Discover What Makes Taos Ski Valley One-of-a-Kind

From legendary terrain and rich cultural roots to a deep commitment to sustainability, the piece highlights the elements that define the Taos experience. Whether carving down Kachina Peak or soaking in the vibrant local scene, visitors discover a mountain destination unlike any other.

Check out a snippet of the article below, written by Samantha Berman.

I’ve been skiing since I was in grade school, and have lived in the West for the last 20 years, but I had never made it down to Taos before this winter. The resort had been high on my bucket list for years; it often lands in the Top 5 in our annual Reader Resort Survey, and my colleagues who know the place gush about it. Yet they can never seem to really explain what’s so special. “It’s just a different vibe,” they’d say. “It has so much soul.”

Whatever that means, I’d think to myself.

One thing I knew for sure is that Taos is known for its steep, technical, and not for people looking for a low-key cruiser mountain.

Taos Ski Valley came to life in 1955 after Swiss-German skier Ernie Blake spotted the perfect location to build a ski resort while flying his Cessna between the two ski areas he helped operate, Ski Santa Fe and the now-defunct Glenwood Springs Ski Basin. A former silver- and gold-ore mining location, the future destination ski area located in Carson National Forest had the main attributes he was seeking: a remote location and good vertical.

The ski area’s first lifts were surface conveyors, including a J-Bar in 1956 and a platter in 1957. Blake, his wife Rhoda, and their young family would spend the next few decades molding Taos Ski Valley into a truly unique mountain destination that now comprises 110 trails and 13 lifts across its 1,294 skiable acres.

But it skis far bigger than that."

On our first morning, we saunter out to the base to meet our guide and stop in front of a huge sign across from The Blake’s ski valet. “Don’t Panic: You’re Looking at only 1/30th of Taos Ski Valley,” it reads.

Phew. Peering up at steep, intimidating Al’s Run, I can see why that would be an issue.

“People freak out when they first see the mountain,” laughs Joshua Berman, an instructor with the resort’s Snowsports School and our guide for the day, as we ride up Lift 1, directly above Al’s Run. Named after local surgeon Al Rosen, who famously skied with an oxygen mask and a tank on his back until his death in 1982, Al’s is a heck of an introduction to the ski area.

Boasting an average pitch of 30 degrees, the black-diamond run is intimidating in good snow years. Despite timing our trip after a series of storms dropped over a foot of snow on the slopes, rocks and shrubs still dot Al’s. We decide to put it off until later in the trip.

One thing I’d always heard about Taos Ski Valley is that it needs a lot of snow to ski well. When we visited in mid-February, snow totals were below average. Yet despite it being a low-tide season thus far, we were pleasantly surprised to find the mountain almost entirely open and skiing nicely. That said, we might not have figured out exactly how to ski it without Berman’s direction—and our willingness to hike for the goods.

After getting our ski legs under us with a couple laps off of Lift 2, we’re ready to get right into the meat of this place. Berman— who is no relation to this writer—shares that while they’re still a few good storms away from opening the Kachina Peak terrain, the resort’s marquis expert area, there’s still plenty to explore.

We click out of our skis at the top of Lift 2, sling them over our shoulders, and begin the hike to Highline Ridge. It’s the Saturday of President’s Day weekend, and there’s a steady flow of skiers and snowboarders embarking on the 15-minute bootpack. There’s a lot of stopping to catch our breath—the air is thin up here at 11,000-plus feet. Luckily, Berman, 47, has a wealth of knowledge about the region, and shares nuggets of information along the way. At the top, he points to N.M.’s tallest mountain, Wheeler Peak, to the north, and the Rio Grande Gorge to the west. By the time we step back into our skis and prep for the descent, we’re at full lung capacity and ready to go.

As a good intro to the terrain, Berman takes us into the glades off Highline Ridge. The pitch in Corner Chute is moderate, the trees are well-spaced, and the snow is perfect. Well worth the hike, even according to my youngest son, who’s not a huge fan of bootpacking.

We spend the next few hours exploring the western side of the resort, lapping Lift 4 and Lift 7, to get a proper lay of the land. Berman is a pro at finding untracked lines and sharing sometimes obscure bits of wisdom about his adopted home hill.

At the top of Lift 4 we traverse over to Hunziker Bowl. Berman stops and peers up at the closed Kachina terrain. We had hoped it would be open by our trip, but knew there was a good chance it wouldn’t be. It’s entirely dependent on snow; historically, it’s opened as early as late December in some years, and not at all in others, although that’s rare.

A longtime hike-to haunt for freshies, the Kachina Peak Express opened in 2015 to much local chagrin. Taos regulars were worried that, in addition to the 12.500-foot expert terrain getting overrun, it would attract skiers who weren’t skilled enough to get down the zone’s steep pitches and technical entrances.

But Taos’ remote location (thanks Ernie Blake!) combined with mountain ops’ judicious decisions around when to run the lift—it often shuts down in wind and big storms—has not caused those fears to bear out. Instead, even hardcore locals have come to appreciate the 1,100-foot ride to the summit. And if they want to hike, there’s still plenty of opportunity to bootpack 30 to 45 minutes up the ridge and drop in wherever they like.

“Before the chairlift was installed, Kachina was only accessible via hiking from the gate at the top of Lift 2,” says Berman. “Following a storm, ski patrol will typically open the peak to hike access only for at least a day prior to opening the chairlift. TSV was founded by Ernie and Rhoda Blake with an intent of maintaining a European-style mountaineering element. For many of the locals and visitors who hold a special affinity to the mountain, hiking Kachina Peak is a rite-of-passage and a way to experience the wild space in a truly intimate way.”

Read the full article here →