermatt.

Sawiris agreed, with the provision that the authorities would permit him to sell real estate to foreigners, a relatively rare occurrence in Switzerland, which allows foreign ownership only in certain parts of the country. Those sales would help fuel the project. Sawiris also asked for 250 acres to create a mountain development, and the decision was put to local residents as a referendum. Ninety-six percent of Andermatt’s citizens agreed, and the regional and Swiss governments also backed the project—remarkable in a country where the bureaucracy can be daunting.

The reaction in the ski world went from eye-rolling to astonishment in the blink of an eye. Andermatt, that half-forgotten mountain town with remnants of an army presence and vintage infrastructure, was suddenly the recipient of development worth approximately $1.4 billion. The changes started with a bang, thanks to the construction of the Chedi, an opulent five-star hotel (and sister property of the Chedi Muscat in Oman) that was built where the Grand Hotel Bellevue had once stood. Winter rates start at around $1,000 a night; if you want to own, prices at the hotel’s residences begin at $1.8 million.

Then came three Michelin-starred restaurants and the brand-new, 650-seat Andermatt Concert Hall in 2019, with an opening performance by the Berlin Philharmonic. The 18-hole Andermatt Swiss Alps Golf Course was opened, and serious upgrades to the lift system have commenced. There will be 42 multi-million-dollar chalets, and an astonishing 42 luxury apartment buildings are under construction or planned. Prices at a complex like House Steinadler begin at $1.3 million for a one-bedroom unit, with the right to a parking space included (which the developers say is worth about $43,000). Some 30 more apartment buildings are scheduled to roll out in the coming decades, and there will be more four and five-star hotel properties. It is the biggest ski project the Alps (and perhaps the world) has ever seen, and Phase One was completed in 2019.

In terms of skiing, the resort stretches beyond Andermatt and its valley to the neighboring resorts of Sedrun and Disentis. The latter lies several valleys away and is famed for its astonishingly beautiful 8th-century Benedictine monastery and for being the heart of Romansch-speaking Switzerland. (The nation’s fourth language is Latin-based and the daily tongue of some 60,000 people.) It’s like traveling to a foreign country within the boundaries of a ski resort, albeit one with about 75 miles of varied terrain, 110 miles of trails and 33 lifts. Ski to Sedrun and take a ski safari to Disentis via the Oberalp Pass, and at day’s end you can board a train to return to Andermatt on the same tracks that the Glacier Express plies every day.

Vail Resorts Steps In

As if this weren’t enough, enter Vail Resorts. The company wanted to expand into Europe, and Andermatt needed a seasoned partner to shoulder some of the workload and financial responsibility for Phase Two of the development. It seemed a perfect fit.

The news became official on March 27, 2022, when Vail Resorts announced that it had made its first European acquisition as the new majority stakeholder of Switzerland’s Andermatt-Sedrun Sport AG—Andermatt for short. The company controls and operates all of Andermatt-Sedrun’s ski-related assets. That includes lifts, most on-mountain restaurants and the ski school operation.

Vail Resorts acquired a 55 percent ownership stake, while the former majority owners retain 40 percent. A smaller group of existing shareholders owns the remaining 5 percent. Vail’s investment is about $160 million, and the company has taken on the operating and marketing responsibility. Some $118 million will be used for improvements at Andermatt.

Vail also immediately included unlimited and unrestricted access to the resort on the 2022–23 Epic Pass. While this is Vail’s first ownership stake in a European resort, Andermatt joins 30 other Alpine resorts already part of the Epic Pass, including five in Austria’s Arlberg and three in France’s Trois Vallées. (Disentis is independently owned and is not part of the Epic Pass.)

Vail plans to replace lifts, upgrade snowmaking and improve and expand on-mountain dining. One senses that this is just the tip of the iceberg. It’s clear that the quiet days of Andermatt are history and that expansion is the route forward, especially with government involvement, private equity and now partial ownership by a publicly traded company. Yet to these eyes, Andermatt still looks relatively tranquil, with plenty of room for more skiers. In a year or two or three, things could be quite different. 

