Border War! Vermont vs. New Hampshire Skiing Part 4 – Attitash

BARTLETT, NH – It could not have worked out more perfectly: get into the White Mountains of New Hampshire before Winter Storm Harper arrived, ski legendary Attitash both before and during the storm, and then leave North Conway the morning after Harper did, right behind the plows and salters working clean-up. It’s almost as though Harper planned it that way. “Hey, I’ll show up on Saturday evening after y’all have already gotten into town and skied for a day. Then I’ll blow all night and all day Sunday, leaving town just in time for everyone to drive home during the Monday holiday. YOU’RE WELCOME!”

Attitash – one of those old school New England places spoken of in holy whispers by the cognoscenti – was absolutely glorious. Every single trail was open on Harper Sunday (a perfect 68 for 68!) and Attitash’s twisting, narrow, steep, thickly-wooded runs were downright mesmerizing, while its lift lines were a boundless ocean of powdery moguls as far as the eye could see. You spent the day buffeted by the snowy waves, a kayak riding class 5 rapids.
Just like the Ski Gods drew it up on the chalkboard.

Attitash is actually two adjacent, north-facing peaks, interconnected to each other by two crossing umbilical cords, one on either side. Smugglers’ Notch is a close analogy, only instead of the two mountains roughly facing each other (as Madonna Peak and Sterling Mountain do at Smuggs) at Attitash they are side-by-side bookends, almost mirror images of each other: Left Twix and Right Twix as they say in the candy commercial.

Attitash (on Little Attitash Peak/Left Twix as you face the mountain or read the trail map) is to the east and contains roughly twice as many trails as Bear Peak (also called Rogers Mountain/Right Twix) positioned immediately to the west. The two were originally separate developments; Attitash opening in 1965, while development on Bear Peak, planned for many long decades, finally proceeded in 1994. Both peaks feature a base lodge which sits at exactly 600 feet above sea level, and you can park the car at either lodge.
Attitash makes the most of its terrain. On paper, its summit elevations of 2,350 feet for Little Attitash and 2,050 for Bear look humble compared to the higher summits of, for example, Wildcat and Cannon (4,062 and 4,080 feet respectively) but don’t be fooled. That’s still a solid 1,750 foot vertical descent on the Attitash side, and 1,450 for Bear Peak, the equal of just about anything in the east. And with trails cut into the teeth of the most interesting terrain, Attitash is far tougher – and far more exciting – than it looks on the trail map.

In two runs off the summit triple, we cruised breathlessly down two classic New England narrow, windy, character-filled runs, including Saco->Tightrope->Spillway, (a thrill-a-second rocket ride) and Humphrey’s Ledge->Northwest Passage->White Horse, (a wild, bucking bronco indeed).
The summit triple proved to be too slow, cold, and frustrating to stick around for long – a common theme we heard from patrons and employees alike, and seemingly the only negative comment anyone has about Attitash – so after a few moments of trekking, we crossed over to Bear Peak (Right Twix…) for runs down Morningstar, Myth-maker, and Illusion.
This highlights another of Attitash’s great strengths: There isn’t a milquetoast run anywhere on either mountain, you can ski it every day and never get bored. In fact, you need to be razor sharp; Attitash is sneaky-tough. At some places (that will remain nameless) too many black diamond runs are really just blue squares with a headwall here and there: intermediates disguised as experts. Not so at Attitash: everything is a little more difficult than it reads on the trail map.

Avenger is a worthy rejoinder over on the Bear Peak side. After a brilliant, steep, narrow, hard-bending chicane to open the run, it empties into a vast area so wide, it’s bisected into upper and lower sections, the left being a narrow ledge, while the right becomes a deep bowl.
It was an unforgettable moment: Standing there in the middle of this gargantuan expanse, plummeting basin to my right, sea of moguls to my left and the earth dizzyingly far beneath my feet, and only my razor-sharp edges keeping me attached to the side of the mountain. It was primal. Such a spellbinding sight is perhaps the only way that my fear of heights doesn’t overwhelm me while skiing. Put me at the top of a Mayan pyramid, and I’m grabbing a pillar for dear life. Stick me atop the Eiffel Tower, and you have to pry me off the girders with a crowbar. But I’ll drop into Avenger and take the time to savor the curve of the earth off in the distance before pinballing off moguls bigger than me. Heck: bigger than Cadillacs! At a moment like that, who needs the Alps?
To rerad the rest of Jay’s article, click here: Border War! Vermont vs. New Hampshire Skiing Part 4 – Attitash Mountain

BARTLETT, NH – It could not have worked out more perfectly: get into the White Mountains of New Hampshire before Winter Storm Harper arrived, ski legendary Attitash both before and during the storm, and then leave North Conway the morning after Harper did, right behind the plows and salters working clean-up. It’s almost as though Harper planned it that way. “Hey, I’ll show up on Saturday evening after y’all have already gotten into town and skied for a day. Then I’ll blow all night and all day Sunday, leaving town just in time for everyone to drive home during the Monday holiday. YOU’RE WELCOME!”

