Favorite Ski Spots
We asked a group of TQ contributors to tell us about their favorite places for Tahoe skiing—a run, peak, section of ski resort or mountain valley that is their winter sports raison d'être.
One Lift Wonder
by Lars Banff
Saudi Arabia has Mecca, Israel has the Wailing Wall, Squaw Valley has KT22. Men have left their wives for KT and professionals have quit their jobs for her. She knows how to stroke big egos and then bring those same egos to their knees. She keeps locals awake at night with visions of rock-star cliffs and full throttle GS turns.
KT22 is 800 acres of rawness. Sure, there's one groomed path that an advanced intermediate might be able to get down—the Saddle—but the rest of this peak is pure black diamond and arguably the best lift-accessed terrain of its kind in the U.S.
The chairlift carries a mixture of super-jock ski bums, ultra-hip "Squallywood" wannabes (Squaw Valley is a fixture of ski and snowboard flicks) and folks like you and me from all over the world. The mountain sorts us all out: 2,000 vertical feet, 65-degree slopes, multiple cliff drops and a 4-minute chairlift ride.
On a clear morning after a big storm, the lineup at the bottom bullwheel begins before dawn. By the time the lift opens, skiers and riders might stretch a hundred deep (and remember, this is a mountain with at least five other lift options close by). Being on the first chair on a powder day wins serious respect from KT devotees, surpassed only by being first airborne over the cliffs of the Fingers. Located directly under the chairlift, and viewable from the KT lift line, the Fingers is the Roman Coliseum of Squaw. Huge air and cartwheel carnage get equal applause from the salivating crowd. As the line inches its way forward, the crowd supplies enough electricity to power the lift.
All of KT is mapped into the cerebral cortex of its devotees. Its runs stretch from tree skiing on Red Dog Ridge to wide open knolls in the Enchanted Forest. Deciding which way to go is almost as challenging as the terrain itself. There's no wrong answer (unless you shouldn't have gotten on the lift in the first place). On the higher end of the difficulty scale is the Eagles Nest, a contender for the steepest in-resort ski line in North America. This beastly outcropping taunts daredevils with its seemingly unskiable terrain. Folks on the chairlift are treated to an epic show with one of two endings, unbelievable athleticism or jaw-dropping yard sales.
The names of KT's trails aptly tell its stories: Tom's Tumble, Simmon's Drop, Dead Tree, the Portal, Cartwheel, Ahh Chute and Big Balls. The flagship run is Moseley's Run, where monster bumps and a perfect, nonstop, vertical fall line will build you quads of steel, or paint your face with raspberries. Originally called West Face, the run was renamed in 1998 after Johnny Moseley, the Squaw local who brought home Gold from the Nagano Olympics. Long-time locals have held firmly onto the original West Face name, however, even though the run doesn't face west.
The peak's name was inspired by the world's second highest mountain, K2, in the Himalayas. In the 1940s, Wayne and Sandy Poulsen purchased the land that would become Squaw Valley from Southern Pacific Railroad. "Wayne and I hiked up to ski one of the more challenging slopes," Sandy recalls. "Wayne was a great skier, and he had, no trouble skiing the steep pitch. He kept calling for me to start making turns, but I was too afraid. I ended up descending by skiing side-to-side and making kick turns. Wayne counted 22 kick turns, and so we named it KT22."
Kick turns or no turns, the mountain remains a powerful magnet. Even backcountry purists, supposedly sworn to the earn-your-turns code, have been spotted on KT on a powder day. Then there's a sect of fundamentalists who refuse to ski any other terrain on the mountain, and the West Face Boys, who have been skiing non-stop runs on KT five days a week since sometime in the '70s. Less devoted zealots just want their ashes sprinkled here after they pass on to the big KT in the sky.
Sliding the Big Valley
by Jerome Evans
Hope Valley is one of the signature wideopen spaces of our region. Only a half an hour drive from South Lake Tahoe, it offers just about anything a cross-country skier can ask for. At about 7,200 feet, it gets lots of snow, and with its large open expanse ringed with wooded slopes, is anything but crowded. Sometimes you can have it all to yourself!