Regular contributor Everett Potter wrote about the annual Swann Galleries ski-poster sale in the May-June 2023 issue.

The cradle of skiing is all grown up.

(Photo top:) In most years, more than 600 skiers push off in a mass start, for a brutal five-mile, 5,000-foot descent marking the season's final run. Der Weisse Rausch race starts at 5:00pm; the piste surface has been churned and mogulled by recreational traffic all day. Ski Arlberg photo.

Under a starry sky, five skiers slowly descend a steep slope using wooden skis, lace-up leather boots and bamboo ski poles. Dressed in woolen blazers with buttons, Tyrolean-style trousers and felt hats with feathers, they employ Hannes Schneider’s Arlberg technique—a stem christie in the fall line, parallel across the hill—to maneuver the long, edgeless skis.

This flashback on snow happened during the opening ceremony of the FIS Alpine Junior World Ski Championships, staged in St. Anton am Arlberg in January 2023. I’d made the trek to Austria’s Tyrol to watch my son Aidan compete in the races—and to explore the history of the resort that calls itself the “cradle of skiing.”

Early Days

St. Anton has evolved in the 600 years since a swineherd named Heinrich Findelkind founded the Hospiz St. Christoph, which offered refuge to travelers caught in blizzards while trying to cross the Arlberg Pass. Back then, St. Anton relied on agriculture and the transport of commodities like salt and silver for its economy.

In January, 1903, the St Anton Ski Club held trial
races for members, including women. Bad weather cancelled the "open" race in March.

“Life was really, really hard back then,” says Yannick Rumler, press officer for the Arlberg region and a history buff who shows me around the Museum of St. Anton am Arlberg. Opened in 1980, the museum is housed in the erstwhile Villa Trier, an elegant Art Nouveau chalet built around 1910 as a seasonal getaway for German industrialist and entrepreneur Bernhard Trier. One wood-paneled room is dedicated to ski equipment through the ages, from long wooden skis with Huitfeldt bindings, circa 1905, to Austrian racing champ Karl Schranz’s 1962 Kneissls to the short, shapely Salomon Equipe 10 3Vs on which Mario Matt won the 2001 slalom world championship here. Known as “der Arlberg Adler”—eagle of the Arlberg—Matt now owns the Krazy Kanguruh, a legendary St. Anton après-ski spot.) Elsewhere in the museum, displays chronicle St. Anton’s trajectory from poor farming village to booming international ski resort.

And so the first "general" race was held in 1904. The long-distance race was an uphill-downhill slog over the top of Galzig in deep snow. Yannick Rumler/Tourist Board photos

The first person to ski here may have been a Norwegian engineer who came to work on the Arlberg tunnel in the 1880s. But most sources credit Johann Müller, a priest from Warth, as the first. He ordered a pair of skis from Sweden and used them to commute to Lech. In 1901, the Ski-Club Arlberg was founded, and the first ski lessons were taught in Zürs by Viktor Sohm of Bregenz in 1906. Back then, mostly locals learned the sport.

In 1907, Hannes Schneider, St. Anton’s most famous ski legend, started teaching guests at the Hotel Post (built in 1896 by Carl Schuler) and founded the Ski School

Arlberg ski school, 1921. St Anton Tourist Board/Rumler

Arlberg in 1920. He taught his Arlberg technique all over the world, from Japan to New Hampshire. By the early 1920s, people were traveling to the Arlberg to learn to ski. Amazingly, until 1937, when Austria’s first surface lift was installed in Zürs, many of those early skiers were earning their turns by hiking up (although some did make use of a combination of a motor and toboggan that dragged skiers uphill).

Hannes Schneider and Arnold Lunn.

Schneider’s Arlberg progression was all the rage until around 1953, when another local ski instructor, Professor Stefan Kruckenhauser, introduced a novel short-swing turn
in St. Christoph, a part of St. Anton. Wedeln was a dramatic legs-glued-together, heel-thrusting kind of move.

