Arcing down the ridgeline, I gazed out at a breathtaking view. In front of me was the full length of the Jordanelle Reservoir from north to south, the calm water reflecting the puffy white spring clouds in the sky. In the distance stood the High Uintas, standing like a staging backdrop with their snow-capped peaks piercing into the clear blue heavens.
It was enough to distract me from the broad country road of snow under my feet, with undulating terrain that dipped and swooped beneath my skis. Suddenly, the trail bisected a gateway formed by a well-defined row of white-barked aspens, welcoming me into the next phase of my journey.
As I dropped into a canyon, the aspens gave way to the snow-covered boughs of a deep grove of evergreens as the trail made sweeping turns into the valley, a seemingly endless journey down the mountainside.
It was quiet and peaceful, with the only sounds breaking the morning silence coming from skis carving on corduroy mixed with an occasion whoop of delight as we dipped off the groomed path to make pristine figure eights in the 10 inches of untouched powder the groomers had left behind.
Finally, the base of the Mayflower chairlift came into view, a remarkable 2.4 miles from where we had begun!
When we dropped off the top of Deer Valley Resort’s Sterling Express, I didn’t know exactly where we were headed. All season long, I had looked forward to getting a firsthand sense of what “Expanded Excellence” was all about. Now I had found it.
Over the past two summers, we’ve all gazed longingly at the ski runs taking life on spiny fingers jutting out from the ridgeline that extends south from Bald Mountain (9,340 feet) to Park Peak (9,350) to South Peak (9,040) and on toward Heber. The freshly cut runs stood out vividly but left enough mystery and intrigue behind that every skier was just itching to get out there to explore.
We slid onto Mayflower for the short ride up, then a bonus run down Stein’s Way to Sultan, rising up another 1,700 feet to where our journey began. Once again, we pushed off along Homeward Bound, with an idyllic view of Bonanza Flats, dropping into to the snowy meadow below Park Peak.
This time we dropped into a broad, winding drainage through a forest of aspen and pine with a few nice dropovers before meeting a snowcat to take us up to the flanks of Big Dutch Peak. This was mineral country around Big Dutch Hollow, with mines like Star of Utah, Park Galena and Mayflower dating back to the 1920s before going dormant in the ’50s.
Our eyes were big in the snowcat as we exchanged stories, pinching ourselves in disbelief that we had this opportunity to spend a morning playing together in the snow. The cat chugged its way up to the top of Big Dutch. We quickly clicked into our bindings and eyed the perfect pitch of a snowfield, whooping and hollering with our hearts beating faster as we made precision turns in the fresh springtime snow.
As skiers, we love to exaggerate our truths. Over a beer at the Sticky Wicket, our exploits quickly grew in stature. But there was little to enhance in the story that morning — it was very real!
As often as you may have passed by on U.S. 40, until you dip your ski tips into the snow, it’s impossible to truly appreciate the vastness of the terrain and the sheer majesty of the views. Much like its neighbor Canyons a few miles away, the topography is built off the finger-like ridgelines that form significant terrain features.
The operational part of my skier’s brain was envisioning the planned lift placements going in as early as this summer, all the time recognizing just how much new terrain was skiable from already-existing chairs.
More importantly, the “let’s go skiing” part of my brain was fantasizing on the reality we’ll experience in our hometown.
It was a long cat ride from the bottom of Big Dutch back home. Ending our adventure we climbed out onto the snow, clicked in and headed back over the rest of Homeward Bound. It was strange to all of a sudden be skiing alongside others. We made a beeline to Silver Lake, climbing upstairs to the Sticky Wicket to regale each other with tales of a morning well skied.