When I pulled into the parking lot at New Hampshire’s Black Mountain early on a weekday last January, I initially feared it was closed.
It was the height of the pandemic, and there were only a couple cars in the lot, and no real signs of life. It was cloudy and there were some flurries.
Then a lone skier came down out of the trees, stopped right beside her car and unclicked from her bindings. As she packed up, a few more cars arrived and then a lift started spinning. Sure enough, there was someone at the ticket window of the old wooden lodge and I redeemed a day on my Indy Pass.
My son and I were among the first to ride once the lift began loading, and the conditions were exquisite, although open terrain was really limited. There was fresh powder, maybe four inches, on top of a groomed trail, but really only one and a half ways down with about a half-dozen variations. Despite that, we made an entire day of it.