There are a number of parking turnouts along the two highways that run through the valley. I usually stop where there is a paved turnout next to an old corral and several abandoned ranch buildings, about a quarter-mile above the junction of highways 88 and 89. There, it is a simple matter of pulling on a light pack, passing around the old gate, snapping on my skis, and heading off through a grove of small pines and into the open valley. After a bit, the terrain becomes steeper for about 50 yards or so and then the open meadow stretches ahead for miles. Further on, there is the wide, groomed trail provided by nearby Sorenson's Resort, popular with skateskiers but also utilized by Husky Express Dog Sled Tours. As the packed trail loops back and forth across the valley, I usually find myself taking it for a stretch or two before looping out again onto the meadow's smooth surface.
Toward the lower end of the meadow, where there is a campground in the summer, the pines close in, and on a warm afternoon their shade can be welcoming, especially if I have brought a lunch and am ready for a break. Another trail winds through the trees from there, but at this point I sometimes hear the high-pitched whine of a snowmobile, which are not allowed in this part of the meadow, and decide to retrace my tracks.
On my return, I usually work my way up the ridge to the west so that I will eventually come out above my car and have a nice run down to it. Other times, I swing to the east and down to the West Fork of the Carson and then have to climb a bit to get back to the highway.
Those who want more guidance should visit the Hope Valley Outdoor Center, (530) 694-2266, just down Highway 89 near Sorenson's Resort, where you can also rent cross-country equipment and snowshoes and take lessons. The center also leads full moon tours (January 14, February 11 and March 13) and is offering a demo day on January 7 that will also include a snowshoe softball game, a treasure hunt and a limbo contest!
Being a somewhat old-fashioned skier with less-than-stunning skills, I usually find that a couple of hours skiing through the valley gives me everything I want. This also allows me time to retreat to Sorenson's Resort for a bowl of beef stew and a glass of red wine. Sitting there I always find myself thinking, if only for a short while, that I've finally figured it out—that life, in fact, is good. I am told that Joyce Coker, who manages the Hope Valley Outdoor Center, now provides delicious pies and cold beer for those who hang out there. It sounds like life may be getting even better.
Flying Above the Lake
by Fitz Cahall
I had been in Tahoe a month and was still unbearably "green." Winter winds were battering the other resorts and Homewood was basking in a small patch of blue sky. After a long cat-track traverse, I found myself standing at a closed gate. The ski patroller, who had just reached the same spot moments earlier, smiled at me and flipped the sign to "open." I stared blankly at the patroller.
"Uh, what's out there?" I asked. Five minutes later I was standing on top of Quail Face's steep spine, cinching my snowboard bindings tight. I dropped in and slashed two turns before everything went white. Snow billowing in my face, I careened onward blind until I realized I was airborne, with no specific destination in mind. The ensuing string of cartwheels must have resembled an Olympic gymnast's floor routine. When I eventually came to a stop, my goggles and beanie lay 30 feet uphill. I was reduced into a gibbering mess of monosyllabic "dudes" and "cools." And I was hooked.
Homewood rests in the shadows of Tahoe's big resorts. Yet it has a special place in many locals' hearts, famed for its laid-back atmosphere. While it's a great destination for families, it's also a sanctuary for a Tahoe die-hard tired of jockeying for position in lift lines. There are no high-speed quads—and as a result, the snow lasts. Couple that with open-boundary access to Ellis Peak's cliffs and cornices and there is more to Homewood than meets the eye. But Quail Face is its most beloved trek.
My powder-day ritual is to do a couple of laps through the trees off Ellis Chair and then make a quick stop at the patrol shack at the top to check Quail Face's status. A huge, exposed flank over The Lake, Quail is prone to sliding, says Homewood Ski Patrol Director Ted Tank. It can take patrol a few hours, or a day or two, to stabilize the slope.
When the gate does open, Quail Face requires both a hike in and out, keeping the traffic down and the powder unspoiled. But for the 20 to 30 minutes of walking/ traversing, you earn a trip down one of the most gorgeous 1,200-foot slopes in the ski world and a grin guaranteed to last the rest of your day and beyond.
Canyon-Lands
by Jeff Cowen
The whispers travel late on a January afternoon. "Did you hear they're opening Killebrew tomorrow?" They start with the ski patrollers and lilt their way along the grapevine—ski instructors and lifties, bartenders and servers, shop techs and massage therapists.