Hints of this history play out in town, too. Inside the Great Valluga, a ski shop that opened in St. Anton in 2020, walls are lined with old hanza sticks, which farmers once used to dry out harvested hay, each branded with the family’s initials. “We want to give old stuff new life as artistic design elements,” says shop manager Philipp Traxl, whose family has been in St. Anton for four generations. The centerpiece of the shop: The front desk is a work of art made from a 175-year-old Nessler spruce with a trunk diameter of nearly four feet.

How the Railroad Changed St. Anton—Twice.

Slopes near the village were crowded by 1930, though skiers still climbed for their turns.

At the museum, Rumler shows me old black-and-white photos detailing the milestones that changed the face of St. Anton. In 1880, the emperor of Austria, Franz Josef, envisioned his empire connected by a railway system, including the longest tunnel in Austria. The Arlberg Railway Tunnel broke ground in 1880 and, with the aid of some 5,000 workers, took only four years to build.

After World War I, Austria was impoverished. St Anton got its Galzigbahn in 1937, three years after trams went up in France and Switzerland.

“It was a big accomplishment because they didn’t have any laser tracking or GPS technology,” Rumler says. St. Anton was a major stop on the railway’s east-west route from Innsbruck to Zurich, with the tracks running straight through the center of town. Climbers and skiers began flocking to the Arlberg. It was the place to be.

Over the decades, St. Anton grew in popularity, traffic increased, and trains grew longer. By the 1980s, skiers on the way to the slopes often needed to wait 20 minutes to cross the tracks. When the resort earned the bid to host the 2001 FIS Alpine World Ski Championships, organizers knew the railway was a logistical snafu. The tracks, which had run through town for a century, were rerouted to the south along the edge of the mountains, serving a brand-new station. The relocation monumentally changed the face of St. Anton. The former railway line was transformed into an open space called the Kunstmeile (art mile), a walking path lined with sculptures. The move also made way for a new race finish-line arena and WellCom, a state-of-the-art wellness and recreation center with swimming pools, saunas, a brine steam bath and an event space. The old stone train station is now a private home.

St. Anton on the Silver Screen

Local hero Karl Schranz won World Cup titles in 1969 and 1970.

Call me starry-eyed, but I loved the museum’s display of movies filmed at the resort. Der Schwarze Blitz (1958) featured the skiing prowess of triple-gold Olympic champ Toni Sailer. The title is Sailer’s nickname, Black Lightning. (The name needs explanation: It could have been “Blitz from Kitz,” but local rival Anderl Molterer had an equal claim, so black-haired Sailer became Schwarze Blitz and white-haired Molterer Weisse Blitz.) In the 1967 Cold War spy thriller The Double Man, Britt Ekland, sporting a fur-trimmed jacket, is chased across the slopes of St. Anton by Yul Brynner. Arguably the best ski-racing movie of all time, Downhill Racer (1969), used footage of actual races, including Schranz at St. Anton. The movie depicts (among other races) St. Anton’s Arlberg-Kandahar race, first staged in 1928. Trier’s villa turned museum also served as the chalet in 2011’s Chalet Girl, starring Felicity Jones.

Ski chase scenes in the 1931 film Der Weisse Rausch, starring Hannes Schneider, Leni Riefenstahl and Rudi Matt, are the inspiration for one of the resort’s most thrilling modern traditions. On closing day each April, a race by that name kicks off with a mass start at the top of the 9,222-foot Valluga Mountain, with 555 skiers and snowboarders racing down a 5.6-mile long course that includes a brutal 500-foot uphill climb and 4,430 vertical feet of descent. The record time is seven minutes, nine seconds, but you’re free to do a leisurely half an hour if, for instance, you ski in a ball gown. It’s a new cult classic.

The Interconnectedness of It All

Modern resort planners had a vision to make the Arlberg the largest interconnected ski resort in Austria. The addition of the Flexenbahn gondola in December 2016 made it possible. Today, you can ski from St. Anton to Zürs to Lech to Warth and back. I join Jan and Guy Colclough, a British couple who winter in St. Anton, to ski to Lech. It’s possible to make it to Lech and back in a day, but you have to start early and ski hell for leather.

