Jan Voigt: We used to look at the schedule at the ski patrol hut to see who had two days off for a Utah ski adventure. One such two-day trip, we weren’t even sure if it was supposed to snow, but we were sure of our eagerness to hop in a van after work and make our way through the night from Colorado to hit Alta first thing in the morning. The van died on Rabbit Ears Pass about 11 p.m., we replaced a spark plug and decided to continue, wondering if it would be worth it. The snow was falling heavily by morning when we started up Little Cottonwood. Only Four-Wheel drive vehicles were being allowed up by the time we got there. So, we hopped in a truck with a friend and picked up a few more folks along the way who were hiking in ski boots. The day was epic. It dumped all day leaving us about 20 inches of unexpected new snow!! Rather than stay with friends in Salt Lake, we headed to the Peruvian as soon as the lifts closed to check on availability, a hunch told us we should stay up the hill, it was a whiteout outside and getting thicker. I don’t even remember checking the weather report. I just remember knowing that we needed to stay. The Peruvian had a few more bunks available in their dorm rooms so I grabbed the last one in the women’s room while my buddy got one in the guy’s room. We hit the liquor store and the plate of warm cookies the Peruvian bakes daily — the best! And when I watched a friend of mine ski through a tiny slot between the houses above the Peruvian, I realized this was my happy place. It’s still the place I think of when I need a mental escape. Around 5:30 p.m., we were getting more beer when we heard there would be lock down at 8:30 p.m. This is no joke. If you have never experienced this, they actually take a large chain and lock and put it through the handles on all the doors that lead outside. No one goes out or comes in. It was actually a very comforting feeling, knowing we had our ski gear, a place to sleep, beer and copious amounts of snow for tomorrow. I couldn’t imagine a better scenario. We spent the evening playing cards, drinking beer and watching the snow relentlessly fall. At 5:30 a.m., we awoke to a loud knock on our dorm door. Resort management had increased our status to “interlock.” This meant we needed to get ourselves down to the Alf Engle “safe” room at the very bottom of the hotel on the side opposite the ridge they were blasting. We were all lined up against the walls there until they told us that we could go across the hall to start breakfast. We were packing in as many calories as we could — consuming plates full of eggs, sausage and french toast. The new snow had now reached approximately 45 inches! It was turning out to be an epic storm. We started calling in to the Ski Patrol back home, passing the phone, hesitating to come up with an excuse. We ended up just saying we wouldn’t be there with a huge grin, this was the storm of the winter and we were staying as long as it was snowing. We were sitting there stuffing ourselves when it felt like an earthquake hit. The breakfast area faced the slopes with a wall of windows, all we saw outside was a rolling snow cloud sweep over us. It didn’t take long for us to figure out that an avalanche had hit the building because the east wing up to the second floor and into the hallway was filled with snow. Everybody was stunned, but mostly impressed. The parking lot looked like a washing machine load of vehicles two stories high. Snow had banked up against the lower level and poured through the windows on the second floor. It was insane. We got the news that they would unlock the doors around 11 a.m. and we lined up at the chains like little kids at the amusement park entrance. The debris pile had closed us off from the valley below and kept new skiers from coming up. We realized we had Alta all to ourselves. We had to find our way up through the woods to get over to the lift at Alta, like a cross country race. It was puking snow. I remember holding my hand out in front of my face and having to move it closer just to see it. I had only one ski buddy for the day, the most I had the patience to keep track of. The day was like no other I have ever skied. Each turn was a blind burst of snow with no bottom, when you fell, you wondered if anything was there to stop you from falling further. Each time I had to make sure to get a hand in front of my mouth to create a small breathing space before wrestling to get back up to the top. By the end of the day I thought it couldn’t get any better. I collapsed at the bottom with a feeling of complete depletion and satisfaction. My smile said it all. We all wore the same snow-munching grin. Life was good and I could think of nothing else that mattered right then. When the storm ended on the third day, we had received 56 inches total. The snowy walled entrance to the Peruvian stood twice as high as the average person. The cars still piled up in the parking lot, now part of the scene like the massive debris pile across the road, and the snowy east wing. The rooms at the end of the hall were out of service and a chill throughout the hotel might have depicted tragedy but the warm energy within the hotel was like nothing I had ever experienced. On the way home on the night of the third and most beautiful bluebird day of skiing I caught a ride in the back of a friend’s pickup truck, lined up perfectly snug in our minus-20 degree bags, three of us slept the entire eight hour drive back reliving each epic day in our dreams. The best way I can try to relay how magnificent it was is to say that if I would have died the next day, I would have died a happy and thankful person. It’s not often, but when it happens that I miss the storm I think immediately of that trip and know that I had mine. And I am satisfied if it remains the only one … though I know it won’t.

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