Duncan has always been one of the most competitive people I’ve ever met. He’s also one of the fairest. Legend has it that on one occasion, he caught two snowboarders poaching a closed lift line and made a deal: If they could beat him up a boot pack to the top, he’d let them go. If he won, they would have to pay for their tickets. At easily double their age, he still won by a long shot. I’m not sure if he mentioned that he snowshoed that lift line almost daily. Words Jann Eberharter Photos and Captions Grant Gunderson THERE are no condos at Mt. Baker Ski Area. No high-rise hotels or luxury storefronts. And if there’s a hot tub, it’s the best kept secret since Bigfoot’s whereabouts. In the day and age of mega-resorts and conglomerate ski passes, this small, locally owned, 1,000-acre-ish ski hill at the end of Washington state’s Highway 542 is as much an anomaly as it is a rarity. Mt. Baker is not a secret. Its snowfall is mythic, breaking records and placing Baker toward the top of many powder skiers’ bucket lists. Yet perhaps its most impressive character-istic is that the ski area has remained independently owned and operated for more than half a century, staving off outside acquisition and bankruptcy, while cultivating a fiercely pas-sionate local community. At the helm of the ship, navigating the rolling waves of an industry that has redefined itself countless times over his five decades in charge, is Duncan Howat. As Mt. Baker’s general manager from 1968 to 2019, Howat has been a part of almost every major moment of the ski area’s storied history—every-thing from historic storm cycles and international recognition to drought and communal tragedy. In many ways, his impact on Washington state skiing has been larger than life. In fact, when he steps away from his role this winter, three people will step in to fill his shoes. Howat represents the last guard in a generation that changed the way we ski, leaving a lasting imprint steeped in community, deep snow and an enduring family legacy. Duncan Howat 063