THAT SATURDAY MORNING storm clouds still linger above the mountain as we drive up the access road. Rather than a winding mountain pass, the unassuming stretch of pavement is a straight shot, 18 miles connecting cacti on the desert floor to the snowy base of the alpine. In a few minutes, we pass through several different climate zones—desert scrub and cholla cactus, giving way to pinyon and juniper before Seely’s proclaimed, “oasis, an island in the sky.” The liftie at the top of the Bluebird quad—clad in heart-shaped shades—welcomes every chair with a wave. We meet 17-year-old Lee Canyon ski instructor Skye Landess and her parents, Steve and Jill. The Landess’ family history at Lee Canyon goes back decades. “It was no questions asked,” the youngest Landess says. “We skied every Sunday. This is home. Everyone knows each other. It’s a close-knit group. It’s like a big party.” Jill’s dad, Joe, has long been a Lee Canyon fixture. A good friend of legendary ski instructor Marcel Barel, who ran the area ski school for 50 years, the now 93-year-old worked in the casino industry but viewed the ski area and its surrounding mountains as his family’s place of refuge. “This is our great escape,” Jill says. “Down in Las Vegas you’ve got the nightlife. You’ve got every kind of restaurant you could ever want…and then you come up here and it’s our own little corner of the world.” When Steve and Jill were dating, he won her dad’s affection by hucking a cliff on a tree run called Slot Alley. From that run on, he was considered part of the family. Before getting Skye on skis, Steve asked Barel how to teach her. The old instructor came back with a question: “Do you want to teach her to ski for a while, or do you want to teach her to ski for life?” Steve, of course, said for life. Barel’s approach worked for Skye, and last year she completed the circle, earning her PSIA level 1 certification from Glen Plake. If Skye is any indication of Lee Canyon’s future, things here seem neon bright. In recent years, the resort has focused both on children’s programming—from school groups to nature classes—that will cultivate the next generation of skiers with roots in the high desert. They’re also looking at terrain expansion, with two more lifts and as many as 23 new trails proposed in the now out-of-bounds terrain adjacent to the resort. The shots above the resort, though, will remain open to backcountry traffic only, maintaining an aspect of untamed skiing in one of the sport’s most unexpected locales. We ski until the snow stops midafternoon and, as the clouds part, views extend all the way to the rippling Mojave Desert floor 6,000 vertical feet below. From there, Sin City once again calls our name. We ski until the snow stops midafternoon and, as the clouds part, views extend all the way to the rippling Mojave Desert floor 6,000 vertical feet below. BACK IN THE DESERT , we hit the Strip and gorge ourselves at the Caesar’s Palace buffet, a culinary excess of crab legs, prime rib, oysters, roasted bone marrow and crème brûlée. Ski bums at our core, we eat well past our fill in an effort to get every penny’s worth. The Uber back toward our downtown hotel is one of silent digestion, knowing it’s merely the calm before the storm. As we exit the car into downtown chaos, skiing seems a world away. We try to get skinny and weave our way through the crowd, walking the street on post-powder-day legs. A pair of scantily clad 6-foot-tall Valkyries beckon us for a photo op. One is dressed as an angel, the other a devil. We shake our heads no, and the devil snaps Adam with her whip. We’re in the vortex now. Jostled by the crowd, Adam’s drink sloshes over the lip of his cup and splashes onto my foot, covering my shoe in bright orange Bahama Mama. The mass of people pulses to the light show above, and the current takes us away. We’re part of the herd. We’re the animals too. 072 The Ski Journal
The Ski Journal Volume 16, Issue 2: Page 72
