THE MIDMORNING SNOW is surprisingly good. It’s soft but not yet slushy, hero snow that holds an edge in the tight turns up top but forgiving enough for knees that haven’t skied bumps in months. Adam and I meet up with sister and brother freeride pros and sixth-generation Montanans, Maria and Jack Lovely. They’ve been coming here every summer since they were kids and know it’s best to get out after the snow’s had a chance to soften a bit. The Poma line has a closing-day feel—it smells of sun-screen and patchouli, and everybody’s smiling, laughing and pumped to be here. During a good year, the Basin’s season runs from Memorial Day weekend through Fourth of July weekend, sometimes later. This year, though, a multi-week heat wave in early June has had the snow melting fast, and the amount of prep time the crew put in preseason will exceed the amount of time the lifts are actually spinning. The Lovelys greet friends in the lift line, including another owner, Justin Modroo, who’s a liftie today—shirtless, shovel-ing snow onto the melting bottom ramp. Modroo, a former Freeskiing World Tour top-10 finisher, runs the Freeride World Qualifier and Freeride Junior Tour Summer Shred Fest comps here. The Lovelys know Modroo well from their days competing. Like the terrain here, Beartooth’s surface lifts aren’t geared toward beginners. The Poma we’re riding spins fast and the loading ramp is a precarious snow pile, the lift having been installed with a deeper snowpack in mind. A few people miss their first try at catching the fast-moving stick and platter as it swings past, and when a guy grabs hold but fails to get the platter between his legs, the crowd cheers him on as he holds on tight, ascending the slope with arms outstretched, holding the platter like a steering wheel. Up toward the top, as the slope reaches its steepest point, he finally lets go and the crowd groans. “The vibe’s been evolving the past 10 years,” Austin Hart says. The Montanan is a patroller and mountain guide by profession, and also part of Beartooth’s ownership group. “It’s pretty laid back. Sometimes from a risk management point of view it’s a little too laid back. Some days trend like that.” Because of this skiing-first vibe, the place is doing well. Today, like most weekend days of this short season, lift tickets are sold out. The ownership group has a master plan, which it discusses annually over beers in Red Lodge, MT. This year, a big step in the plan came to fruition with the purchase of a PistenBully winch cat capable of navigating the steeps. “Usually it’s one season at a time,” Hart says. “But we do talk about goals for the future, how to eventually realize the potential of the place. We’ve been so busy though, we’re get-ting near there with just having the two lifts.” A half-century ago, an array of rope tows took skiers to plenty of terrain not currently accessible by the two Pomas. In addition to these two lifts, Red Lodge International Sum-mer Racing Camp, Inc., as the ski area is still legally known, is permitted to run two additional portable lifts. This is some-thing the ownership group at Beartooth would like to pursue in coming years, but for now most of the focus is on spinning lifts and meeting the area’s unique summer demand. IN THE EARLY AFTERNOON , the clouds dissipate, revealing brilliant blue sky. The snow softens to a nice slush, the kind that makes for buttery water-ski carves. Refreshing rooster tails of spray rain down behind us. At the bottom, people relax on the rocks, picnicking, resting, soaking up the sun. But up top, the wind picks up, putting a damper on our plans for a pleasant parking lot lunch. Core shots galore remind us about the dwindling snowpack, and a blown-out edge signals my last run of the season. At camp, we grill the jalapeño bratwursts the Lovelys have brought along—made from elk they harvested near their family home in Big Sky. At a nearby site, our neighbors wax skis in preparation for tomorrow. Running a waxing iron off a portable generator seems excessive, until I remember Beartooth Basin’s race camp roots. We make vague plans to meet here again next summer—it’s the kind of place worthy of an annual pilgrimage. “We’re just ski bums working hard to keep it alive,” Hart told me earlier in the day. “We’re just selling you downhill skiing and then an uphill ride out.” As the Lovelys pull away, Adam and I lounge in camp chairs and listen to the whoosh of a river running through the trees. We talk about heading into town to catch the pig races at the Bear Creek Saloon, or maybe standing knee-deep in a nearby alpine lake casting Woolly Buggers for fingerling rainbows. Bellies full of spicy elk meat, we crack fresh beers in the warm summer breeze. Beartooth Basin 059
The Ski Journal Volume 15, Issue 4: Page 59
