Telluride
In a word, Telluride is breathtaking: refurbished gingerbread mining shacks bumping up against 2,ooo-foot box canyon walls. A Main Street that ends at the 3oo-foot cascade of Ingram Falls. Red rock dusted with winter powder. Hillsides sparkling with late-September aspen yellow. In another word, it's charming: Locals ride townie bikes carrying skis over one shoulder and holding the leash to a chocolate lab in the other. Guys with dreadlocks toss pizzas by night and rip by you on telemark skis by day. Hip artists toss Frisbees. There's a row of free cubbies to give and take gear and books and clothes. There's a set of free bikes to take around town. And the mountains-whether you're skiing them or hiking them-are steep. Very steep.
But, of course, early settlers came to mine what was first called San Miguel Park-and mine they did. After ousting the longtime Native American inhabitants with false treaties (and then pure force), characters like Linnard Remine, John Fallen, and Charles Baker found rich deposits, which attracted thousands of hopefuls. Several railroads advertised the natural splendor of the region as "a scene of beauty the imagination cannot depict"- but as soon as all the gold was panned, destructive hydraulic mining began. In 1878, a town called Columbia was incorporated, but the name soon changed (there was another Columbia out in California): Some people claim that "Telluride" comes from "to hell you ride," but it was actually named after the nonmetallic element tellurium-which, ironically, was virtually nonexistent in the area.
The golden decade for Telluride was undoubtedly the 1890's-the Rio Grande Southern Railroad arrived, the Sheridan Hotel was built, and 9o-plus businesses opened. But all that paled in comparison to the arrival of Lucien Lucius Nunn, a 5'1" entrepreneur with outsized ambition who-in partnership with George Westinghouse and Nikola Tesla-decided to erect a high-voltage alternating current generator at Ames, 5 miles south of Telluride, in order to cut back on the money it took to supply power to his mines (felling trees, hauling loads with burros, paying for steam). It was the first time in history that such a setup was used for commercial purposes-and Telluride was the first town in the world to use alternating current to power streetlights.
When the U.S. government repealed the Sherman Silver Purchase Act in 1898, the bottom fell out of silver prices-but Telluride survived thanks to rich gold deposits in its high mines (in a single year, the Tomboy Mine extracted $1.3 million in gold ore). What brought it down was a succession of union fights, avalanches, electrocutions, landslides, and flus, all topped off by the stock market crash of 1939. By the 1950's, Telluride was almost a ghost town.
But, in a story familiar throughout the mountains of Colorado, it was skiing that saved the day: Bruce Palmer, an Austrian, strung up a rope tow in the late 1930's; flower children rolled into town for cheap housing; tourists followed, seeking funky festivals; the core downtown area was declared a National Historic Landmark District in 1964; and finally, Joseph Zoline-a wealthy entrepreneur and developer from Beverly Hills-took what he had learned in Aspen and turned Telluride into a true ski town, installing the first lift in 1974. These days, the population hovers around 2,200, a mix of the super-rich (Oprah Winfrey and Tom Cruise own homes here), the latter-day hippies, the new-moneyed yuppies, and the post-college ski bums. Up over the hill from old Telluride itself (you can get there via a free gondola), there's a whole new town (incorporated and everything) called Mountain Village: a collection of huge hotels, chic condos, castle-size log cabins, and more modern amenities that brings ski-resort development to the area without compromising the character of the original settlement. There's a festival every single weekend in summer (even the Telluride Nothing Festival, to fill in the one weekend that doesn't have one), bringing in world-class artists, musicians, and chefs. There's consistently uncrowded, world-class skiing in winter. And no matter what, there are always the surroundings: In my humble opinion, it's the most beautiful ski town in Colorado.
But, of course, early settlers came to mine what was first called San Miguel Park-and mine they did. After ousting the longtime Native American inhabitants with false treaties (and then pure force), characters like Linnard Remine, John Fallen, and Charles Baker found rich deposits, which attracted thousands of hopefuls. Several railroads advertised the natural splendor of the region as "a scene of beauty the imagination cannot depict"- but as soon as all the gold was panned, destructive hydraulic mining began. In 1878, a town called Columbia was incorporated, but the name soon changed (there was another Columbia out in California): Some people claim that "Telluride" comes from "to hell you ride," but it was actually named after the nonmetallic element tellurium-which, ironically, was virtually nonexistent in the area.
The golden decade for Telluride was undoubtedly the 1890's-the Rio Grande Southern Railroad arrived, the Sheridan Hotel was built, and 9o-plus businesses opened. But all that paled in comparison to the arrival of Lucien Lucius Nunn, a 5'1" entrepreneur with outsized ambition who-in partnership with George Westinghouse and Nikola Tesla-decided to erect a high-voltage alternating current generator at Ames, 5 miles south of Telluride, in order to cut back on the money it took to supply power to his mines (felling trees, hauling loads with burros, paying for steam). It was the first time in history that such a setup was used for commercial purposes-and Telluride was the first town in the world to use alternating current to power streetlights.
When the U.S. government repealed the Sherman Silver Purchase Act in 1898, the bottom fell out of silver prices-but Telluride survived thanks to rich gold deposits in its high mines (in a single year, the Tomboy Mine extracted $1.3 million in gold ore). What brought it down was a succession of union fights, avalanches, electrocutions, landslides, and flus, all topped off by the stock market crash of 1939. By the 1950's, Telluride was almost a ghost town.
But, in a story familiar throughout the mountains of Colorado, it was skiing that saved the day: Bruce Palmer, an Austrian, strung up a rope tow in the late 1930's; flower children rolled into town for cheap housing; tourists followed, seeking funky festivals; the core downtown area was declared a National Historic Landmark District in 1964; and finally, Joseph Zoline-a wealthy entrepreneur and developer from Beverly Hills-took what he had learned in Aspen and turned Telluride into a true ski town, installing the first lift in 1974. These days, the population hovers around 2,200, a mix of the super-rich (Oprah Winfrey and Tom Cruise own homes here), the latter-day hippies, the new-moneyed yuppies, and the post-college ski bums. Up over the hill from old Telluride itself (you can get there via a free gondola), there's a whole new town (incorporated and everything) called Mountain Village: a collection of huge hotels, chic condos, castle-size log cabins, and more modern amenities that brings ski-resort development to the area without compromising the character of the original settlement. There's a festival every single weekend in summer (even the Telluride Nothing Festival, to fill in the one weekend that doesn't have one), bringing in world-class artists, musicians, and chefs. There's consistently uncrowded, world-class skiing in winter. And no matter what, there are always the surroundings: In my humble opinion, it's the most beautiful ski town in Colorado.
Ski Areas
