Newry, ME – We had been dying for a ski
vacation.

After loving every minute of a record snowfall on the East Coast
last winter, this year we’d barely unpacked our gloves. We had planned a couple
trips with friends, but each had disintegrated before we’d witnessed the first
snowflake. By February, we were beginning to fear the unthinkable: A year
without a single pole plant.

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We decided to give it one more shot. And wound up on a cheap
flight to Boston, in a rental car headed up I-95. My husband was so excited,
he was wearing his wool hat while driving. Too bad that every mile north taunted
us with dry-as-a-bone road shoulders and blinding sun. We got to Bethel, Maine,
only to see what felt like the town’s entire population frolicking in the
faux spring afternoon. By the time we pulled up to our hotel at Sunday River,
the weather was on everyone’s lips.

For the next day — our first on the slopes in 12 months —
they were predicting 50-degree weather. And rain.

All I could think was: Thank God we’d picked a resort whose
very slogan was home of “The Most Dependable Snow in New England.”

Over the next three days we tested that boast again and again.
Early the first morning, it downright poured. By noon, the slopes had become
a sticky slush that was impossible to ski. Standing puddles surrounded our
hotel.

Sunday River’s 127 trails run over eight mountain faces lined up in a row. Here, looking down at Aurora Peak, back at Oz mountain and over at Jordan Bowl. One of Sunday River’s dozen glades runs. Most were closed during our trip, but Wizard’s Gulch was a great find. By our third day, Sunday River had blown its much-vaunted snow on nine trails, a dusting thick enough to kick up a plume and cover our tails. The Jordan Grand is one of two sprawling, all-amenities-included hotels at Sunday River. Virtually all of the resort’s 5,500-plus beds sit slopeside. Here, steam rises from the Jordan’s beautifully designed outdoor pool/hot tub. Agony, a bump run on Barker Mountain, the original Sunday River mountain and still the heart of the resort.

A dip into the 20s overnight turned the downhills to absolute
ice. Obsession, a black diamond run, could have starred in a World’s Funniest
Home Video: Every single skier wiped out on a virtual skating rink as they
came over one particular ledge.

Between the thaw and the freeze, all ungroomed trails at the
resort were closed. No moguls. No glades.

Conditions were hell. But Sunday River stood by its slogan.
The moment the temperature dropped to freezing, the snowcats hit the trails.
They groomed from 2 a.m. till noon the day after the meltdown. The following
day, nine runs had new snow blown on them, a dusting that felt amazingly like
Mother Nature’s own.

Throughout this weather disaster, the lifts cranked, and every
corner of the mountain offered good schussing. Even without our favorites,
glades and moguls, there was enough to keep us busy. At many resorts our one,
much anticipated ski vacation of the year would have been a bust. Slopes closed.
Everybody home.

At Sunday River, we skied — thanks to man and machine.

And let me tell you, it felt great.

Our experience was a perfect example of what Sunday River is
all about. In a good year (like last) when the white stuff won’t quit falling,
the River’s got something for everyone: 60 percent green and blue runs, six
terrain parks, nine challenging double black glades spread across the resort’s
eight mountain peaks.

But what makes Sunday River Sunday River is that on a really
bad week (like ours) there’s still something to ski. The resort can blow snow
on 92 percent of its trails; it has 1,550 snow guns and makes 10 types of
snow, from dry and fluffy to heavy and dense. (The resort is so proud of its
snowmaking and grooming capabilities that they actually sell rides in their
snowcats, with their groomers, for $35.)

Even with the worst weather, you can count on the River to be
up and running. That aura of dependability permeates the feel of the whole
place.

Sunday River doesn’t have the chic shops and five-star restaurants
of a Whistler/Blackcomb. It can’t provide the rugged terrain of a Jackson
Hole. It’s not as crunchy as its closest competitor, Maine’s other top ski
resort, Sugarloaf/USA (though they are both owned by the American Skiing Company).

Don’t expect to ski the backside of anything or to walk through
a gallery of sepia-tone photos of the loggers who once tamed the mountain
you’re now on. Sunday River’s not about mystique or lore. What the River offers
is comfort and convenience. There are great groomed trails, no matter what.
Nearly all of their 5,500-plus beds sit slopeside, virtually guaranteeing
a ski-in/ski-out stay. Their top two hotels are sprawling, maze-like structures
that include restaurants, gifts shops and spas, all without having to leave
the warmth of the building. Every Monday night, the resort even throws a quasi-mixer,
first drink free, to lure guests out of their rooms.

Got kids? No problem, the River has three day cares that take
babies as young as six weeks. They have ski schools, arcades, a tubing park,
even evening entertainment (think magic shows and storytellers). The place
is so family-oriented that the director of communications has a list of every
public school’s winter vacation schedule from Canada to Rhode Island posted
just above her phone.

Sunday River, it seems, has thought of everything to make a
ski vacation, well, easy. For that, you can thank Les Otten.

