As it is Christmas time, and blissfully winter, it is only befitting to describe my weekend in Crested Butte, Colorado with the same fascination one has when gazing absent-mindedly into a snow globe. For three days time stood still; upon our arrival snow wisped from here to there through primeval mining structures and 21st century boutiques. The wind, a true #WeekendWanderer, breezed the windows of such storefronts vending ornaments and tourist keepsakes. And yet this town, with all its magic, paled comparatively to the landscape that adorned it.
Crested Butte was named literally for the mountain that thrones above rolling hills and buttes nearby. Upon the northern aspect was carved a ski resort – like many, and also like no other. I have had the fortune and favor as a professional snowboarder to ride many of the great ski mountains globally, and only few in Switzerland rival the austerity and majesty of Crested Butte. If all of this has your senses swept into your emotions, then you, like me, are in wonder of winter’s finest. But my old hell-bent self, looking for adrenaline and thrill, didn’t start and stop solely with poetry – I rode.
The mountain was full of terrain, topography and tight tree lines that kept my eyes acute and skills accurate. My only regret is that the snow globe in which I just illustrated doesn’t hang upon my mantle somewhere reminding me daily of the damn good time my wife and I had. Alaska was generous enough to bring Nikita's Laura Lawson Visconti and I out on the inaugural flight from LA to Gunnison, but we will willingly be paying patrons upon another randomly numbered flight to Crested Butte again… soon!
Alaska was generous enough to bring Laura and I out on the inaugural flight from LA to Gunnison, but we will willingly be paying patrons upon another randomly numbered Alaska flight to Crested Butte again… soon!