By dawn, Killebrew looms in our dreams, hidden on the far side of Heavenly—a huge granite fist swirling with clouds, 4,500 feet above the farm-gridded Carson Valley. Between its knuckles, 4 hair-raising chutes lie pockmarked from the day's avalanche blasting, awaiting the first whoops of mountain riders. At 9:15, when my friend Ethan and I are lucky enough to be among them, our whoops are saved for Ramarrah's, a 50-plus degree chute named for the ski patroller who died there under her flipped snowmobile.
Three inches of snow fell overnight, but the sky is now only streaked with high, shapeless clouds. A dozen locals and a handful of ski instructors and lifties have already mapped out lines in the other chutes, but Ramarrah's has only four tracks weaving down it. Ethan drops in from the left and is quickly enveloped in his own cloud of snow. I count to ten and follow from the right, kick-turning up the sides and trying to re-familiarize myself with the speed. The air roars in my ears and my jacket sleeves feel like they might tear off as my turns get longer. As the chute opens up near the bottom, I straight-line across the glade, trying to catch up to Ethan as he heads for the exit trail to Mott Canyon. Twenty seconds have changed my outlook on everything—all I want is another run like that one.
To do laps of Killebrew, however, you've got to be dedicated. The Mott Canyon chair is the longest two-seater relic left at Heavenly. From the top of Mott, it takes a three- to five-minute trip to Dipper Express, then a skate across the top of Milky Way Bowl and a short climb up to the high traverse that leads to Killebrew's three gates. The difficulty keeps the traffic down.
Killebrew is named for Heavenly's late owner, Hugh Killebrew, who first opened the resort's Nevada side but did so largely for its gentle intermediate slopes. But when locals aren't carving up Heavenly's wide groomers or hunting up powder lines in the trees, we're in the canyons looking down past our ski tips for a line that won't kill us.
On our second lap that January morning, Ethan and I join a small crowd at the top of the Fingers chute in the center of Killebrew. The nocturnal wind has carried the whispers far, and now lawyers, construction workers, off-the-clock resort employees, expert tourists, brave intermediates and the rest of the grapevine are seeking the last untracked challenges. The slope below is riddled with tracks. We quietly slip away toward what we know will be many more runs of pristine snow.
Killebrew holds a special place in the heart of Heavenly diehards because it is the last place to open, the first to close when it dumps and the hardest to get to. Days after a storm, it is a bastion of north-facing powder that requires first-hand knowledge to find. Even the old Mott Canyon chair, and the liftie who rarely leaves his hut to hold the chairs, make you feel a world away from the rest of Heavenly's twenty-first-century glitz. But progress stops for no skier. Under the flag of Vail Resorts, Heavenly will be building a new lift in two years that will bypass the arduous loop. The proposed chair will go from the bottom of Mott directly to the top of Milky Way Bowl. Killebrew may get tracked out faster, but the caliber of skiers will remain high. And only the best listeners will get the freshest lines.
Community Cross-Country
by Tim Hauserman
It's smooth as silk as I skate past the diamonds sparkling in Antone Meadows and head up Orange toward the Great Ski Race trail. I'm deep into the steady uphill, sweaty workout phase of a morning of skate-skiing, but it's punctuated by peaceful canyon vistas and, at the top, a serene postcard view featuring Tahoe's deep blue.
After catching my breath, I spend a long moment absorbing the sun's warmth on my face, and then turn with a "Yeeee haww!" and pole back down the hill. I have the trail to myself; long skating strides whiz me around its corners. The wind whistles in my ears, and I don't stop smiling even after I fall at the bottom corner. I pick myself up in time to tell a friend, on her way up the hill, "You're going to love it!"
This is the workout gym/regional park/ social club that is Tahoe Cross Country (XC). Just outside Tahoe City, this 65-km trail system has been operating continually as a Nordic center for almost 30 years. For the past 6 years it has been run by the nonprofit Tahoe Cross Country Ski Education Association, and managed by the young Murnane family: Kevin, Valli and their twoyear- old daughter, Lily.
