In August 2020, dreaming of post-pandemic life, we booked a stay at the Fireside Resort — part campground, part tiny house hotel – near Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Of course we knew that in all likelihood the pandemic wouldn’t be completely over, but we figured an adventure van ski trip would be a safe bet either way.
And it was. We didn’t realize how much our family needed a little getaway until we were on the road, our van brimming with gear and smiles, crossing the state line into Wyoming. It was our first time leaving our county as a family since September. Our first trip for fun since August (which was also a van trip to the same region). While excitement was high, so was my apprehension: we had never done a winter van trip as a family of 4 – how would we dry our gear? fit all of our stuff? not drive each other completely insane in a space about as big as our bedroom closet as winter roared outside?
All of those concerns turned out to not be issues at all. Our biggest issue was a major first-world-skier-parent one: who got dibs on the powder days? As luck would have it, we ended up with a lot of powder days in our one week (5.5 ski day) trip. What pandemic? All was well in our little world, which was a beautiful feeling, and one that comes from a great deal of privilege – to forget, however briefly, the problems our world is facing and lose ourselves in the powder and dreamy winter landscape.
One day while Jordan enjoyed the fresh snow with @o_leeps, the boys and I, their legs ready for a break from days of slaying pow above their waists, drove into nearby Grand Teton National Park. We went for a short walk where they ran, jump, and crawled in the deep powdery snow – acting like they had never seen anything like it before. I’m not sure how restful it was, but it gave us a little chance to get out and explore the area, and remind us that no matter how many times we visit Jackson Hole, there will always be more to do next time.
Fireside Resort is right on the main road to Jackson Hole, and only about a 10-15 minute drive away. It’s also a 10 minute walk, down a snowy narrow, boot-packed sidewalk, to Calico, an Italian restaurant that has the best barbecue chicken pizza and the best bruschetta I’ve ever tasted. Our first night there, Alistair and I ambled through the snow, slipping, sliding, and stumbling into the snow banks in fits of giggles. On the return trip, we marched with more focus, moving quickly to keep our food from getting cold, or worse – dropping it. Coming in from the cold, the warmth of the van wrapped around us like a blanket as we chowed down.
On the mountain we ate most of our meals at South Cable – as much for its location right next to the tram at the base, captivating A&J, as for its incredible food. The pizza might just be the best I’ve had anywhere in the western US. Yep, there, I said it. The boys would wait outside, gawking at the tram, while I ordered inside, sneaking a raspberry Danish into my pocket without them seeing. Later, in the afternoon, or the following morning, I would enjoy it while skiing solo laps off the Sublette lift. Moms need ski snacks too, and powder and pastries are a winning combination.
For reference, I’d classify our family as a 6 or 7 on my homemade Covid Caution Scale, where a 1 is no caution whatsoever and a 10 is living-in-a-bunker level. We don’t go out to eat indoors, haven’t been to a party or gathering, even outside, with more than 1-2 other households since pre-pandemic times, readily mask up appropriately, and generally act cautiously. This is as much out of fear of catching or spreading the virus as it is out of a sense of responsibility to our community – our kids go to in-person school and while we do most of our work remotely these days, we still go into the office too.
Still, I felt completely comfortable on our trip. Eating outside was easy when we did it, even in the winter, and we ate most meals in our van. We parked close enough to the ski area to avoid any bus rides, and Jackson Hole strictly enforced mask wearing anywhere people were gathered. Even riding the tram, a 9 minute ride where usually we’d be crammed into a 10×20 foot box with 100 other people was fine: pandemic regulations limit it to just 25 passengers at a time.
Of course, I’m a bit partial, but I can’t imagine anything better to do in a pandemic than to head out on a ski vacation. There’s nothing like making turns in waist-deep powder, down a steep, gnarled chute in a massive bowl as you hoot and holler, only to hear your howls echo off the mountain walls, and then realizing that it’s not an echo. That there are dozens of other riders feeling the same thing as you, at that same moment, floating through the powder, hooting and hollering. Together, but oh so very “socially distanced.” It’s pandemic perfection.