St Anton hosts the Alpine World Championships, 1970

Guy and Jan recommend we start late, then après-ski in Lech and take the bus back to St. Anton. “We do not ski back,” Guy tells me. “The run back is just so boring above Lech.” They may be transplants, but I figure the Colcloughs are onto something. We follow the Run of Fame, an 85-kilometer ski circuit with pit stops along the way dedicated to the Arlberg’s ski pioneers and movie stars, many of whom are memorialized in a museum at the Flexenbahn’s top station. We ski past St. Christoph, Stuben and Zürs, stopping at the Trittkopf BBQ station for coffee. Originally constructed in 1962 as a lift terminal, the building now has a modern aesthetic, though the architects incorporated original elements like the massive cable supports and bull wheels. Cantilevered floor-to-ceiling windows frame the Alps, which stretch to the horizon.

A few hours later, we load the Zugerbergbahn, our 10th and final ski lift of the day. A special gondola car pulls in with a table covered in white linen and set with champagne glasses and bottles of Moët & Chandon. “This must be our car,” Jan says to the lift op. “No, ma’am. You must call ahead.” No matter. We head for the Balmalp ski hut at the top for hearty steak salads, a charcuterie board—and prosecco. We will have our bubbles.

When we finally descend into Lech, we have one last celebratory glass of prosecco at the outdoor terrace of the Hotel Krone, a backdrop I recognize from Renée Zellweger’s 2004 film Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason. We toast to Princess Diana, who brought William and Harry here for an annual ski vacation in the early 1990s. Then we hop on the bus back to St. Anton.

History in the Hotel

At the museum, I’d seen the 12-kilogram crystal globe won in 1969 by St. Anton ski racer Gertrud Gabl. Schranz took the men’s title that year (and the next), but to see his trophies, I visit his eponymous hotel. His two World Cup globes are the centerpiece of the massive display case in the hotel’s bar. The lobby walls are plastered with photos of the racer posing with celebrities and dignitaries like Audrey Hepburn, Jean-Claude Killy and Queen Elizabeth II. Today Schranz’s wife, Evelyn, and daughters Anna, Christiane and Kathi manage the hotel. You can find them presiding over the check-in desk, running the restaurant or mingling with guests at the bar.

Haute Moments

Clocktower still stands guard downtown.

Between races, my son and I make the pilgrimage to the top of the Valluga, where the Tyrol meets the Vorarlberg. We ride the Galzigbahn, built in 2006 and featuring a Ferris wheel design: gondola cars enter at the top of a giant glass terminal, then rotate counterclockwise to pick up riders on the ground floor. At the top, we transfer to Vallugabahn I, a 45-person cable car built in 1954 that delivers us to Vallugabahn II, where cabins hold just five passengers. It’s like riding a telephone booth through the sky. From the top, we’re treated to spectacular 360-degree panoramas spanning five countries. It is, literally and figuratively, a high point of our trip.

That night, Aidan and I splurge on a seven-course dinner at the Alpin Gourmet Stube, a restaurant that’s earned three Gault Millau Haubens (chef hats), located inside Hotel Gletscherblick (glacier view). When founders Paula and Robert Kathrein opened the original pension in 1966, you could still see the tongue of the Hohe Riffler glacier. Today, the four-star property is run by three generations of their family. Daughter Sandra Jehle-Kathrein, along with her husband, Christian, operates the hotel with help from the granddaughters—Sophia is the patissière and Johanna works in reception and the restaurants.

As we dine on braised veal cheek and beetroot foam soup, our white-gloved waiter delivers new cutlery from a felt box with each course. Sandra sits with her 83-year-old mom at a corner table in the bar, chatting and sipping white wine. “It’s a nightly mother-daughter tradition,” Sandra
explains to me.

While the place honors its history—all three generations of women wear dirndls at dinnertime and the room keys are huge metal lumps—the family is also committed to modernizing in meaningful ways. They’ve renovated the suites with sleek, contemporary finishes and added a luxurious wellness spa with saunas, a steam bath, salt cave and a shimmering blue indoor pool.