Although open to all, this friendly place has the feeling of a locals' club, with cookie passes for season pass holders, a kilometer chart winter-long competition, dog passes and frequent e-mails providing information about upcoming events or the status of grooming. The parking lot seems to always have at least one animated conversation in progress. And on a quiet weekday you can walk into the small lodge and get down on the floor to play with Lily while she removes boxes of merchandise from the shelves.
On the trail, you might run into Dick Klein, the gray-bearded long-time local and retired physician, whose very slow but steady style makes him a perennial favorite to win the kilometer chart every year. If he hadn't broken his leg last winter, he would have won it again. Or Linda Tripp, who would beat Klein at the kilometer chart if she took the time to count the kilometers. She is incredibly fit, so you won't find her hanging out at intersections shooting the breeze; she just gives a quick wave and roars on past.
Speaking of no time to talk, there is the large contingent of parents who pull their children behind them in sleds. You'll see them running between car and trailhead with sled in tow, only two hours to ski before a second child has to be picked up at school. But there are plenty of accomplished Nordic skiers out on the trails who do love to stop a spell and share their knowledge of the sport. John Daegling, former Nordic coach at North Tahoe High School, is usually near the top of his age category in the Great Ski Race, which is saying something because, at over 80, he still has to compete with youngsters of only 70.
A more recent addition to Tahoe XC is downhill skiers. Whether to escape the crowds of the downhill resorts, or because they love the excitement and workout they get from skate-skiing, many season pass holders at Tahoe XC are also avid alpine skiers. They often pick up skate-skiing quickly and are comfortable on the downhill slopes (snowboarding, however, is not necessarily good training for skate-skiing).
With lots of gentle ups and downs, and several longer and steeper hills, this is wonderful terrain for a cross-country ski area. Gold Trail is at the far edge of the system with a long uphill at its center. After a steady climb of about two kilometers, you top out at an open area with big views of the surrounding mountains. Then it is time for an exciting downhill in and out of the trees, with some wonderful banked turns. Silver is a loop that is fun skied either way to a spectacular view of The Lake in a sunny opening. And then there's the first portion of the Great Ski Race to Truckee that, on a spring morning of corn snow just softening, is skate-ski heaven.
West Bowl Bliss
by Kathryn Reed
For a wannabe powder hound like me, a Sierra winter provides plenty of opportunities to get in over my head. But when the snow falls a foot deep or more on the groomed runs of Sierra-at-Tahoe's West Bowl—certainly not unusual near the top of Echo Summit—the groomers create a powder paradise with an escape hatch. A handful of West Bowl's 14 runs are split down the middle by the machines, leaving smooth corduroy on one side, pristine untracked powder on the other. Whether a perfect "blue bird" day or in the middle of the storm, I plow happily into the "cheater's powder." If the rhythm finds me, I carve through a few turns. But eventually the burn in my thighs catches up and I flail. But it's all good, as we rad skiers like to say. A few steps away is a handsome stretch of groomer.
West Bowl is one of Tahoe's best intermediate playgrounds, powder or no. While I won't divulge how long I've been enjoying these trails, back in the day I would speed up Highway 50 from the Bay Area to the Ranch (Sierra Ski Ranch, as it was known then), ski all day, then hop back in the car for the drive home. In 1993, the parent company of Northstar-at-Tahoe bought the resort from the Spock family, who had started it back in 1946, and renamed it Sierra-at-Tahoe. Although it's now "corporate," Sierra has managed to hold on to its playful spirit, one example being the half 'n' half powder trails. And the high-speed quad chair that now carries skiers up the 1,400 vertical feet has definitely improved the West Bowl experience.
When my legs begin to shimmy from the pounding I've given them on the groomers, or in the powder, or ducking through the trees, it's time to sprawl in an Adirondack chair outside what some might call a circus tent. The U.S. Forest Service won't let the resort build a permanent structure here. Nonetheless, the in-tent bar is lively and, on a sunny day, the outdoor scene is reminiscent of the beach. The smell of the barbecue lures even me, a vegetarian, in. But veggie chili and a Bloody Mary more than hit the spot.
Powered by a second wind, it's time to again tackle West Bowl. Full of the confidence gained on the half 'n' half runs, into the forest I go, whooping it up and (hopefully) finding my groove.
