About this episode
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You can also subscribe to the free tier below: Who * Travis Kearney, General Manager * Aaron Damon, Assistant General Manager, Marketing Director * Mike Chasse, member of Bigrock Board of Directors * Conrad Brown, long-time ski patroller * Neal Grass, Maintenance Manager Recorded on December 2, 2024 About Bigrock Owned by: A 501c(3) community nonprofit overseen by a local board of directors Located in: Mars Hill, Maine Pass affiliations: Indy Base Pass, Indy Plus Pass – 2 days, no blackouts Closest neighboring ski areas: Quoggy Jo (:26), Lonesome Pine (1:08) Base elevation: 670 feet Summit elevation: 1,590 feet Vertical drop: 920 feet Skiable acres: 90 Average annual snowfall: 94 inches Trail count: 29 (10% beginner, 66% intermediate, 24% advanced) Lift count: 4 (1 fixed-grip quad, 1 triple, 1 double, 1 surface lift – view Lift Blog’s inventory of Bigrock’s lift fleet) Why I interviewed them Welcome to the tip-top of America, where Saddleback is a ski area “down south” and $60 is considered an expensive lift ticket. Have you ever been to Sugarloaf, stationed four hours north of Boston at what feels like the planet’s end? Bigrock is four hours past that, 26 miles north of the end of I-95, a surveyor’s whim from Canadian citizenship. New England is small, but Maine is big, and Aroostook County is enormous, nearly the size of Vermont, larger than Connecticut, the second-largest county east of the Mississippi, 6,828 square miles of mostly rivers and trees and mountains and moose, but also 67,105 people, all of whom need something to do in the winter. That something is Bigrock. Ramble this far north and you probably expect ascent-by-donkey or centerpole double chairs powered by butter churns. But here we have a sparkling new Doppelmayr fixed quad summiting at a windfarm. Shimmering new snowguns hammering across the night. America’s eastern-most ski area, facing west across the continent, a white-laced arena edging the endless wilderness. Bigrock is a fantastic thing, but also a curious one. Its origin story is a New England yarn that echoes all the rest – a guy named Wendell, shirtsleeves-in-the-summertime hustle and surface lifts, let’s hope the snow comes, finally some snowguns and a chairlift just in time. But most such stories end with “and that’s how it became a housing development.” Not this one. The residents of this state-sized county can ski Bigrock in 2025 because the folks in charge of the bump made a few crucial decisions at a few opportune times. In that way, the ski area is a case study not only of the improbable survivor, but a blueprint for how today’s on-the-knife-edge independent bumps can keep spinning lifts in the uncertain decades to come. What we talked about Huge snowmaking upgrades; a new summit quad for the 2024-25 ski season; why the new lift follows a different line from the old summit double; why the Gemini summit double remains in place; how the new chair opens up the mountain’s advanced terrain; why the lift is called “Sunrise”; a brief history of moving the Gemini double from Maine’s now-defunct Evergreen ski area; the “backyard engineering degree”; how this small, remote ski area could afford a brand-new $4 million Doppelmayr quad; why Bigrock considered, but ultimately decided against, repurposing a used lift to replace Gemini; why the new lift is a fixed-grip, rather than a detachable, machine; the windfarm at Bigrock’s summit; Bigrock in the 1960s; the Pierce family legacy; how Covid drove certain skiers to Bigrock while keeping other groups away; how and why Bigrock became a nonprofit; what nearly shuttered the ski area; “I think there was a period in the late ‘70s, early ‘80s where it became not profitable to own a ski area of this size”; why Bigrock’s nonprofit board of directors works; the problem with volunteers; “every kid in town, if they wanted to ski, they were going to ski”; the decline of meatloaf culture; and where and when Bigrock could expand the trail footprint. Why now was a good time for this interview In our high-speed, jet-setting, megapass-driven, name-brand, social-media-fueled ski moment, it is fair to ask this question of any ski area that does not run multiple lifts equipped with tanning beds and bottle service: why do you still exist, and how? I often profile ski areas that have no business being in business in 2025: Plattekill , Magic Mountain, Holiday Mountain , Norway Mountain , Bluewood , Teton Pass , Great Bear , Timberline , Mt. Baldy , Whitecap , Black Mountain of Maine . They are, in most cases, surrounded both by far more modernized facilities and numerous failed peers. Some of them died and punched their way out of the grave. How? Why are these hills the ones who made it? I keep telling these stories because each is distinct, though common elements persist: great natural ski terrain, stubborn owners, available local skiers, and persistent story-building that welds a skier’s self-image to the tale of mountain-as-noble-kingdom. But those elements alone are not enough. Every improbably successful ski area has a secret weapon. Black Mountain of Maine has the Angry Beavers , a group of chainsaw-wielding volunteers who have quietly orchestrated one of New England’s largest ski area expansions over the past decade, making it an attractive busy-day alternative to nearby Sunday River. Great Bear, South Dakota is a Sioux Falls city park, insulating the business from macro-economic pressures and enabling it to buy things like new quad chairlifts. Magic, surrounded by Epkon megaships, is the benefactor of marketing and social-media mastermind Geoff Hatheway, who has crafted a rowdy downhome story that people want to be a part of. And Bigrock? Well, that’s what we’re here for. How on earth did this little ski area teetering on the edge of the continental U.S. afford a brand-new $4 million chairlift? And a bunch of new snowmaking? And