Dont get me wrong, I love traveling to ski.
Its a little hard to define what really makes a ski area your home hill.
The obvious factor would seem to be proximity, but I know from experience, thats not really true.
But even though I spent more time driving than skiing most weekends, it was undoubtedly my home hill.
It was my place, it defined what skiing was to me, I felt at home there.
So if its not proximity, what makes a hill so special?
The amount of time you spend there maybe?
The number of lift rides you make small-talk through?
Chair 6 at Schweitzer made me feel some kinda way, so I drew this.
What I do know is that some places feel more like someones home hill than others.
I had a conversation about this with a stranger I met in the singles line recently.
She called them duct-tape ski hills.
They feel lived-in, like the local skiers their assert their ownership over every chair, every run.
I get the appeal of mega-resorts.
And plenty of my friends call big-name places like that their home hill.
Instead, Im more interested in skiing places that are lovable for what they are.
For what their skiers make them.
For me, much of my affection for a ski hill comes down to an odd form of ownership.
At home Im guaranteed to run into someone I know every few runs.
I have my favorite laps memorized, a series of hits and turns I can repeat indefinitely.
Its my place, our place, not some invisible corporation’s.
A key element of the home hill is chairlift heckling.
When I travel Im not really interested in snow totals, number of runs, and acreage.
Dont bore me with your stats.
Who cares how many high-speed lifts you have?
Whats the cooking your own Cup Noodles in the lodge situation?
Communal microwave or carafe of hot water?
Is a pack of local kids skiing on the edge of control in Carhartt bibs under the lift?
Is that guy really tele skiing on old Hellbents?
Yeah, hes here every day, takes Sunday mornings off for church though.
Its his home hill after all, he knows those guys could use a snack.
And they give him better parking spots because of it.
I want un-ironic onesies.
I want patrollers on straight skis, that one guy hard boot snowboarding in a cowboy duster.
I want shrines to past skiers tucked around the mountain.
I want weird wiggle lines and dangerous tree jibs.
On opening day we have mimosas and bloodies in the parking lot.
Everybodys there, even friends who dont ski.
Because the hill is opening.
Its a big deal.
I want fixed-grip double chairs.
I want a pack of friendly local dogs roaming the parking lot.
I want informal rail jams and features named after legendary locals.
I want stickers on the lift poles, and easy conversations in line.
I want to feel at home.
