The Berkshires of Massachusetts have long been known as a winter sports paradise. Over the years, many of these ski areas faded away and are nearly forgotten. Forty-four ski areas arose from the 1930s to the 1970s. The Thunderbolt Ski Trail put the Berkshires on the map for challenging terrain. Major ski resorts like Brodie Mountain sparked the popularity of night skiing with lighted trails. All-inclusive resorts - like Oak n' Spruce, Eastover and Jug End - brought thousands of new skiers into the sport between the 1940s and 1970s. Jeremy Davis of the New England/Northeast Lost Ski Areas Project brings these lost locations back to life, chronicling their rich histories and contributions to the ski industry.
Some of the northern Adirondacks' most beloved ski areas have sadly not survived the test of time despite the pristine powder found from the High Peaks to the St. Lawrence. Even after hosting the Winter Olympics twice, Lake Placid hides fourteen abandoned ski areas. In the Whiteface area, the once-prosperous resort Paleface, or Bassett Mountain, succumbed after a series of bad winters. Juniper Hills was "the biggest little hill in the North Country" and welcomed families in the Northern Tier for more than fifteen years. Big Tupper in Tupper Lake and Otis Mountain in Elizabethtown defied the odds and were lovingly restored in recent years. Jeremy Davis of the New England/Northeast Lost Ski Areas Project rediscovers these lost trails and shares beloved memories of the people who skied on them.
Hidden amongst the hills and mountains of southern Vermont are the remnants of sixty former ski areas, their slopes returning to forest and their lifts decaying. Today, only fourteen remain open and active in southern Vermont. Though they offer some incredible skiing, most lack the intimate, local feel of these lost ski trails. Jeremy Davis, creator of the New England Lost Ski Areas Project, looks into the over-investment, local competition, weather variation, changing skier habits, insurance costs and just plain bad luck that caused these ski areas to succumb and melt back into the landscape. From the family-operated Hogback in Windham County to Clinton Gilbert's farm in Woodstock, where the very first rope tow began operation in the winter of 1934, these once popular ski areas left an indelible trace on the hearts of their ski communities and the history of southern Vermont.
In its heyday, Colorado had more than 175 ski areas operating on the slopes of the Rocky Mountains, and while many of those resorts have shut down, their runs still shelter secret stashes of snow. Pristine slopes await backcountry powder hounds out to discover these chutes and steeps, bunny hills and bumps. Chronicling the history of more than 36 of these "lost resorts," Powder Ghost Towns provides the beta for how to ski and board these classic runs today, with comprehensive information on trailheads, where to skin up, and the best descents. Coverage ranges from southern Wyoming's Medicine Bow Mountains to the Colorado-New Mexico border, including famous old resorts like Hidden Valley in Rocky Mountain National Park.
Discover the ghosts of former ski areas that made the White Mountains the destination it is today. The White Mountains of New Hampshire are world-renowned for the array of skiing opportunities offered to every skier, from beginner to gold-medal Olympian. Today over a dozen resorts entice tourists and locals each year with their well-manicured trails, high-speed lifts and slope-side lodging. But scattered throughout this region are long-forgotten ski areas that can still be found. In the White Mountains alone, 60 ski areas have closed since the 1930s. Author Jeremy Davis has compiled rare photographs, maps and personal memories to ensure these beloved ski outposts that have been cherished by generations of skiers are given recognition for transforming the White Mountains into a premier ski destination.
In 1910, the Boston Sunday Herald reported that skiers were swarming over the Newtons, Middlesex Falls, and Blue Hills. The Berkshires provided splendid terrain, and the skiing was inexpensive. This visual history traces how skiing progressed from the pre-tow era of outings on wooded trails and golf courses to the mechanization of the sport. After World War II came massive building, with sophisticated lifts, snowmaking, and all the modern requirements that have kept Massachusetts one of America's winter ski states.
From the publisher of Pipette Magazine, discover a natural wine-soaked memoir about finding your passion—and falling in love. It was Rachel Signer's dream to be that girl: the one smoking hand-rolled cigarettes out the windows of her 19th-century Parisian studio apartment, wearing second-hand Isabel Marant jeans and sipping a glass of Beaujolais redolent of crushed roses with a touch of horse mane. Instead she was an under-appreciated freelance journalist and waitress in New York City, frustrated at always being broke and completely miserable in love. When she tastes her first pétillant-naturel (pét-nat for short), a type of natural wine made with no additives or chemicals, it sets her on a journey of self-discovery, both deeply personal and professional, that leads her to Paris, Italy, Spain, Georgia, and finally deep into the wilds of South Australia and which forces her, in the face of her "Wildman," to ask herself the hard question: can she really handle the unconventional life she claims she wants? Have you ever been sidetracked by something that turned into a career path? Did you ever think you were looking for a certain kind of romantic partner, but fell in love with someone wild, passionate and with a completely different life? For Signer, the discovery of natural wine became an introduction to a larger ethos and philosophy that she had long craved: one rooted in egalitarianism, diversity, organics, environmental concerns, and ancient traditions. In You Had Me at Pét-Nat, as Signer begins to truly understand these revolutionary wine producers upending the industry, their deep commitment to making their wine with integrity and with as little intervention as possible, she is smacked with the realization that unless she faces, head-on, her own issues with commitment, she will not be able to live a life that is as freewheeling, unpredictable, and singular as the wine she loves.