Otten is the larger-than-life ski buff-business school graduate
who started as assistant manager of Sunday River in 1972. Eight years later,
he owned the place. By the mid-90s, he was snatching up mountains from coast
to coast, building one of the biggest ski resort chains in the world, the
American Skiing Company. Otten resigned as chairman and CEO of the American
Skiing Company a year ago. The corporation has been struggling financially
pretty much since it went public in 1997. In the last few months it has sold
Vermont’s Sugarbush and Tahoe’s Heavenly in an effort to stay afloat. But
if any of the resorts reflect Otten’s business philosophies, Sunday River
does. He built his empire by offering a balance between affordability and
quality. And he believed that snowmaking was key to survival.

If a little bit of soul is lost in the effort to offer guests
a surprise-free trip, a little bit of security is what’s gained.

Sometimes you need that in a vacation. Sunday River’s dependability
sure rescued our stay. Even before the weather decided not to cooperate, vacation
ease was a must for us this year. Just a season ago, we thought nothing of
boarding an East Coast plane after work, landing somewhere in the Rockies
around midnight and beating everyone out to the slopes the next morning.

Christina and Charlie at one of Sunday River’s bright and cheerful day-care centers. There are three, taking babies as young as six weeks and children up to six years. Click image to open a full-size Sunday River trail map in a new browser window.

A little guy named Charlie changed all that.

He’s our first child, born last November. We love everything
about him — except that he arrived right at the start of ski season.

We thought there was no way to play in the powder this year.
Not with a four-month old. How fun is it to ski by yourself always wondering
if your spouse is struggling with the baby back in the room?

But flipping through a Sunday River promotional packet, the
impossible suddenly seemed within reach. They were targeting people like us.
With their day care for the youngest of kids. Their rooms with fully equipped
kitchens.

In 2001, Family Fun magazine rated the resort one of
the top places for families to travel. I still wasn’t used to it, but families,
that was us.

So, Sunday River didn’t have a reputation for being hard-core.
Neither did we anymore. The River proved to be exactly what the ski instructor
ordered.

Though we arrived to a spring thaw, we were determined to get
some skiing in the first day. We rushed down to the day care on the ground
floor of our hotel. Of course we were nervous; it was our first time to leave
Charlie with anyone other than family.

But the day-care center was bright and cheerful. Rosanna, the
caregiver, seemed confident and able. And (probably because no one else was
crazy enough to go skiing in the rain) Charlie was the only one there. He
would have Rosanna’s full attention.

Relieved that he was in good hands — and with the day care’s
phone number hanging around my neck — we hit the slopes.

"IT’S LIKE MOWING THE LAWN, BUT YOU DO IT EVERY NIGHT" Through the dark, star-lit sky crawled two white-yellow beams. Closer and closer. Till finally the outline of a squat cab perched atop two conveyor-belt wheels appeared. And out hopped Ronnie Mills. For 22 years he’s been driving around Sunday River. Up one ski hill and down the next. In a heated bubble. To the hum of an engine. Tonight, he would take me with him. For an hour we talked of equipment, resort history and our lives while Ronnie flawlessly smoothed the uneven, icy trails I had skied earlier that day. I stared into stands of trees, made spooky by the dark, and hung on as the Bombardier chugged forward, down the steep mountainside. It was my first time in a snowcat. And I was there not to be taken to a moonlight picnic dinner or a remote skiing locale. The ride was the attraction. In fact, snowcat rides are one of the River’s newest attractions, available to anyone over 12 — for $35. According to Susan DuPlessis, Sunday River’s director of communications, the novel idea has so far been a hit — both with skiers and groomers. For the record, the ride is no snowmobile thrill, no throat-in-the-stomach, roller-coaster drop. The night I was out, a girl in another snowcat supposedly fell asleep during her jaunt. Me? I had a great time, seeing the mountain in a new way and talking to someone I probably wouldn’t have otherwise met. It was a window into the man and the machine that make Sunday River skiing possible. Ronnie, I learned, started grooming when he was 16. His cousin got him the job then and his brother works with him now. He has a boy and a girl, who both work at the River. This winter his daughter was a snowmaker. Next year, she wants to groom, like her dad. Ronnie has seen change like you wouldn’t believe from his seat high above the snow. For starters, the equipment was once rough, bumpy and imprecise and is now downright plush. (Some of the newest groomers are computer-operated. Ronnie says he’ll retire before switching to them; he likes having control of his gears.) Then there’s the resort: Not so long ago Sunday River was just Barker Mountain; now it boasts eight peaks. When former owner Les Otten started this neck of the woods’ skiing boom, Ronnie actually sold his house. It’s a gas station now on the road between Bethel and Sunday River. Ronnie got a place a bit farther from the tourists who provide his livelihood. Over the years, he tried other jobs at the resort. But he never liked any of them as much as grooming. After a night with him, I can see why. There’s a rhythm to the work. Going back and forth. Covering your tracks. Leaving perfectly straight lines on a perfectly flat surface, erasing the bumps and swales that build up during the day. “It’s like mowing the lawn,” Ronnie says. “But you do it every night.” It’s actually much more beautiful than mowing a lawn. Sometimes the groomers see foxes and owls while they’re out. The stars looked so bright to this city girl. Grooming also takes more skill. There’s always the possibility of sliding into the woods if you get going too fast or hit an ice patch. Chugging up a green trail, we took a slow slide off an icy hump in the path. We were in no danger, but it made me remember we were chewing up a mountainside. At Sunday River, the snowmakers and groomers have an important role. Nearly all the mountain is groomed. And in a year like this one, of warm temperatures and scant snowfall, the groomers are the ones that make the mountains skiable. Often they work late hours, sometimes six nights a week, depending on what Mother Nature throws at them. After two passes up green Lollapalooza and down blue Rogue Angel (you always go up the easier trails and down the steeper ones), we rounded the corner and my hotel stood before us. We said goodbye and I headed for my pillow. Meanwhile Ronnie crawled back up the mountain, back into the night, back to work at readying the trails for us all.

