Story and Photography by Shilo Urban
A line of striped yellow beach chairs stretches in the sunshine under brilliant blue skies, but it’s not sand at my feet — it’s snow. I’m halfway up a mountain at Veuve Clicquot Sun Club, watching daredevil skiers flip and twist on the terrain park nearby. Snowmass sprawls out all around me, a boundless white playground of powdery ridges and runs to explore.
Snowmass is one of the four mountains at Aspen Snowmass Ski Resort in the Colorado Rockies (along with Aspen Mountain/Ajax, Aspen Highlands and Buttermilk), and it’s bigger than the other three combined. It’s also the only one with easy-peasy bunny slopes as well as death-defying double-blacks, including the longest vertical drop in the country. Yet this world-class ski area is laid-back and unpretentious, with a family- friendly vibe — the opposite of flashy, see-and-be-seen Aspen. It’s a bit like Fort Worth versus Dallas: no less sophisticated, just less showy.
After a 150-minute flight from DFW to the tiny Aspen Airport, my friend and I settled in at Limelight Snowmass Hotel, a hive of activity with two massive hot tubs and a five-story climbing wall. Foosball tables and Xbox games corral children in the side lobby, but we’re more interested in the fireplace lounge. It overflows every evening with an all-ages scene of locals and travelers alike — clearly the place to be. We linger over blueberry mojitos and listen to the live guitarist before wandering back to our room to crash. The spic-and-span, Scandinavian-style space has a big dining nook and a bright orange Smeg fridge that almost glows in the dark. During the day, we can watch skiers and boarders glide by on the run beneath our window.
Snowmass has two hubs: lower Base Village and upper Snowmass Mall, with the two linked by a colorful, no-skis-needed gondola that everybody calls “Skittles.” Our hotel, and pretty much everything else in Base Village, was built in 2018. Everything seems new and shiny, from the ice rink to the firepits in the plaza. Almost all the lodging is ski-in/ski-out, and lifts connect us with 150 miles of trails.
My friend has never skied, and my skills are hardcore mediocre, so we kick off our ski trip with a full-day private lesson. Our instructor Katie handles our differing abilities with aplomb and patience, a total pro who has honed her teaching techniques through years of family lessons. I feel like the entire mountain is mine, a wide-open expanse with no stress-inducing crowds barreling down at me. I’m polishing my parallel turns, but I keep getting distracted by the alpine splendor all around me. I fall, I fall again — and yet I just can’t stop smiling. Time whizzes by, and soon it’s après-ski o’clock.
We discover the ideal après-ski recipe at Venga Venga: a sunny slope-side patio, cocktails by cozy fires and a frisson of electric energy. Buzzing with endorphins and fresh mountain air, we bask in the post-ski afterglow. Laughter bounces off the snow as skiers swap stories from their days. Sunset slowly approaches, and as the temperature drops, our thoughts turn toward dinner.
Options abound, and as a foodie and recovering perfectionist, I’ve researched all 40 eateries on Snowmass’ website. We begin at Limelight Hotel with a first-night feast of lobster risotto and wagyu bolognese, plus a pepperoni pickled pepper pizza for dessert. And then some churros. Crêpe Therapy Café gives us 25 combinations of fillings to choose from, and Aurum’s French onion burgers are oozing with melted gruyere, the unofficial official cheese of Snowmass. It reappears in our fondue pot at the Edge, whose vintage ski posters and Old-World woodwork belie its modern name. We swirl chunks of salami and green apples in our bubbling pot o’ heaven with a well-paired 2022 Louis Latour Pouilly-Fuissé.
But for peak ski chalet ambiance, we travel up the mountain to the Cabin. Inside the log walls, it’s a lively hubbub with fur-covered chairs and a wooden balcony. A mounted moose head stares eye-to-eye with an antler chandelier. We sit amidst Colorado’s glorious golden light and cloudless skies on the outdoor terrace, which spills out into Veuve Clicquot Sun Club. We’ve scored a last-minute reservation at the Cabin thanks to the Limelight’s concierge, and we toast to our good fortune. The champagne flows.
Lunch is artistic and impeccable: gooey camembert en croute, halibut with smoked tomato beurre blanc, bison short ribs with blackberry demi-glace.
Indigo mountaintops unfurl on the horizon while an endless drip, drip, drip of skiers slide down the slopes in front of us. I want to sit at this table forever. Because a ski trip isn’t about being the fastest or the best (for me, anyway). It’s about the soul-lifting magic of immersing yourself in the mountains, the exhilaration on the trails and the easy living below — and a frosty escape from the flatlands of Texas to the snow-dusted top of the world.