They check you back in at the end of the day, too, to make sure everyone is off the hill. Past the tents, there’s a wooden arch called the portal, where workers check your ticket and avalanche beacon. That morning, there was a group who had flown in from Wisconsin to take an advanced Backcountry 3 class. He said that around half of the area’s visitors are new backcountry skiers, and that 65 percent come from the Denver area. The $80 Backcountry 1 class is the most popular option. Bohme said the instructors had developed the curriculum to guide people through the steps of backcountry skiing, from the rudimentary, like figuring out the boots and bindings, to the more complex, like identifying hazardous terrain. That morning, Bluebird was hosting two avalanche classes, and three of its signature backcountry classes. People were milling around the main tent, picking up rental splitboards and avalanche beacons - devices that help rescuers find you if you’re buried - buying coffee and breakfast burritos, and assembling for classes. We woke up Saturday morning to 16 inches of new snow and a line of cars arriving. She’s planning to get married at Bluebird this spring. I met one season-pass holder who visits frequently because she likes the low-stress access to the backcountry. I arrived on a Friday in January and spent that evening in the common tent, sitting around the wood stove with a group of friends from Denver. But because it’s a working cattle ranch, crews have to set up everything the ski area needs, from a base lodge to trail signs, from scratch every fall and remove it in the spring. It offers an ideal combination of backcountry terrain, ranging from beginner-friendly rolling meadows to steep chutes off Bear Mountain. The ranch proved to be a lucky strike, as well as a challenge. They spent the beginning of the winter marking boundaries and mapping ski runs, and in early 2020, the area opened for its first season. The Bluebird crew toured the ranch and found it to be both snowy and skiable. A relative was a ranch manager, and he might have some land that could work. But then one volunteer came back from a family reunion in Kremmling, Colo., a small town about 30 miles south of Bluebird, with a lead. By the fall of 2019, they hadn’t found any options. The co-founders and a team of volunteers spent the summer scouting Forest Service land, private parcels and unused parts of ski areas. By the end of that second season, they decided they needed a permanent location. They spent the next two winters hosting pop-up backcountry events on Forest Service land and closed ski area terrain. The resort is open Thursday to Monday, and dogs are welcome to join for $10. Day pass rates start at $39, and a season pass runs $249. The area also maps out trails and manages avalanche risk to keep things safe. Rental gear, starting at $35 a day, allows people to try the sport before they commit. Woodward said Bluebird was trying to change that by providing education about equipment and safety as well as a place to learn the physical skills. “That gatekeeping culture of mentorship, and the expense to buy in, has kept the sport small, and largely white, male and affluent,” he said. Either you knew someone experienced who wanted to teach you, he explained, or you invested thousands of dollars in gear and formal avalanche education before you even knew if you liked the sport. I learned to backcountry ski first from my father and then from a boyfriend, and that’s typical of how people have historically tended to pick up the sport: through a close relationship, says Jordan Bohme, Bluebird’s education manager.
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