Skiing has been in our family's blood for a long time. My Uncle George, a larger than life character in both body and spirit, jumped into the sport back in the 1960s, in of all places, Ohio. As a young guy, he managed a ski hill there - Snow Trails. His gregarious personality then landed him a job at Hedco, a manufacturer of snow makers known as old workhorses in that realm. In an ideal year, mother nature does that work. Throughout the 70s and early 80s, in those less than ideal years, George Nekervis would make sales and installation trips all over the world to make a white holiday possible for skiers everywhere.
In an era when the speed limit maxed at 55mph, George rocketed across the country at 85, stacking up tickets and stories as he went - including that night he sat next to the lead singer of AC/DC at a mountain bar; the time he didn't give his install team the day off on the opening date of deer season, and suddenly gun shots were ringing along the hillside as a buck galloped across their worksite (a mistake he would not repeat again); or that early morning before a hill opened when resort personnel aimed an avalanche trigger gun just a little too high, sending a shell clear over the mountain into a (thankfully empty) house. In the early 80s, George then started SkiView USA, the first maker of billboard advertisements on ski lifts. He recogized before most that a ten minute ride atop a winter wonderland was a captive audience and a grand opportunity.
Chasing George's spirit, I moved to Denver in the late 90s, and finally experienced skiing in its grandest form, flying down mountains that took half an hour to traverse, through forests and bowls, atop endless stretches of deep fluffy snow - in the company of fellow twenty-somethings who built a life-long tribe of friendship weaved from the shared experience of having left home states to venture into young adulthood on a new frontier.
Back then, skiing was a good deal cheaper than it is today. Mountains were often still mom and pop operations and a visit to a local "ski swap" ensured a family could buy used equipment at an affordable price. The advent of the internet ensured a new kind of access to cheap skis, but helped fuel consolidation of ski hills across the country to the point that just two giant companies - Epic and Ikon - own most of the resorts in the United States. Any student of economics can tell you an oligopoly usually guarantees a steep rise in prices, whatever the industry. And sure enough, in America's ski world, that has been the case. A few local hills, like Mount Bohemia in Michigan or Cascade Mountain in Wisconsin, chug on as family owned operations, offering affordable prices to middle class families looking to embrace winter. Their chair lifts are a bit smaller and older, their lodges a little more worn, and I love them.
This New Years holiday, we finally decided to bite the bullet and buy Ikon season passes so our kids could experience a big Colorado mountain at Steamboat Springs. We joined the family of a dear friend from my 90s Denver Days in a mountain side condo that harkened back to that era too. As luck would have it, mother nature took her own holiday, requiring the next generation of those snow making machines to work their winter magic. The conditions were less than ideal, but our kids were troopers. At least one caught the family ski bug by week's end.
All experienced the greatest perk of a day on the mountain - settling in for an evening of relaxed conversations, board games, tv bowl games, hot tub soaks, the Stranger Things finale, and strategizing about how best to hit the slopes the next day - much of it enjoyed in a cozy living room with great company and a warm fire. The perfect way to hit the pause button on school and work to fuel up for the day-to-day of a new year.
May your 2026 be a great one filled with friends, family, and the rich fruits of your labor
