On a whim I traveled to Southern Utah to check out Eagle Point. I had always heard good things about the Tushar Mountains and was excited to cross another resort off my list, it was special since this hill had been closed for many years. Leaving on a Saturday night, I invited my good friend Josh whom with other responsibilities couldn't swing the trip.
16" of perfect snow graced the slopes at Eagle Point on Sunday March 15th. I was so impressed by how low key this mountain was and delighted to find only a few folks had lined up early. On first chair was weather forecaster Evan Thayer, who in the shuffle up to the loading, fell off the first chair along with his 3 cohorts. What a funny start. The laps were sweet and finally around 1:30pm, I decided to head for home at Alta.
The news had been covering this new virus everyday but we were blissfully unaware how much it would change our lives. Stopping for gas on the drive home I checked social media for clips of the powder day but instead was gutted to hear Eagle Point was closing premature for the season effective immediately.
Walking into the Alta Lodge a few hours later with my snowboard bag, the first coworker I saw joked "Already leaving?" I asked what he meant.
In the past few hours not only had the ski industry decided the season was over, so did Alta. Management posted signs informing the staff of a meeting after dinner service. The meeting was awkward to say the least, Alta was closing and not for a few days but for the season. The Lodge was closing, one of the owners bemoaned how this might affect the business. Our close knit community of staff felt the weight of losing our jobs, our housing and most importantly the last month of skiing all with a few hours notice.
So with no idea of what would happen next, we had the biggest party of the year. We drank the bar as dry as we could and staggered to bed in the wee-wee hours of morning. Still drunk I awoke just after 7am to my bed violently shaking. What the hell was going on. After sleeping in as long as I could, I stumbled down to the employee dining room.
"Morgan did you feel the quake" my friend asked.
I was stunned, first Alta was closing and now earthquakes in Utah? The world was ending.
I spoke with the general managers about what to do next. They urged me to leave, I was defiant. My parents didn't deserve the risk of this unknown virus and regardless I had planned to be in Alta another month.
So we hunkered down. Within a day our crew went from 40+ to less than 10. Each day became more eerie as most folks hung out alone, too afraid to spread the invisible plague. When the hotel realized I had no intention of leaving they plotted a way to make it work financially. I agreed to do 2 hours of labor a day in exchange for room and board.
There were moments of pure bliss in that next 3 weeks. We had no guests, no work, no plans but we did have the best ski area/backcountry in the entire world out the front door. We slept in, ski toured till lunch, ski toured some more after and ate gourmet dinners. One night eating scallops and steaks with a few of my best friends in the same dining room we so long served guests in, we laughed at how lucky we were. This was a fitting end to our season.
At times it was lonely, the idle time was tedious to say the least. Friends became more withdrawn and isolated as they delved into fear.
Hanging with the legendary Tristan Bangs he informed me of a boot pack straight to the top of Eagles Nest. I brought my alpine skis and we kicked step by step. Somehow we were skiing Alta all to ourselves. The public was told not to travel or burden the healthcare system. The ski area allowed us to tour the empty hill and even groomed cat tracks/access points and preformed avalanche mitigation. Everyday was a country club day for that last month.
I will never forget staring down an untracked High Boy with a foot of blower on it. The snow was perfect, not a bump in sight, buffed perfectly by the wind and finished with a velvet pillow of cushion. It was 11am on a Tuesday.