The Old Barn

My family and I recently spent the Thanksgiving holiday in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. This one time small ranching community has been transformed into a world renowned ski resort just in the span of my lifetime. One of the symbols of Steamboat is a barn located near the base of the ski hill. It belonged to the Moore family when they ran their ranching operation before Ski Town USA was born. This old barn evokes a lot of feelings when I look at it.

When you live back east and see this picture of what looks like the old west with a rustic barn covered in snow and a ski resort in the background, it makes you want to catch the next plane to Denver and strap on the boards. It evokes horses galloping in snow up to their chests with cowboys in hot pursuit. It feels western. The barn is a relic of times gone by. It almost appears to be housing the past as it stubbornly pushes back at the progress of man.

Besides this barn, Steamboat is also known for its Champaign powder snow. The term Champaign powder comes from an observation a skier once made while skiing in deep powder at Steamboat. He said the feather light snow tickled your nose the way Champaign bubbles do and the name stuck. A new marketing campaign for tourism was born.

On our visit, I got to experience some Champaign powder up on Rabbit Ears Pass just east of Steamboat Springs. I went snowshoeing at a place called the West Summit Trail. This trail sits on the west side of the pass at about 9,400 feet. I chose the west side of the pass because it is designated for cross country skiing and snow shoeing only. The east side of the pass is open to snow mobiles as well.

The snow on the pass was already two and a half feet deep. It was so light that it felt like you were walking on pillows when you went off the packed down trail. You didn’t realize how deep the snow really was until you took your snowshoes off and tried to walk around in it. You instantly sank like a stone up to your waist. I took a break on top of a ridge and had a Gatorade seated in the sink hole I created when I took off my snow shoes.

The snow on the ski hill at Steamboat was not as nice. With only roughly twenty percent of the runs open and a base of twenty-one inches or so, the hill got shredded pretty fast when we skied exposing a slick, packed down surface that was challenging. I think they call it icy back east. In any event, the locals didn’t seem to mind and went flying by us with ease. Well, a couple of us anyway. Our daughter flew down the hill with reckless abandon. My wife and I were a little more conservative and fought the hill most of the day. It still felt invigorating though as you tried to keep from sliding off the mountain.

And speaking of sliding off the mountain, the old barn hangs on and remains like a dinosaur from a prehistoric land. Developers have tried to get rid of it. There are condos across the street from it. But the old girl still stands. Her doors are closed to the outside world. Inside, I’ll bet the old west still exists. You can probably here cowboys and horses and all kinds of things western if you were to put your ear to the outside of the barn. At least I like to think so.