TOP TO BOTTOM Known as one of the more affordable major ski resorts in eastern Europe, Bansko’s party scene seems to rival its ski terrain. We witnessed one poor novice take the longest slide I’ve ever seen—maybe a mile or more down the main run. Then later that night at the Happy End bar, his friends penalized him with drinking a beer from his ski boot for taking the biggest fall of the day. Jams, flags, souvenirs, and novelties in the Bulgarian border town of Melnik. Outside of Bansko, Bulgaria in general is not a very touristy country, but being a border town, Melnik is one of the more popular places to visit for a true cultural experience. WHEN WE LANDED in Sofia in early March, it was warm. Jake was wearing shorts. I made a few half-serious jokes about skiing a couple of days, then hitchhiking to Greece or Albania to hang out on the Mediterranean coast. As we loaded our van, light rain pitter-pattered on the windshield. Leaving Bulgaria’s capital, the landscape morphed from Soviet-style concrete buildings into low roll-ing, tree-laden hills. The temperature dropped and sheets of snow turned the hills white, bringing hopes of fresh powder. Although it was snowing, the ground was bare. The air felt springlike. Arriving in Bansko a couple of hours later, we were relieved to find the alpine obscured by clouds. We drove to the Family Hotel Djangal, where the caretaker, George, put us to bed with a shot of homemade moonshine. The town of Bansko sits at 3,035 feet of elevation—not that high, given the latitude. Yet the resort rises to just over 9,000 feet on Todorka Peak and claimed a few inches of fresh in the morning. A long gondola ride through thick forest took us up to the midstation where we boarded a series of chairs through dense cloud cover. I could hardly see my hands in front of me. Then light began to splinter through the fog and soon the Pirin Mountains unveiled themselves. Todorka was right in front of us, and a series of summits just under 9,000 feet scattered as far as the eye could see. Peaks above tree line rose steeply out of deep, narrow valleys—some were shrouded in storm clouds while other caught rays of sunlight. Below us lay untouched snow. We set a traverse line and skied the low-hanging fruit just outside the ski area boundary. Though not bottomless, the two or three inches of fresh were a welcome surprise. Each turn sent cold smoke billowing off our skis and jet-lagged legs. It was a pleasant introduction to Bulgarian off-piste. The next morning, we woke early in hopes of skiing more proper descents off Todorka. Our bags were packed heavy as we repeated what would be a daily routine of walking through the village in ski boots while gorging ourselves on cheesy Bulgarian phyllo dough pastries called banitsa. From there we got our lift tickets and rode the same hour-long series of chairlifts to the top. The partial plan was to climb Todorka and ski the imposing northeast couloir off the summit. While Josh, Jake, Lindsey and Alexis organized their gear, I struck up a conversation with a local woman. The couloir looked a touch firm for my liking, and I was eyeing up plan B. I decided I would traverse part of the ridge and shoot photos of the crew skiing the couloir, then meet up midslope. The crew passed me on the ridgeline as I watched them navigate a knife ridge at the base of the summit. As I gathered my gear to move to a better vantage point, the woman hooted at me, “You should go skiing with the four guys approaching you now.” Four men indeed were approaching and with some basic English and a few hand gestures I asked them, “Is it cool if I ski with you guys?” They dropped the universal head nod of approval and I quickly gathered my gear. I could tell by the direction they were going that it was the zone I wanted to ski. I had been reading Ski the Balkans and was partially familiar with the area but remembered its convoluted nature. The book highlighted repeated warnings about avalanches and exposure. The guys said very little to me as they dropped in one at a time. Each made precise turns to feel out the snowpack and continued to a safe area below. I traversed the slope and dropped in. The turns were smooth and soft as I sought out an untouched panel to the left and cut steep turns toward my new crew. The group didn’t loiter for long and from there we skied a narrow chute before choosing a perfect hidden traverse line over highly exposed terrain. The snow became a mixture of powder and dust on crust. The terrain was steep to medium-steep, with ribs and chutes sprinkled in. By the time we reached the bottom, traversed back into the ski area and hopped on the chair back up, we dove deeper into conversations about powder skiing, California, Bulgaria and recent avalanches on the slope we had just skied. By the time the last lift closed, we had laid tracks across the entire slope, accumulating more than 10,000 feet of vert down stunning alpine terrain. It was my first real taste of Bulgarian backcountry skiing, and it was good. IN BANSKO, the quaint cobblestoned sections of throw-back Bulgarian towns were juxtaposed by a modern, British-dude-shrouded party scene. The white ribbons of sunbaked snow on the lower mountain were bustling with first-time Bulgarian skiers, while jagged peaks looming in the distance taunted us with tales of a sketchy snowpack. Yet we wouldn’t be able to reach them. Shortly after our two epic ski days, an unruly wind whipped though Bansko. The fresh dustings that made for smooth skiing and easy travel were replaced by a bulletproof surface. With upper lifts closed, we sought out other forms of enter-tainment. We skinned into thick forests of Bulgarian fir. At lower elevation the wind was nonexistent. Big flakes drifted back and forth like feathers falling from the sky. 074 The Ski Journal
The Ski Journal Volume 13, Issue 3: Page 74