For two hours, we were all over Jordan Bowl, the peak closest
to our hotel. From the very nicely designed Excalibur (a blue) to the knee-rattling
bumps of Caramba! (double black) to the most fun green I’ve ever been on,
Lollapalooza, Jordan rocked.

We ducked into Wizard’s Gulch, a glade off blue trail, Rogue
Angel, and picked our way down through the trees and stumps and streams. It
was a great glade, so great we ran it twice. But by our second time down,
conditions were fast worsening. What had been very slow snow was turning to
glue. We tried out Blind Ambition, a single black glade, but with the snow
this slow, we could barely keep moving. Sad, we poled back to our hotel and
called it a day.

With the afternoon this toasty, of course we headed for the
hotel’s beautiful pool. To get in, you swim through a nifty slot that keeps
you from ever having cold air blast onto your swimsuit-clad body. From the
pool, you can hop into the hot tub. And back and forth and back and forth.
You could easily spend hours there, and in the nearby steam room, sauna and
top-notch weight room.

The next morning, we rushed through breakfast, had Charlie to
day care 15 minutes before it even opened (Rosanna was very patient with us)
and were waiting as they rolled up the rope to let us on the slopes.

The day before’s meltdown meant that only groomed trails were
open — and only those the groomers were able to get to. So we took Kansas,
an intermountain traverse, over to Spruce Peak and Barker Mountain, some of
the original Sunday River trails, and still the heart of the resort. We were
pleasantly surprised to find this traverse — and every other one we ran —
to be not only painless, but actually fun. With a setup like Sunday River,
eight mountain faces lined up in a row, there can be a lot of lateral movement
to get from one peak to the next. But my husband and I figured we poled less
at Sunday River than virtually any other resort we‘ve skied because these
cross-cuts are so nicely laid out.

We spent the day cruising on Risky Business and American Express,
two winding blues from the top of Spruce Peak (the only black was closed).
Then we moved over to Barker Mountain and sailed down black diamond Right
Stuff and blue Ecstasy. Some of our favorite runs of the day were down Locke
Mountain’s Monday Mourning and Tempest, two long, steep, groomed blacks. Monday
Mourning has an especially nice line.

White Cap peak, home to the River’s toughest runs, never opened
that day. In fact, many lifts stayed closed, making a map essential. Skiing
by or lifting over the closed trails showed just how much damage the previous
day had done: huge rocks were laid bare, giant patches of ice glimmered in
the sun.

It was a bummer that so much of the mountain was closed. But
it was a wonder we were on the slopes at all.

Our last day at the River, the cold night and hard working groomers
enabled the resort to blow snow on nine trails. We couldn’t wait to get out
and try them.

We took Risky Business and Right Stuff, again on Spruce Peak
and Locke Mountain, and eventually moved over to Obsession, a black diamond
on White Cap, which was now open. They had blown an inch or so atop the corduroy,
which made for some terrific runs. The snow was dry and dusty. And there was
enough of it to ski up a plume, even enough to cover our tails. It was so
much nicer than carving through the hard-packed stuff.

We loved Obsession, a meandering trail that somehow moves you
gracefully down the mountain. Loved it except for this terribly icy ledge
that was almost impossible to negotiate, even the second time when I knew
what was coming.

Though the Sunday River snow was nice to have, by day’s end,
it had blown or been skied off the tops of most of the trails. We made our
way over to Aurora Peak and enjoyed Quantum Leap, Airglow and Black Hole.
But there was a lot of ice to avoid.

Finally, we skied back to the hotel.

There, we found a smiling Charlie and bid our goodbyes to Rosanna,
who in her time with our baby had taught him to eat with a spoon! (Go Rosanna!)

The next morning, we left to snow flurries.

It hadn’t been our most stellar three days of skiing. But we‘d
had a great time — mostly thanks to all those things Sunday River does best:
grooming and blowing snow, offering hotels chock-full of amenities, giving
the kids a place to play. We had fun because Sunday River makes sure there’s
fun to be had.

Maybe someday when Charlie’s a much better skier than we’ll
ever be, we’ll all jet-set someplace exotic for our winter vacation.

‘Til then, take us to the River.