Back at the races the next day, I marvel at the talent of today’s fastest junior racers. Benefiting from state-of-the-art equipment and wearing skintight speed suits, they hurtle expertly down St. Anton’s World Cup racecourse, including the notorious and precipitous Eisfall. In 2023, their technique is all pure carving. Hannes Schneider’s Arlberg turn? That’s history. 

Boulder-based journalist and author Helen Olsson had a 10-year career at Skiing Magazine. This is her first article for Skiing History.

 After a century, it's still the peak of Vancouver.

Settlers to the young city of Vancouver at the end of the 19th century became enthralled by the beauty and challenge of an unnamed mountain north of their harbor. The Indigenous people had no name for it, because they made a good living fishing and hunting along the shoreline and rarely ventured into the hills. Perhaps only because no one seemed to have climbed it, some believed the mountain unclimbable. On October 5, 1894, the intrepid Sydney Williams proved them wrong and became the first European to climb to the top. For good measure, he returned a week later with three other adventurers, one of whom shot a blue grouse. From then on, despite later efforts by civic officials to change its name to Mount Vancouver, the peak was known as Grouse Mountain.

Photo above: In 1976, the 100-passenger Skyride red tram opened, instantly becoming Grouse’s signature experience. 

Williams’ expeditions attracted media attention and the peak became a local landmark. One night in 1902, the city of Vancouver turned off its street lights so that residents could better see a huge bonfire built by climbers on Grouse’s summit. Today, The Cut ski run and the Peak chair are always lighted at night and can be seen from as far south as Bellingham, Washington, a two-hour drive south.

The Indigenous people may or may not have climbed it, but the mountain had a place in their legends. A dream story, retold in the 1911 book The Lost Island by Coast Salish writer Pauline Johnson, foretold the colonization of the region by settlers arriving in Vancouver from all parts of the world. In this myth, a troubled shaman climbs to the top of Grouse Mountain, where he fasts and camps for three days. He looks down on the forests, rivers and small settlements where the White Man lives and is granted a vision into the future where the trees are cut down, streets are laid out in a perfect grid, and people live and work, packed into tall concrete towers. The shaman’s premonition eerily describes the view that Grouse’s 1.5 million annual visitors see as they peer down on the city.

At the turn of the 20th century, reaching the 4,000-foot summit from town required a harbor traverse by ferry, a streetcar ride across North Vancouver, an overnight stay in a ramshackle “base camp” shelter owned by a local printer and a stout hike upward among giant cedars and fir trees.

Schemes abounded to take advantage of Grouse’s airy outpost and, as an early brochure indicates, its “year-round snow.” In 1910, plans were laid for an Alpine-style cog railway to wind up the mountain’s forested slopes to access a deluxe hotel. There was even a scheme to install the world’s most powerful telescope. World War I derailed those ideas, but in 1926, an automobile toll road opened to appeal to a new leisure class. Scandinavian loggers began felling giant trees to make a rudimentary ski trail called, quite descriptively, The Cut. The Grouse Mountain Lodge was finished a short time later, and by 1935, more than a hundred small ski shacks were scattered across the mountain. Lift skiing arrived in 1949 with the erection of the third chairlift in all of Canada. In 1966, a new tramway, the blue Skyride, opened. In 1976, the red Skyride tram launched, which made Grouse Mountain’s aerial tramway system the largest in North America.

Along with Stanley Park, Granville Island and the nearby Capilano Suspension Bridge, Grouse Mountain is now a can’t-miss destination for visitors to Vancouver. The Skyride is as famous in its own way as Barcelona’s Montjuic cable car or the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway and the numerous trams and cog railways of the Swiss Alps. On a clear day, keeping in mind that Vancouver averages 200 days of rain annually, visitors enjoy a 360-degree panorama encompassing downtown’s concrete canyons; the verdant forest canopy of Stanley Park; the flat, fertile farms of the Fraser Valley; Mount Baker, the San Juan Islands and the Olympic Mountains in Washington; the blue-black waters of the Salish Sea; and the breathtaking spine of Vancouver Island.