how did it not just go splat-I’m-dead years ago as destination ski areas to the north and south added spiderwebs of fast lifts and joined national mass-market passes? And how is it weathering the increasing costs of labor, utilities, infrastructure, and everything else? The answer lies, in part, in Bigrock’s shift, 25 years or so ago, to a nonprofit model, which I believe many more community ski areas will have to adopt to survive this century. But that is just the foundation. What the people running the bump do with it matters. And the folks running Bigrock have found a way to make a modern ski area far from the places where you’d expect to find one. What I got wrong I said that “hundreds of lifts” had “come out in America over the past couple of years.” That’s certainly an overcount. But I really had in mind the post-Covid period that began in 2021, so the past three to four years, which has seen a significant number of lift replacements. The best place to track these is Lift Blog’s year-by-year new lifts databases: 2021 , 2022 , 2023 , 2024 , 2025 (anticipated). I noted that there were two “nearby” ski areas in New Brunswick, the Canadian province bordering Maine. I was referring to 800-vertical-foot Crabbe Mountain, an hour and 20 minutes southeast of Bigrock, and Mont Farlagne, a 600-ish-footer an hour and a half north (neither travel time considers border-crossing delays). Whether these are “near” Bigrock is subjective, I suppose. Here are their trailmaps: Why you should ski Bigrock First, ski Maine. Because it’s gorgeous and remote and, because it takes work to get there, relatively uncrowded on the runs (Sunday River and Pleasant Mountain peak days excepted). Because the people are largely good and wholesome and kind. And because it’s winter the way we all think winter should be, violently and unapologetically cold, bitter and endless, overcast and ornery, fierce in that way that invigorates and tortures the soul. “OK,” you say. “Saddleback and Sugarloaf look great.” And they are. But to drive four hours past them for something smaller? Unlikely. I’m a certain kind of skier that I know most others are not. I like to ramble and always have. I relish, rather than endure, long drives. Particularly in unknown and distant parts. I thrive on newness and novelty. Bigrock, nearly a thousand feet of vert nine hours north of my apartment by car, presents to me a chance for no liftlines and long, empty runs; uncrowded highways for the last half of the drive; probably heaping diner plates on the way out of town. My mission is to hit every lift-served ski area in America and this is one of them, so it will happen at some point. But what of you, Otherskier? Yes, an NYC-based skier can drive 30 to 45 minutes past Hunter and Belleayre and Windham to try Plattekill for a change-up, but that equation fails for remote Bigrock. Like Pluto, it orbits too far from the sun of New England’s cities to merit inclusion among the roster of viable planets. So this appeal, I suppose, ought to be directed at those skiers who live in Presque Isle (population 8,797), Caribou (7,396), and Houlton (6,055). Maybe you live there but don’t ski Bigrock, shuttling on weekends to the cabin near Sugarloaf or taking a week each year to the Wasatch. But I’m a big proponent of the local, of five runs after work on a Thursday, of an early-morning Sunday banger to wake up on the weekend. To have such a place in your backyard – even if it isn’t Alta-Snowbird (because nothing is) or Stowe or Killington – is a hell of an asset. But even that is likely a small group of people. What Bigrock is for – or should be for – is every kid growing up along US 1 north of I-95. Every single school district along this thoroughfare ought to be running weekly buses to the base of the lifts from December through March, for beginner lessons, for race programs, for freeride teams. There are trad-offs to remoteness, to growing up far from things. Yes, the kids are six or seven hours away from a Patriots game or Fenway. But they have big skiing, good skiing, modern skiing, reliable skiing, right freaking there , and they should all be able to check it out. Podcast notes On Evergreen Valley ski area Bigrock’s longtime, still-standing-but-now-mothballed Mueller summit double lift came from the short-lived Evergreen Valley, which operated from around 1972 to 1982. The mountain stood in the ski-dense Conway region along the Maine-New Hampshire border, encircled by present-day Mt. Abram, Sunday River, Wildcat, Black Mountain NH, Bretton Woods, Cranmore, and Pleasant Mountain. Given that competition, it may seem logical that Evergreen failed, but Sunday River wasn’t much larger than this in 1982. On Saddleback’s Rangeley double Saddleback’s 2020 renaissance relied in large part on the installation of a new high-speed quad to replace the ancient Rangeley Mueller double. Here’s an awesome video of a snowcat tugging the entire lift down in one movement. On Libra Foundation and Maine Winter Sports Backed with Libra Foundation grants, the Maine Winter Sports Center briefly played an important role in keeping Bigrock, Quoggy Jo, and Black Mountain of Maine ski areas operational. All three managed to survive the organization’s abrupt exit from the Alpine ski business in 2013, a story that I covered in previous podcasts with Saddleback executive and onetime Maine Winter Sports head Andy Shepard , and with the leadership of Black Mountain of Maine. On Bigrock’s masterplan We discuss a potential future expansion that would substantially build out Bigrock’s beginner terrain. Here’s where that new terrain - and an additional lift - could sit in relation to the existing trails (labeled “A01” and A03”): On Maine ski areas on Indy Indy has built a stellar Indy Pass roster, which includes every thousand-ish-footer in the state that’s not owned by Boyne: Get full access to The Storm Skiing Journal and Podcast at www.stormskiing.com/subscribe