It always sat in the upper corner of the map. On paper, it was just a short red line with the phrase "T-Bar" underneath it. The Colorado and Caly tourists never gave it much attention, to them it was about the high speed quads, the open bowl faces, and the machined groomed slopes to make it the "perfect ski day". Yet, on the powder days, a small group of locals would often slip away from the crowds towards the same spot. Away from the lift lines and the crowded slopes, the T-bar hid away from most of the mountain. Only the local riders knew about it, and the significance of it.
It was called "Bigfoot" for reasons long forgotten. Possibly from a reported sighting of the mysterious Chewbacca, or maybe from it's ability to hide from the public. Personally I believed in the second idea. It never had the easiest access. At least 300 feet of flat ground stood between you and the only run that could take you there. Often you would have to straightline off of the summit, avoided colliding with inexperienced moms, 12 year old snowboarders, and getting caught by the ski patrol for "unsafe speeds." If you did it right, you could be in at the lift in under five minutes. A small shack sat at the bottom, equipped with ladders, shovels, ropes, and a pair of rad '97 Rossignols. Quick stories were always exchanged between the riders and lifties there, and often a laugh would erupt through one of their beards. They always wore their bushily beards with pride, and between the hairs were snow and the remnants of breakfast. Before you had time to get a conversation going though, you would be at the front and handed your ticket to the top. I mean the t-bar of course.
There's fog too, I should mention that.
The first tug was always the hardest. It ranged from a easy pull, to a sharp tug. Once you had gotten past that however, it was smooth sailing to the top. Screwing up meant standing in front of everyone, looking like an idiot while the platter just bounced away up the hill. Failure always meant banishment to the back of the line, and when your friends saw the empty platter crest over the top, they would simply ski off without you, figuring out ways to heckle you when you crossed paths later that day in the chair 1 lift line.
Even though it was well maintained, the lift was fragile, and therefore demanded respect. Swerving and horsing around during the pull could derail the line and shut it down for the day. The same could be said for letting go of the platter in a disrespectful way, giving it a chance to swing over the rope and jam up the turnaround wheel. During the ride up groans and the clatter of metal on plastic would fill the ears, adding a funky rhythm to it's personality. The metal towers showed sots of rust, and an exposed power line ran awkwardly between both sides. Safety equipment was considered a luxury there, and never really existed on it, just an irregular shaped T attached to a rope which, really was all you needed.
Though it never serviced the sickest terrain or much vertical, the place was to all of us, a gateway and a getaway. It served as a safe haven for the locals during the most torrential time of the year: The Holidays. The time of year where powder is seen the most is the same time of year where large families, relatives, and half-ass noob riders invade much of the mountain, chewing up most of the good snow and creating 45 minute lines. The tourists conquered most of the mountain, and what was left was a local group of riders trying to escape the crowds.
What the map never showed though, was that the little red line sat on a ridge to inbound terrain that sat isolated from much of the mountain, and because of it's spot on the map, you could always reach the chairlifts below with ease. North facing slopes, and 5-15 minute hikes could get you to some of the best runs of the season. It would also allow you more technical faces and cliff areas that did require some finding, but were well worth it. To top it off, it also serviced the expansive backcountry as well as its rugged terrain. Avalanches did occur in the area, and several people had been killed in winters past. With an avalanche beacon, and the right friends though, nothing ever held you back. If you were lucky, you could even score a ride with a snowmobiler on your way back to the boundary.
Enter the 2010 season. Even in its glory, the T-Bar has become old, and in recent days talk has begun to replace the t-bar with a high speed quad, making access to east bowls and the backcountry easy for anyone looking for good snow. This for me, is sad. Having an easy access chair means the loss of an area that would be no longer called local terrain, forcing us to find a new place to escape to. Problem is, not many places still exist anymore that hasn't been exposed by the resort, and the threat of losing the Bigfoot would be too much for me. In truth, I hope such a proposal will never be made true, and that the small red line on the map will still exist years from now. Of course, there isn't much chance of that. The development will continue, even after I'm long gone to college and other ski hills. But for now, it's still just an idea, and for now it remains as that small red line on the map, a place that I return to every weekend with the knowledge that this place of solace, is still ours.
God Bless,
The S-Jenk
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