Historically, Grouse’s financial fortunes have been a mixed bag. The hill’s original owners went bankrupt during the Great Depression and the City of Vancouver took over its operation until local newspaper barons the Cromie family added Grouse to their business portfolio in 1953.

Grouse Mountain truly established itself as a four-season tourism brand under the ownership of the McLaughlin family, from 1989 to 2017. Tens of thousands of cruise ship passengers flooded into the city for 16 weeks each summer, and a huge new convention center built for the 2010 Winter Olympics drew big crowds for events like TED conferences. Thus was created a ready-made audience, and Grouse obliged with numerous summer activities. The mountain hosts everything from zip-lining and Indigenous storytelling to nature programs (performing owls and eagles, a grizzly sanctuary), ropes courses and helicopter tours.

In the early 1990s, endurance athletes started training on a ridiculously steep hiking trail that became known as the Grouse Grind. Rising 800 meters (2,624 vertical feet) in 2.5 kilometers (1.55 miles), the Grind fell into the must-do category for outdoor adventurers within five years. Grouse Mountain marketers promote it as “Mother Nature’s Stairmaster.” The success of the Grouse Grind has, alas, led to the odd wayward hiker needing help courtesy of the North Shore Rescue team, whose staging area for many mountain missions is the nearby heli-pad at Capilano Reservoir.

The Cut ski run is Grouse Mountain’s most visible slope, especially when it’s covered in fresh snow or lit up at night. In the 1950s, the Vancouver Sun co-sponsored ski lessons for beginners; during the ’60s, the Grouse Mountain rental shop and ski school were in the vanguard of the Headway learn-to-ski program (akin to the Graduated Length Method). Beginning in 1966, ski school director Ornulf Johnsen guaranteed that novice skiers would be able to ski the Cut after participating in the learn-to-ski program—and offered unlimited lessons until that skill level was achieved. Though the run faces south and lies at an elevation where snow can turn to rain, an efficient snowmaking system ensures that The Cut is well groomed and provides the perfect surface for learning. A well-manicured terrain park has its own lift to ensure that New Schoolers and novices are kept separate.

The really interesting Grouse skiing is over on the east face, where the Olympic Express chairlift feeds approximately 1,200 vertical feet of surprisingly good fall-line skiing. Bring your fat skis after a fresh dump to glide through glades studded by old-growth fir and cedars. In the ’70s, some of Canada’s top freestyle skiers danced down mogul runs like Hades, Purgatory and Inferno, and the mountain hosted Canada’s first World Cup freestyle skiing championship in 1978.

During the 2010 Winter Games, Grouse neatly outfoxed its rival Cypress Mountain (site of the freestyle skiing and snowboarding events) by hosting NBC’s Today Show for the duration of the event.

Because Grouse has such a diversified portfolio of four-season, on-mountain activities, the learn-to-ski lesson package and season’s pass are quite affordable. The Skyride red tram hauls skiers from the parking lot to the Observatory day lodge (formerly the Grouse Nest), and on midweek evenings passengers chatter in a cacophony of languages. You’ll meet German, Spanish and Italian exchange students—many of them expert skiers—shoulder-to-shoulder with recent Asian immigrants, some of whom have never seen snow before. Just six miles south twinkle the lights of a cosmopolitan city of 2.5 million, but Grouse’s location at the edge of North America’s vast wilderness is captivating, whether you’re carving up fresh corduroy or snowshoeing a nature trail. Grouse also serves as home base for one of Canada’s largest adaptive skiing programs. Moreover, since 1929, thousands of skiers have trained for races hosted by the Grouse Mountain Tyee Ski Club.

In 2026, Grouse Mountain has big plans to celebrate its centenary. Despite the chill placed on the international tourism industry by Covid, Grouse is proceeding with plans to build a high-speed gondola, replacing the blue tram Skyride, which will greatly increase its capacity to handle crowds at peak periods.