Snowbird's Tram Slam

The "maze" at Snowbird is a metal divider switch-back one must walk, wait, and walk again through on one's way to board a 125-person tram for a 2,800-foot ride to the top. A three-tram wait happens often on powdery weekends and means hanging out in the maze for at least 24 minutes before being herded on board. It's steamy and frustrating. People smell. It's enough to make one moo.

Unless of course, you seek out the humor in the situation. From my perch (sitting on a garbage can) at the front of the maze one given snowy Saturday, I could see Noah Brandon smiling his incredible smile to a raven-haired female skier on the other side of a switch-back. Tina Basich was trying to find Shannon Dunn who said she was riding "incognito today" with her huge hood over her head, and was tucked in the corner of the maze, chatting up a storm with a guy with a goatee.

Was it Hetzel? Naaa. Maybe I need glasses, I think, then realize I still have my goggles down.

I didn't see Natalie up front, until she screamed out for me, "KathLEEN!" She'd dyed her hair again, this time to a blooming fuchsia. I made a mental note to tell her how rad it looked with snow stuck to it after she gets through the turnstile.

Such is the scene at the Snowbird tram maze. Because the runs off the top have the longest vertical and the best powder, the maze attracts only the best riders and skiers. Over the past two years, Snowbird's attracted major powder hounds: Tina and Mikey Basich both have homes "down the canyon" and Shannon just moved into the neighborhood (her second home) last season. I'd just come from Noah's new little blue house in Sandy, Utah, to hook up with pro-rider Lori Gibbs and Natalie. On any given day at the tram, it's like a "Who's Who" of snowboarding.

On this day, I still hadn't found Lori until the next ride up when I stepped last onto the tram. Unfortunately she'd gotten stuck standing next to a guy we call "Rolex"--the tram-dude--a 40-something, rich lawyer who skis fat Volkls. Rumor has it he bribes with booze, money, lots of spare lip balm, to be able to stand in "his" spot next to the tram operator. I guess so he can be first guy out or something. During the ride up the mountain, Rolex spews in the most annoying baritone monotone like a Scot-Schmidt-wannabe about "his" powder stash, places where he'll "take you," and name-dropping his latest conquests off Rat's Nest, the Cirque, and other double black diamonds.

At the bottom I ask Lori, "Any knew places?"

"No where knew. We always know where he's been," she says. "I just listened because I had to."

Next trip up I back in backwards like the rest of the snowboarders with the flat of my board against my body. Unfortunately, I'm in a bad spot and get squished with my bindings punching into this guy in front of me. "Is that a binding or are you just happy to see me?" he asks smiling like an idiot. I can't believe I'm stuck next to him for the next 8.2 minutes. Lori laughs. "Better than Rolex," she whispers.

At the top again, we all scrambled to buckle in and get out of the wind. Goggles on, we ride fast to the "death traverse" to make our way out to the untracked stashes. Only locals, expert skiers, and snowboarders bother with this traverse today in the wind-packed, white-out. I don't look around--I know where everyone is and that we'll all meet at the top of Wilbur or Lone Pine where, rumor has it, the deep pow practically requires Pieps. We drop into blood-stirring freshies--the kind one can barely imagine. I stop mid-way down Lone Pine for a quick goggle-wipe and see Natalie's pink hair further down to the right. She's carving big and fat. We'll have to do this again, I think, and ride on down to eight her tracks.