Attitash – one of those old school New England places spoken of in holy whispers by the cognoscenti – was absolutely glorious. Every single trail was open on Harper Sunday (a perfect 68 for 68!) and Attitash’s twisting, narrow, steep, thickly-wooded runs were downright mesmerizing, while its lift lines were a boundless ocean of powdery moguls as far as the eye could see. You spent the day buffeted by the snowy waves, a kayak riding class 5 rapids.  Just like the Ski Gods drew it up on the chalkboard.

Attitash is actually two adjacent, north-facing peaks, interconnected to each other by two crossing umbilical cords, one on either side. Smugglers’ Notch is a close analogy, only instead of the two mountains roughly facing each other (as Madonna Peak and Sterling Mountain do at Smuggs) at Attitash they are side-by-side bookends, almost mirror images of each other: Left Twix and Right Twix as they say in the candy commercial.

Attitash (on Little Attitash Peak/Left Twix as you face the mountain or read the trail map) is to the east and contains roughly twice as many trails as Bear Peak (also called Rogers Mountain/Right Twix) positioned immediately to the west. The two were originally separate developments; Attitash opening in 1965, while development on Bear Peak, planned for many long decades, finally proceeded in 1994. Both peaks feature a base lodge which sits at exactly 600 feet above sea level, and you can park the car at either lodge.
Attitash makes the most of its terrain. On paper, its summit elevations of 2,350 feet for Little Attitash and 2,050 for Bear look humble compared to the higher summits of, for example, Wildcat and Cannon (4,062 and 4,080 feet respectively) but don’t be fooled. That’s still a solid 1,750 foot vertical descent on the Attitash side, and 1,450 for Bear Peak, the equal of just about anything in the east. And with trails cut into the teeth of the most interesting terrain, Attitash is far tougher – and far more exciting – than it looks on the trail map.

In two runs off the summit triple, we cruised breathlessly down two classic New England narrow, windy, character-filled runs, including Saco->Tightrope->Spillway, (a thrill-a-second rocket ride) and Humphrey’s Ledge->Northwest Passage->White Horse, (a wild, bucking bronco indeed).
The summit triple proved to be too slow, cold, and frustrating to stick around for long – a common theme we heard from patrons and employees alike, and seemingly the only negative comment anyone has about Attitash – so after a few moments of trekking, we crossed over to Bear Peak (Right Twix…) for runs down Morningstar, Myth-maker, and Illusion.
This highlights another of Attitash’s great strengths: There isn’t a milquetoast run anywhere on either mountain, you can ski it every day and never get bored. In fact, you need to be razor sharp; Attitash is sneaky-tough. At some places (that will remain nameless) too many black diamond runs are really just blue squares with a headwall here and there: intermediates disguised as experts. Not so at Attitash: everything is a little more difficult than it reads on the trail map.

Avenger is a worthy rejoinder over on the Bear Peak side. After a brilliant, steep, narrow, hard-bending chicane to open the run, it empties into a vast area so wide, it’s bisected into upper and lower sections, the left being a narrow ledge, while the right becomes a deep bowl.
It was an unforgettable moment: Standing there in the middle of this gargantuan expanse, plummeting basin to my right, sea of moguls to my left and the earth dizzyingly far beneath my feet, and only my razor-sharp edges keeping me attached to the side of the mountain. It was primal. Such a spellbinding sight is perhaps the only way that my fear of heights doesn’t overwhelm me while skiing. Put me at the top of a Mayan pyramid, and I’m grabbing a pillar for dear life. Stick me atop the Eiffel Tower, and you have to pry me off the girders with a crowbar. But I’ll drop into Avenger and take the time to savor the curve of the earth off in the distance before pinballing off moguls bigger than me. Heck: bigger than Cadillacs! At a moment like that, who needs the Alps?

To read the rest of Jay’s article, click here: Border War! Vermont vs. New Hampshire Skiing Part 4 – Attitash Mountain

Posted from JayFlemma.com