“I’m over it,” my friend Susan said to me as I described my day at Alta. “The traffic, the scene, the waiting in line everywhere. I don’t need it. I can go to Solitude.” She’s right I thought as I paced myself through the last 24 hours.

A storm was brewing. It came in like a sheep yesterday, doing nothing in Park City. Maybe an inch before nightfall. As I made my way home eastbound on I-80 I considered my options. For sure I would ski. The reports were all predicting powder for the morning. But, ugh, Susan was right. Getting up early to sit in the trafficsnake up Little Cottonwood Canyon only to fight all of those lucky souls who were staying in the condos and hotels at the mountain and were out tracking everything before I could get my first boot on seemed futile.

So do I skip it and ski Park City? Or maybe I head up Big Cottonwood Canyon instead. Solitude is an awesome mountain and should absolutely NEVER be considered plan B. But there’s something to be said for the ritual. The one that includes sitting in a line of traffic, anticipating the goods for the extra 45 minutes it tacks onto your journey. Last week, however, in LCC and the line on the tram I was over it too. Yep. It was soft but it was tracked and packed. People everywhere fighting for a turn and a 40 minute wait to get to the top. What to do. Alta has a tendency to get a lot more terrain open sooner than the Bird, the singles line moves ten times faster than the tram line and it’s easy to find new friends. Snowbird is not the place to ski alone. Alta, hell, yeah. It’s like the friendliest place in Utah. I don’t know what it is but no matter when I go, I always come home with the number of a new ski buddy. The people you ride up the lift with want to know you, want to know your story, they ski at your level and they’re happy to share a run or two or the rest of the day with you. That doesn’t happen anywhere else. Ask anyone who has skied there. They’ll all agree.

It was settled. I’d ski Alta and get a room at the Alta Lodge while the storm buried us. The Lodge first opened its doors to overnight guests in 1940 and I could swear the kids of some of those skiers are dining at the table next to us. Generations of skiers return annually either to vacation or work. Some might complain that the ambiance lacks the glitz of a Ritz or Regis but there’s an old money elegance here that keeps you from ever thinking you’re slumming it.

The rooms are clean and quiet and the food itself is some of the best in LCC. Though the employees are all ski bums, they’re alert and friendly. Our server at dinner (the Sunday buffet is included with your room) chatted with us about the tight parking situation around the Lodge before retelling the story of how he stood in line for two hours waiting for Collins to open. It never did. We (I met up with friends once I got to Alta) had a similar experience but I chose not to wait.

We rowtoped it to Sunnyside where I emerged onto the longest line I’d ever seen at the triple. That’s what you get when Collins isn’t open. We found some doubles looking for a single and loaded in less than five minutes. We hit the singles line at Sugarloaf and were skiing soft chunder in ten minutes. The wait was nothing while the skiing was everything.

It was like the first powder day of the season all over again. I got a faceshot! No way, a real faceshot. It had been a month since I skied snow this deep. Last year, we had freshies every day. The trick today was getting around the mountain without the resort’s main lift. The opening of EBT made it easier. We looped around from Sugarloaf and skied under Collins, Greeley and Eagles Nest. The cold wind kept the snow soft and buttery. It felt dense but not heavy. You floated and arced with ease today. My grin nearly cracked my goggles. I’d share photos but they would all look like white boxes.

The road remained open tonight. It’s closing at 6 a.m. with an interlodge at 6:30 a.m. No cars up or down, no people moving between the lodges or from their rooms to the resort. All still while the snowpack is tested. If my calculations are correct. We’ll be first in line at Collins (which finally started to turn by 3 p.m.), there will be 12-24″ of new snow on top of the previous 26″, and the rest of the world will be stuck in traffic at the mouth of LCC. Teehee.

I’m home. Two and a half days of utter royal treatment and I nearly forget to mention the skiing itself. The pampering in the spa must have mushed my brain or something. But then a friend asked me today as I detoxed from my whirlwind jaunt to northwest Colorado, “So, was it any good?”; not, “How was the skiing” or “was it good” but was it any good,” implying that since Three Forks Ranch was so ultra deluxe it couldn’t possibly have good ski terrain. After all, Three Forks was originally constructed as a hunting and fly-fishing lodge.

The short answer is: Yes, the skiing is good. It’s as good as I’ve found with other cat operations (Park City Powder Cats, Powder Mountain, Grand Targhee) and, when you consider that the avalanche conditions were considerable and we had no beacons, it was damn good. We seemed to farm the same area of the 22-run mountain mostly because it would be impossible for the five of us to track it out. The Lodge can house up to 30 guests but not everyone will ski. They may snowshoe, or snowmobile, or ice fish, or relax in the infinity pool. You’re on your own time. You can even spend the whole day eating from one of the most delicious kitchens I’ve encountered in years.

If you decide after your facial that you want to ski, a guide can run you up to the snowcat on his snowmobile. Done skiing and want to snowtube? A snowmobile can meet the cat and take you back to the lodge. There’s no delay or inconvenience the way it is at some places because the Three Forks Mountain in the Sierra Madres is a stone’s throw from the Lodge.

Of course for me, the day was all about the powder. A normal snow year dumps about 400 inches in the Wyoming/Colorado area. The weak season took its toll here as well. I had been weeks since my last powder day. I went to bed seeing spots of dirt and woke up to a snowglobe. It had snowed all night and the slopes begged to be tracked.

The cuff-deep snow felt creamy in places and sugary in others. The wind on the peak compacted the open spaces but left enough loose to be skiable. We could feel bottom, however, as the day waned it went from breakable crust underneath six inches of fresh to feeling like a firm mattress under our skis.

The Lodge operates three snowcats. In the evening they’re out smoothing a handful of private runs just in case there are beginners who want to take a ride or the avalanche conditions warrant that you stay on-piste. We climbed inside the eight-person Piston Bully and charged up the ridge.

Owner David Pratt flew in a consultant from Deer Valley Resort to map out the trails last summer. Who better to direct construction than someone who understands what appeals to affluent intermediates? But there’s plenty to keep the experts smiling. The skilled guides (from Steamboat’s backcountry contingent) keep the conversation and the guests flowing.

We ventured through glades and intermediate slopes that spilled onto groomed beginner trails. Unlike with other snowcat operations, you truly get the sense that this is your hill. We could spot our line and ski it. We could run it top to bottom, nonstop, if we wanted. And we could say, “Let’s hit it again,” and actually hit it again. The guides were there to make sure we were safe but also got what we came for.

We worked five runs before lunch, left the gear on the cat and drove back over to the lodge for a spread of salad, chicken soup, cheeseburgers and fresh-made chocolate chip cookies. I was the only one to head back out after stuffing. Goody. We did four more laps of 1100 vertical in two hours. I could have gotten in more if Matt hadn’t shown up but I was happy to share. There’s no one getting aggro on a trip like this.

Inside the Igloo. The exterior is pure vintage homestead cabin. The interior, not.

At 4 p.m., it was time to park the cat, drop the gear in the “igloo” and head to the spa for my foot reflexology massage, hand paraffin treatment and margarita. The perfect end to a perfect day of private skiing that really was “that good.”