So what does it take to turn bumpy resort runs into smooth, white goodness reminiscent of sweet, buttery cake frosting? Before resort lifts can propel ski patrol up to deem the mountain “safe” and ready to open, key areas need to be groomed. It takes a specific machine, a snow cat, a confident person to operate it, and every available minute to achieve success.
One night in February I got the chance to ride along with Tyler Falk, a snow cat operator (groomer) at The Canyons Resort just outside of Park City, Utah. On his fourth season as a groomer, he’s a relative newbie; many of the veterans have been at it for over a decade—that equates to thousands of hours in the driver’s seat. Like most of the dudes who prefer to push snow at night instead of working 9-5, he spends his days touring the backcountry or bombing the corduroy he and fellow groomers lay on his way to inbound pow stashes.
It takes up to half a million dollars to purchase one snow cat and a dedicated maintenance crew to keep it in operation. Training involves hours of riding with veterans to learn what every button, switch, and lever does in a machine that weighs approximately 10 tons and is capable of dozing a small house. “Everything affects something when the blade and tiller are on the snow,” Ty says. The blade, wings, tiller, mat, and tracks all move separately and require constant adjustment. A diesel engine powers the tracks, while hydraulic fluid flows through seemingly endless feet of hoses to move dozens of pistons.
A short meeting at the vehicle maintenance shop begins with route assignments and cat numbers called out by the shift boss. Ty is assigned number six; a Bombardier 500—the newest and biggest in the fleet. The issue tonight: a thin spot (in an area with no artificial snowmaking capabilities) that has successfully plagued the crew since the area opened for the season. The team agrees where the groomer should “farm,” or get excess snow, and the 10-minute meeting is adjourned—time to fire up the machines.
Ty grabs a shift log, and we jump in his car for the quick trip from the maintenance shop to the staging area where the cats are lined up. He points out our tracked-steed in which we’re about to spend more than seven hours on this, the first shift of the night; the graveyard shift crew will groom a different set of routes after we finish around midnight.
Each crew member jumps onto the back of his assigned cat, lifts the engine cover, quickly checks fluid levels (oil, hydraulic, and coolant), and does a quick inspection of the tracks. Any misaligned wheel or debris lodged between the rubber tread and wheels may cause the tracks to slip, and the maintenance crew is left grumbling about the driver who failed to notice the costly problem.
Keys get turned and, one after another, the diesel engines chug and spew thick smoke as the machines come to life like dragons awakened from slumber. I climb up onto the passenger side track and take my position in the co-pilot seat, which in no way compares to the obvious comfort of the driver’s seat. As Tyler sits, his seat compresses and rebounds like a lifeboat dropped into water. A curved dashboard with a few dozen lighted buttons on Ty’s right separates us. He grabs the joystick in his right hand and with quick finger movements lifts both the front blade and tiller affixed to the ass of our cat. He quickly glances over his shoulder and back through the windshield. Tyler likes what he sees, and in an instant, the RPMs roar as we pull out of our designated parking space to stage third in line.
Why not head out right away? Ty answers my question with a brief “what if” scenario: If the groomers proceed before ski patrol confirms there are no backcountry skiers, lost vacationers, or employees left on the mountain, well, the consequences can be grizzly. (Any backcountry skier who heads into a resort after sundown with a headlamp as the only light source should take note.) That last run will surely be your last if the soft tissue of your neck connects with the highly tensioned steel cable of a wench cat. After I finally got the image of a head-less skier or snowmobiler out of my head, dispatch comes over the radio with one short, yet crucial call: “the mountain is clear.”
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Tags: resorts, skiing, snowboarding, technology
Any ideas on how best to link to part ii? I guess we could run on the same day, but I thought it’d be cool to run as a two-part series instead. feel free to disagree. thanx, k
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No link today … then tomorrow we can insert links on both articles.
Thanks. This turned out really good.
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[...] We had hoped that a super-dump of lake-effect Utah powder would bless this experience, but that’s not how it goes tonight—no fresh, just overcast skies. Ty pokes a few buttons on the smart phone that’s connected to the entertainment system, and the cats roll out one-by-one to a soundtrack courtesy of the brothers Allman. This is the second section of a two part series. View Groomer’s Pick: A Night in the Life of a Snowcat Operator – Part I. [...]
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This was great!! I have always wondered what it was like in a snow cat–and your descriptive wording was the perfect way for us to ride along! Thanks!
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