Let there be snow

02-10-2002

Timing and luck are important elements in planning any ski vacation, even when the journey doesn't involve getting on a plane.

In addition to elevation, lifts, accommodations, restaurants, rentals, shuttle buses and all the other accouterments, ski resorts need sufficient snow to provide a satisfactory experience.

This has always been true, of course. Over the years, I've taken many ski trips, only to discover very iffy conditions upon arrival. But in these days of suspected global warming and unpredictable weather, it is increasingly important for resorts to be able to manufacture mountains of snow when Mother Nature is stingy with the real stuff.

That reality was certainly made clear 10 days ago as my two sons, Zach, 23, and Ben, 13, and I arrived at Snowshoe Mountain Resort in east-central West Virginia for a four-day ski vacation I had planned in early December.

The resort is situated atop the 4,848-foot-high Cheat Mountain, a four-hour drive south of Pittsburgh. Although it had amassed some 55 inches of snow since mid-December, an extraordinary weeklong, end-of-January thaw had taken its toll.

Driving down Interstate 79 to Routes 33 and 219 that Wednesday evening, we looked glumly out on hillsides that were bare and brown. When we reached Snowshoe about 9 p.m., the temperature was 55, there was a steady drizzle, and the only trace of snow was a forlorn little pile in the corner of the condo parking lot.

Our skiing prospects did not look good, and we went to bed consoling ourselves that we could still find a way to have a good weekend together. Ben even regretted not bringing his golf clubs.

Thursday morning dawned bright and sunny, with temperatures in the upper 40s. A good day for hiking perhaps, but certainly not, we thought, for shussing.

We grabbed breakfast at a coffee shop in Snowshoe's village and strolled over to check out the snow situation. Surprisingly, a steady stream of skiers was gliding off the top of the Ballhooter lift and fanning out in different directions back down the mountain.

Well, all right!

As we discovered, all but two of the more than 50 named runs on Snowshoe's three slopes were open for business, with nine of 11 lifts running.

Although the conditions were definitely spring skiing, the snowpack they had built up over six weeks provided enough coverage for us to explore at will, albeit on bumpy routes, ever alert for slushy spots and occasional bare patches. While by no means the best day of skiing I've ever experienced, it was a lot better than expected, given the brown, rocky woodlands on each side of the runs.

The heat wave continued that night, and when we checked the slopes the following morning, we discovered that bare spots were considerably bigger and several connecting trails had been closed.

Still, we were able to find a way down the mountain to a lift, including the long Western Express lift at the bottom of Cupp Run and Shay's Revenge, which at something like a mile and a half and 1,500 feet of vertical drop, are Snowshoe's two longest and steepest runs. But the snow was getting very thin, which made skiing hard on the legs. I was glad my skis were rentals.

Riding back up the lift about 3 p.m., we heard a huge, rushing roar to our left, and then a few moments later, another answering whoosh and scream on our right side.

"What's that noise?" Ben asked, with some apprehension.

As predicted, the temperature had been falling steadily all day. It was time to make some snow.

Although numerous snow-making developments have taken place over the past two decades, the basic process is not complicated. When the air temperature is low enough, a mixture of water and air is pressure pumped through a network of pipes and nozzles. Some are skid mounted versions of a huge garden hose, others fixed to the top of long, goose-necked poles. Some guns are multi-nozzle behemoths resembling jet engines. The resulting fine spray freezes on contact with the cold air and falls in huge, drifted piles that groomers redistribute on the slopes as necessary. Rather than being snowcone-like ice crystals, modern manufactured snow can be very much like the real thing.

Most eastern ski areas are able to make some snow. The questions are how much, how quickly and how often. Buying and maintaining the hardware sufficient to provide meaningful coverage over broad areas requires a considerable capital outlay, as well as quick access to a huge amount of water, plus, temperatures of 32 degrees Fahrenheit or lower.

When it comes to snow-making, Snowshoe and Seven Springs stand head and shoulders above other area ski resorts. When all of Snowshoe's air compressors are going, they drive 200 guns that can produce more than 2,500 tons of snow per hour. That's enough to cover four football fields with a foot of snow, or I suppose, one football field four feet deep.

Snowshoe also has two reservoirs that hold more than 150 million gallons of water for snowmaking. What's more, its drainage systems have been developed so that when that snow melts, the water simply channels back into the reservoirs to await the next cold snap, making this snow a renewable resource. Of course, running those compressors also takes a lot of energy and manpower, which require resources of another kind.

At any rate, as the temperatures fell into the low teens Friday evening, the roar of the snowguns was lost in the wail of wind that raked over the mountaintop.

A swirl of natural snow during the night left a faint dusting on the ground, but the snow guns had transformed the slopes, and the difference was dramatic. All the bare spots on main runs had disappeared, and many of the closed connector trails were being covered with fresh snow. They went full gun throughout Saturday morning, forcing us to ski through mini-blizzards.

By midday, virtually all of the skiable terrain in the main basin was open, but the weekend crowds congregated around the lifts, resulting in significant waits. We caught the free shuttle bus over to the Silver Creek area, where the snow was also fresh and deep and the lift lines almost nonexistent, and we enjoyed ourselves immensely.

Later that afternoon, we took a few runs down the Western slopes, skiing around freshly manufactured moguls and over patches that had been mud and rocks only the day before.

On Sunday the snow cover was even deeper, the skiing was even better, and the crowds greatly diminished, allowing us to get in a dozen more runs before heading out.

Our conclusion: Although the natural stuff is preferable, the man-made material can be just fine. All too often, it's the difference between skiing delight and skiing disappointment.

Of course, timing and luck are still important.

We had an easy drive home that Sunday afternoon on dry roads, arriving in time to watch the Super Bowl. On Monday morning, Snowshoe received 9 inches of fresh powder -- the naturally delivered kind.

Showshoe is even thinking about extending its season into April.

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