The Wild Chutes of Rose
by Robert Frohlich
Life without adventure, without risk, loses much of its spice. That is the thought I always summon upon entering the Chutes at Mt. Rose. Pop off the crest of the craggy aerie called El Cap and you drop like a dime into a pay telephone. The challenge here is not just the steepness of the run, not just the rocks, cliffs and obstacles scattered below, but the embrace they require of big mountain skiing's marvelous insecurities.
El Cap does not invite lazy skiers or boarders—at least not upright ones. To slide in here is to venture into one of North America's most monstrously mean places to rip. Lose it and the results will make you feel like the Tin Man after a good thrashing by the flying monkeys.
On my first time down El Cap's 55-degree pitch, an aficionado friend led me to its highest point and said, "Close your eyes." And then, "Now open them." When I looked down, the ground had dropped from beneath me. It was terrifying and exhilarating. My poles tapped nervously and my breath exited my lungs like steam swelling out of a riser pipe. With a gulp of courage, and a slight nudge from the stares of my friends, I pushed off. Launching into an abrupt landing, the chute's soft snow forgave my bending skis and bounced them free into a series of still-cautious turns. But then, as the chute continued clean and long, opening to the meadow below, they opened into wide arcs of celebration.
If there is a predominant geological statement at Mt. Rose ski resort, it's the Chutes. They tower over the Mount Rose Highway on the drive up from Reno, north facing runs with vertical drops of 1,500 feet. In the center is El Cap.
"El Cap is comparable to Felipe's in Chamonix or Argentiere's Grands Montets," says Phil Caterino, a former Mt. Rose patroller and a director of Cyberspace Snow and the Sierra Avalanche Center. "The run dominates the terrain. It's a primo place to challenge yourself."
Until December 2004, this terrain had been off limits to Mt. Rose skiers. A multiyear effort by the resort finally resulted in U.S. Forest Service approvals to open the Chutes. Surprisingly, part of the argument for doing so was based on safety concerns—this run has long attracted "poachers," skiers or riders who ducked the ropes or hiked in after the resort closed in the spring, in either case risking jail time if caught. At times, this resulted in disaster. Just two years ago a snowboarder, illegally riding in the area, was swept to his death in an avalanche.
"The Chutes have 13 main slide paths," says Mike Ferrari, Mt. Rose's patrol director.
"Over the past few years, we've developed an efficient avalanche control program with routes that go down each spine. We purchased an avalauncher (a compressed nitrogen-operated mobile cannon) to shoot mid-slope. With usage, I think skiers and boarders have also helped secure the area by compacting snow." Even with concentrated controls, however, a skier was caught in a 200-foot long slide the first week the area opened last December. After tumbling over 30 feet, he was able to grab onto a tree and survived.
"There were concerns about opening these slopes," says Mike Pierce, Mt. Rose's director of marketing. "But we've taken a long look and are confident we can safely control and monitor the area."
Despite the dangers, or maybe because of them, Tahoe skiers have embraced the Chutes, and the improvements brought with them. To open the terrain, the resort spent over $5 million 2 summers ago, upgrading the popular Slide-side Zephyr chairlift into a high speed, 6-passenger ride—1,400 feet up the mountain in less than 4 minutes. A fixed-grip quad chair was built at the bottom out of the meadow below the Chutes to carry skiers over to the Zephyr. Except in deep snow conditions, skiers can also get back to the high-speed lift on the Rose-side of the resort via a traverse from just above the meadow.
"Opening the Chutes re-energized the resort," says Pierce. "We've sold a great number of season passes and attracted a new and large customer base. Along with some other general improvements, opening the Chutes has taken us to a higher level."
A 200-acre playground, the Chutes have 17 named runs, 9 of them designated double diamond (experts only), the remaining rated single black diamond (advanced). There are other wild shots and playful pitches to be discovered in the trees.
For long-time Tahoe skiers, the Chutes offer anew the thrill of discovery. They are a tonic for the soul, a place where one can savor the unmediated consequences of one's actions. In this day of buffed ski resort beltways and groomed terrain park bonk zones, it is breathtaking to know that Tahoe's newest terrain is out on its wildest edge.