Little Cottonwood Canyon Ski

We had to break the rules to enjoy this nice little ski outside Salt Lake City. Little Cottonwood Canyon is mostly National Forest land, but in the winter the two campgrounds close and the ski areas take over. There is a parking lot at the White Pine trailhead. We get away with parking there overnight, but as we’re getting ready to ski a woman returning from a ski herself asks if we camped there. We don’t deny it, and she apparently isn’t an enforcer of the rules, but she’s more than willing to tell us what they are. No camping, no uphill traffic at the ski area, and we probably shouldn’t take a run elsewhere due to avalanche danger. I can handle the rules, but what galls me is that she keeps saying it’s “FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY.” Outdoor enthusiasts hear this lie a lot. The translation: “YOU ARE NOT PROFITABLE, YOU ARE A LIABILITY, AND YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE (on our public lands).” We don’t let it wreck our New Year’s day, but I’m happy to be returning to New Mexico where my outdoor life threatens less big business.

Also posted at EveryTrail.

5 responses to “Little Cottonwood Canyon Ski”

  1. elitist earth worshipping kuntz.

    i hate that stuff… as i am sure you know. “OMG!! SAVE US FROM OURSELVES!!”

    she could prolly use the “Oh, you could sue the national forest blah blah…”.


    dylan, i too would be mad as a hornet. some old fucking bag bitching to you like a mommy to a 6 year old about what will keep you from getting hurted. ok, your little story got me fired up.

    it’s like “OMG.. you are right. i never thot i could get hurt out here. the fact that i lived ’til my … err… later 30’s is just mere luck. now [edited]…”

  2. I knew that one would steam you. We thought of you.

    Another funny part was that the woman was skiing solo and listening to music. Obviously only concerned for our safety.

  3. well, it’s nice to know you think of me .. .even at [i]those[/i] times.

    we were “camping” up at mammoth last summer (that is, you could walk to the McDonald’s). anyways, you could buy packs of wood from the camp host. and we did. lots.

    next day, there was a bunch of freshly cut pine. i walked over and brought some back. HEAVY. almost killed myself doing it. before i could even get to me camp, the old bat-bastard dude comes rolling up in golf cart all talking in a stern voice “That was just cut. It won’t burn blahblahblah blah”. essentially pissed ‘cuz he thinks he’s out a few bucks (well, more than a few).

    i’m nice and just kinda say ‘ok’. that night, we season the wood. next night, burns like a house on fire.

    he came buy the next day. i was very nice to him and bit my tongue. i felt like saying ‘Ya know, we seasoned that would the night before. The TWO pieces had more heat value than 2 full bundles of your wood.” but i didn’t.

    fuck ’em.

    speaking of “thinking of you”… ha, there are so many instances when i think “what would dylan think about this?” har. har.

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