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Returning from my Tahoe trip, I sadly stuffed my skis away for the season. Because my funds were running low and a proposed Utah road trip had petered out, I resigned myself to staying put—poor me.
Powder Alerts, however, kept slamming into my In box. Alta was getting hammered. For those of you unaware, Alta is the greatest ski mountain in the world. One of four resorts within a half hour drive from Salt Lake City (SLC), Alta gets over 500 inches of snow a year. And the snow it gets, “Champagne Powder,” is the lightest and driest in the world: gorgeous fluffy stuff. Its varied terrain and old-style feel lend it a particular charm. For true skiers (sorry, no snow boards allowed) Alta is Mecca.
I bit the bullet, cashed in my last frequent flyer voucher, and got a place to stay with an old high school buddy who lived out in SLC. Was this wise? Sure, I had skied New Mexico and Colorado in January, but the snow was crap, so that didn’t count. Yes, I had just returned from Tahoe less than a month before, but…well, a ski junkie needs little excuse to grab his skis and head for the mountains. I booked a flight for the end of March.
Then my lodging broke down. My buddy Frank out in SLC got tied up with work, so no bunking at the Freeman Inn until the end of the trip. After spending a couple of days weighing my options, I decided to go all out and stay up the mountain. One of the most charming lodges in Little Cottonwood Canyon was the Alta Peruvian. For the last decade, my ski friends and I crashed the place to use their hot tub and swimming pool. This time I went legit and rented a dorm room.
(The Alta Peruvian Lodge; the views are great.)
Arriving in SLC on Wednesday, I drove up Little Cottonwood Canyon to the Alta Peruvian Lodge: less than an hour from airport to parking lot. The dorm was a very snug four-bunk room: fortunately only one other roommate showed up. It was still cramped and the bathroom was down the hall, but the price, including meals, was reasonable—and the Peruvian dinners were legendary. The place had a great, open common room, a funky bar, and lots of little crooks and crannies to hang out in. Besides, when you’re there you mostly ski, eat, and crash. So the Spartan accommodations fit just fine.
That night I sat down for a family-style dinner with seven other lodgers.
They were a group from the East Coast. We all told tall tales about our skiing exploits. We all worshipped at the altar of Alta. Most of them had been staying at the Peruvian for years. Its atmosphere, and the food, kept bringing them back—some since the 1970s. The four-course meal was superb; I had the lamb. As I climbed into bed that night, I checked the weather report: a storm was brewing.
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