Powder karma piles on local's ski trip to Chile

Every year at the end of August when the first high Aspens start to turn yellow, my motivation to ride my bike is at an annual low, and there is a touch of new white stuff on the fourteeners; my legs get a twitch in them to make some powder turns.

It has become one of my ski-bum-life goals to make a ski trip in the summer, and a bike trip in the winter. The last couple of winters I have been able to escape to Moab for a few days of pedaling, but because of rising airline prices, I have had to put the ski trips on hold.

Luckily we have had a couple of killer local winters in old CO. But, a couple of summers ago my friend Jim and I were able to throw together at the last minute what turned out to be an epic powder trip to the Southern Hemisphere.

Storm belts Chile

Of course, there were finances to consider — some days my bank account said “go south son,” and other days it said “no way.” This trip depended on one thing: Could I rent out a vacant room in my condo?

Like a true ski bum, I used to make extra money by sleeping on my couch and renting out the two bedrooms in my two-bedroom condo. (I no longer have to do this, because I now have a girlfriend who rents one of the rooms, and lets me share it with her.)

I found a renter in mid-August and the spring skiing trip to the Pacific-Side Andes in early September was coming to fruition.

With an 80-degree sun generating waves of heat off the Eagle airport tarmac, I boarded a big silver bird that would take me to my connecting flight to Santiago in Dallas. Not even wanting to test the Dallas heat, I hid out in the air-conditioned confines of the airport until it was time to board. If I only knew about the van ride I would be on in few hours, maybe I would have gone outside and taken in some rays.

Upon boarding my overnight flight, I feel into a deep slumber occasionally waking up to some feature presentation. Startled by some pretty rough turbulence, I woke to early morning milk bottle conditions surrounding the fuselage of the plane.

Upon clearing the cloudbanks, about 100 feet off the ground, my first sight of the Chilean landscape was a large brown river about to burst its banks. I still felt like there was nothing out of the ordinary happening, and secured my luggage and made my way through customs.

After an uneventful pass through customs, my little ski vacation down south became bit more adventurous. I found a reasonable shuttle rate up to Valle Nevado, the ski area where Jim and I had reservations. The shuttle guys seemed a little nervous and rushed when I was talking to him.

Pepe, the driver, and I shoved my gear in the back of the van and off we went. In his broken English he told me we had to make a quick stop. I started to put 2 and 2 together when Pepe ran in the shuttle bus shop, and soon returned with a set of chains. By the way, I was the only one in the van with Pepe. I guess I was the only one stupid or gullible enough to try to make it up to the resort at this point.

As Pepe and I began to communicate in Spanglish, I soon learned that a huge Pacific storm was belting Chile. Our first mission was to get out of the city. With the river and its tributaries bursting at their seams, it took over an hour and half of detours to get out of the city limits. According to Pepe, It usually only takes this amount of time to get up to Valle Nevado.

‘Perfect blizzard’

And then the switchbacks started. Steep, tight, one lane, and riddled with mudslides is the only way I can describe the tropical portion of my journey to Valle Nevado. With the rapid gain in altitude, the mudslides of the lush green jungle soon gave way the slick slushy roads of a high alpine treeless environment.

The rear end of the van began to swerve back and forth, as we were constantly turning as we ascended the spiral staircase of a road we were on. Pepe and I got out and threw on the chains like a NASCAR pit crew, and off we went. Pepe later told me that that was the lowest that he had ever had to put the chains on.

The powder kept on piling up, but Pepe kept on going and kept on smiling, so I had no worries. For some reason that little van just charged up the road until we came to a major traffic jam of transport vehicles in the road. No big deal, all the ski bums just got out and pushed all the vans out of the ditch, and the plow just happened to make one last thrust up the hill to the resort parking lot.

We were there, and the last vehicle in or out for four days. I was never in distress, only thinking about how much of the good stuff I was getting ready to sink my skis into. Sometimes ignorance of your real situation is bliss.

Before I go on, I have to describe the enormity of this storm. The blizzard packed hurricane-force winds, and dumped over 6 1/2 feet of snow on Valle Nevado in two days. Because of the high winds and heavy snow the parking lot and its cars and trucks were invisible for three days.

One morning I witnessed ski company employees holding on to a long rope and guiding each other to the main hotel from their accommodations only 100 meters away, because of the strength of the gales and sheets of snow that were bearing down on them. One of the resort's high-speed quads was delayed in opening because on of chairs had been blown over 360 degrees and caught the communications lines in the process.

And then there were the hundreds of man hours it took to dig out the surface lifts that were buried under 13-foot drifts that were not there before the storm. This “perfect blizzard” was the real deal, and one of the largest to ever hit Chile. My “powder karma” was definitely with me, and I was lucky to be safe and sound at the hotel.

