A cloud of snowflakes cut through the air, obscuring my view, as my body raced through it. Popping out the other side, I saw two trees narrowly on either side of me that had been ahead when I entered the cloud, which had been pushed up and in front by my snowboard’s deep turn in the plentiful, newly-fallen snow. It was another powder day at Monarch Mountain, my home ski area, and I was alone, enjoying early runs at an excited pace. At the bottom, I wove into the mostly empty lift-line maze, pulling up behind a lone skier. “Single?” I asked him. “Yeah, come on up,” he replied.
Once settled onto the chair together, he asked me if I had been skiing yesterday too. As the new snow had all fallen overnight, I told him I had not, and he remarked that I must live nearby. I chuckled, and confirmed. He was visiting for the week from New Orleans, and today being Mardi Gras, he had many colorful bead strands and the accent to match. Our upbeat conversation over the seven-and-half minutes on the chairlift was nearly as enjoyable as my last run.
Whether you’re a first-time skier or a seasoned old-goat, lift lines are unique congregation points where etiquette and culture are showcased. From ski fashion to bold personalities, it’s all on display. Unlike the tourists and commuters that I’d recently witnessed in New York City subways, where nobody talked with others, skiers and snowboarders in Colorado lift lines are often chatty and social, where sunshine and mountains brighten moods.
The snow was incredible, and my legs burned, as the day wore along, from the true workout of a succession of runs made with no stops. I rode lines in the open glades that I had spotted from the chairlift rides beforehand, and on each descent, I bounced down through fresh drifts and dreamy mounds of deep snow. As much time as I’ve spent in the backcountry, and on high-mountaintops with my snowboard, the fun of a day spent Colorado resort riding cannot be under-appreciated.
Once again, in line, I found another skier to ride the chair with. I’ve always enjoyed the distinctively intimate time spent with a stranger that a chair lift ride can provide. This gentleman, a bit older than myself, was from Colorado Springs. As we chatted, he asked about my history at the ski area.
I grew up in nearby Salida, able to look out of my second-story bedroom window at the stalwart, ever-present guard of 14,000-foot peaks that line the nearby horizon. Nestled into a low point along the shoulder, where Highway 50 winds over the range, lies Monarch Ski Area, small by mega-resort standards, but big in my life.
I first started riding its lifts as a young child, when I skied in a local kids’ program called Mogul Mites, until I was old enough to join the race team. In 1980s ski culture, racing was king, and every mountain had a program. After my friend and I got kicked off the ski team for ditching out on hiking the race gates to instead sneak off and ski powder, we switched to snowboarding, as it was the exciting new sport that had just been allowed on the lifts.
Not long after, the mountain manager saw us on snowboards and told us we should take a lesson. We said we didn’t even know they offered them, and he pointed up the hill to the one being given. We recognized the instructor and laughed that we were better than him. George offered us jobs. Colin and Dennis worked in ski school but I worked as a lift operator for two seasons. The man I was riding with told me how he had always wanted to work as a “liftie.” We talked about how our histories of being high in the mountains here during the winter season, and our love these sports, had influenced our lives.
Monarch Ski Area, founded in 1939, is rarely included in conversations about the state’s bigger resorts, with their high-speed, eight person chairlifts and massive acreage boundaries. Its main two-person chair lifts were installed in a period from 1968-1981, and since then, the lift-served boundary-line has remained unchanged. But in 2025, a new lift on the north side of the area is opening new terrain. And another locals-favorite ski area in the southwest corner of the state, Purgatory Resort, is also adding a new lift to service a terrain expansion for the 2025-26 season. Colorado’s smaller ski areas possess charm, amazing gladded terrain, and short lift lines that can be a fresh-breath alternative to the trappings of bigger resorts. Monarch has been my home mountain for most of my life, and despite living elsewhere and riding at dozens of other resorts, I’ve realized that home, or wherever you regularly put in your days on the mountain, doesn’t have to be mega to be special.
The skier who’d dreamed of being a liftie and ski bum told me as much as he’d yearned to do so, he’d chosen a corporate career path instead. As the top of the lift approached, I asked, “Do you regret it?” His mirrored goggles hid his expression as he gazed toward the sky, and if he responded, I didn’t hear. But I knew for certain that I didn’t regret spending my days here.
