Solitude Ski Resort

I’ve been staying in a quiet hideaway above the University of Utah, tucked near the Utah Natural History Museum. It’s one of those spots that feels slightly removed from the city, even though you’re still very much in it. I woke at 5:45 a.m.—the kind of early morning where everything feels deliberate instead of rushed. I organized a few things in the van, did a quick mental check of the day ahead, and pointed myself toward Solitude, up in Big Cottonwood Canyon inside the Uinta–Wasatch–Cache National Forest.

By 6:15 I had a coffee from Starbucks in hand, and by 6:45 I was pulling into the resort. The drive up the canyon was effortless—no traffic, no stress—just clean pavement and early light catching the canyon walls. Big Cottonwood has a way of doing that in the morning, especially midweek. It feels less like a commute and more like a gradual shift from city thinking to mountain thinking.

I aimed for the far end of the parking lot, partly out of habit and partly because I like a little space. Someone walked all the way out from the lodge and asked me to move closer. There were maybe ten cars in the lot at that point, and suddenly I was parked directly in front of the Moonbeam Express. Not a bad place to wake up. Since the lifts didn’t start spinning until nine, I stretched out and grabbed the last bit of sleep I’d missed earlier.

Solitude has always carried a different reputation than some of its neighbors. It doesn’t shout for attention or try to impress with scale. Historically, it’s been the quieter option in Big Cottonwood—a mountain known for snow quality, tree skiing, and a local feel that hasn’t been fully polished away. It opened in the mid-1950s, and for decades it felt like a locals’ mountain first and a destination mountain second. Even now, that character still shows if you pay attention.

Once I clicked in and started skiing, the mountain revealed itself the way it usually does—slowly. Solitude isn’t about one dramatic run. It’s about consistency. The terrain rolls naturally, the trees are spaced just right, and the snow stays good longer than you expect. You can link turns without thinking too much, which is often when skiing feels best.

After about an hour, something felt off. My legs weren’t tired, but my body felt drained. Dehydration hit harder than expected, and nothing seemed to fix it. I headed to the Roundhouse Lodge and grabbed a Mango Vitamin Water loaded with electrolytes. That helped almost immediately. Standing there with my skis off, I realized something else was wrong too—I hadn’t buckled the top of my boots. No wonder turning felt strange. It wasn’t fatigue at all, just a simple oversight. Skiing has a way of punishing inattention quickly, even on mellow terrain.

Back out on the slopes, everything clicked. Solitude shines in moments like that. The skiing doesn’t demand aggression, but it rewards rhythm. The mountain lets you move at your own pace without feeling rushed or crowded. I skied until about one, then stopped for another drink and a small order of fries. No salad options, which felt oddly on brand for a ski lodge lunch.

I stayed out until a little after three, letting the afternoon stretch out. The sun was warm, and by the time I skied back down to the van it was close to fifty degrees in direct sunlight. The cab had turned into a greenhouse. I packed away my gear, grabbed an apple, and took a moment before heading back down the canyon.

The day still wasn’t over. I drove to Planet Fitness for a shower, but the parking lot was chaos—completely full. I parked farther away and waited until around 5:30, letting the after-work rush pass. The shower felt great, but the massage chair afterward was the real reward. I set it to heavy massage and let it work everything loose. When I left, I felt lighter, relaxed, and strangely energized.

Dinner was at Flower Child, a place I’ve been to enough times now that it feels familiar. I ordered the chicken enchilada bowl—beans, corn, that yellow spicy sauce, pickled onions, slices of green chile, and cilantro tying it all together. Simple, satisfying, and exactly what I wanted after a full day outside.

Back at my usual spot above the University, I spent an hour planning ahead. Alaska has been on my mind constantly, and I ordered a few things to be delivered to a FedEx Office in Salt Lake City. Sitting there, still feeling the day in my legs, it struck me how well Solitude fit into the rhythm of this trip. Not flashy. Not overwhelming. Just solid skiing, a calm mountain, and a day that felt complete without trying too hard to be anything else.