Boys from Back East

It had taken six hours to make it up to Valle Nevado, and it was now two in the afternoon. I had only a couple of hours till the lifts closed. I checked in, chucked my gear in my room, threw on my stuff on, and went out side to hit the slopes.

To my disappointment, only one short, sheltered chairlift was open. Luckily, because of the layout of the resort, it serviced some nice steep pitches right out of the door of the hotel.

French developers, who designed the resort, decided to put some funky looking Euro-80s-style buildings right on top of a razor thin ridgeline, which adds or detracts from the Andes landscape, depending on your tastes. With three feet of fluff blanketing the slopes, these were some of the best 30-45 second runs I had ever done.

After a few laps I met up with some boys from back east, Killington proper. They had the same hankering I did, and that was to explore some more terrain. They said, that they knew the resort quite well, and we could do a quick, safe tour before the sun went down. Luckily I had brought all my trekking gear.

So as soon as the lifts shut, I ran back up to my room, and gathered up my skins and avalanche gear. While only being at the resort for a couple of hours, I was off with my newfound friends on a tour into one of the hardest blizzards I have ever experienced. I was in Heaven.

On a ridgeline pounded by driving snow and 40 mph gusts, we found ourselves a cat track that had been recently groomed, so there was no need to break trail. This was quite the relief, as the aforementioned depth of the good stuff was rising by the minute.

After a couple of hours of trudging, we took shelter in a lift shack, and contemplated our route down. Not knowing the terrain,, I was relieved we were only taking a very gentle slope back down to the resort. Our only worry was to not ski down past the village, as the lifts were shut for the day. So after a quick snack, we enjoyed waist deep goodness back to the hotel.

Shots of sugar

Upon our return to the village, the Vermont Boys began to educate me on the ins and outs of the workings of Valle Nevado. They told me I was eating dinner with them, so I was added to their reservation, and when they said dinner with them, they meant for the week.

See, skiing at Valle Nevado is sort of like being on a cruise ship. Everything is included. So when you check in you are not only given a room key, but also issued your lift and meal tickets.

So far the skiing was insane, and to my delight any eating event in Chile is truly an occasion, and the four restaurants at Valle Nevado go all out. I was glad I brought some collared shirts and a dinner jacket, as everyone dresses up for dinner.

Each establishment has its own theme: French, Italian, Chilean, and Brazilian. With virtual access to fresh fish, meat, and vegetables, my words would not do justice to the delectable cuisine of Valle Nevado's bistros. One of the coolest offerings of each eatery was the dessert.

To allow us to partake in the great assortment of after-dinner offerings, dessert was served in tiny shot glasses. Although I was definitely being a pig when I returned from the dessert table with five shots of sugar delight, the tiny portions didn't make me feel like such a swine.

And then there was the wine. I'm not much of a drinker after retiring from professional status, but when in Chile, you must take in the Chilean wines, enough said.

While on the subject of restaurants, I guess should hit on some of the other amenities of Valle Nevado. Rooms in the main hotel are quite nice and have amazing views of the Andes. The newest pirated movies from the US are shown nightly in the hotel theater.

The spa and gym are quite nice and modern, and offer killer massages. The resort also has access to heli-skiing, which we were not able to take advantage of because of the huge dump we received during our visit.

Another helicopter service that is available through the resort is a shuttle from Santiago Airport. This brings us back to the subject of my buddy Jim, and the story of his mission to get to Valle Nevado.

Hard-time helicopter

Jim had bought his airline ticket by using up his airline miles. At the time of purchase this seemed like a good idea. Had a free ticket with one more lay over than I, in Brazil. This put him into Santiago only an hour after my flight arrived.

But when Jim arrived there were no more shuttles, because the road had been shut. Not to worry, Jim found out about the helicopter service to Valle Nevado, which was usually quite reliable.

So off the heli-pad Jim went. He jumped on the chopper and away they flew, but when the pilot was making his approach to the resort he had to turn away because of heavy winds. This was the plight of Jim for the next two days, sometimes coming within eyesight of skiers on the slopes of landing.

Luckily on the morning of the third day Jim made it in on the bird, and he was on the slopes enjoying the 8 1/2 feet of powder. Jim soon forgot about the ordeal he had been through the last two days — but don't feel too bad for Jim; he was suffering in the Santiago Hyatt waiting for his lift up to Valle Nevado.

With Jim bringing a dose of good weather with him, the clouds began to lift and expose the 18,000-foot cathedral of peaks that surround Valle Nevado. I had read and been lectured about the mighty Andes in my Latin American studies courses in college, but my eyes were not prepared for the enormousness, and the in-your-face views of these mountains.

As the winds began to let up, the resort began to wake up and dig out. More and more terrain and lifts began to open and Jim and my sole purpose in life became making fresh tracks in the goods.

I introduced Jim to the Vermont Boys, who made it their mission to show us around, ski our legs off, and expose us to the finer points of Valle Nevado's night life. Not a bad life, eh?