Little Belts, Big Expectations
A late-winter day-trip to Showdown and White Sulphur Springs.
As with many things in life, the lead-up is oftentimes better than the main event. Once in a while, though, the activity itself blows away expectations. Such was the case on a recent office ski trip to Showdown, tucked away deep in the Little Belt mountains.
Despite the mountain range’s somewhat lackluster name, the terrain is big for its breeches with a variety of open meadows, expansive hills, and steep faces. Showdown, located on the Hwy. 89 summit, is strategically positioned to take advantage of all these, plus ample snowfall (over 268 inches this year and counting). From Bozeman, it’s a two-hour drive northeast, through White Sulphur Springs and then up a winding road toward the town of Neihart. With plenty of slopeside parking, it’s the perfect spot for a breakfast tailgate, which was how our day started.
Adam, our resident Midwesterner, took the lead, pouring beermosas (the house favorite is a Bridger Brewing hazy IPA mixed with OJ), frying bacon, and whipping up a breakfast scramble in the parking lot. The forecast called for 50 and sunny, and with only a few dozen cars in the parking lot, there was no rush to catch first tracks. As we dug in, the snowcats were just finishing up, leaving crisp corduroy across much of the mountain.
In terms of the ski hill itself, the main lift runs up a large ridge, with open bowls to choose from on either side. Head skier's right from the top, and there's a handful of steep blacks with loose timber and ample bumps. Head left, and you’re met with glades and groomers.
Sitting on the outside deck, we enjoyed cheap pitchers, relishing in the mid-winter sunshine.
In a single day, an ambitious skier can explore it all—and we decided to do exactly that. Without much of a warmup, we dropped into a steep run named “Glory Hole,” which was only fitting for our high expectations (with some photos next to the sign, of course). It proved to be a thigh-burner, and at the bottom we’d all wished we had followed Georgia and Jamie down an easy groomer. “Easy,” that is, for those who grew up skiing. Georgia came down looking disheveled, claiming the “dim-sum” on her bindings might need to be tightened.
“You mean DIN?” asked Tim. He pulled a multi-tool from his pocket and made quick work of adjusting the settings. Maybe the lodge would have Chinese dim sum hors d'oeuvres at the end of the day. Unlikely, though. We were in the middle of Montana, after all.
We spent the rest of the day mobbing through the glades, racing down groomers, cracking beers, and having an overall superb day of skiing. Eventually, though, as it continued to warm up, the snow turned to the consistency of peanut butter and we decided to call it a day—meaning one thing only: beers in the lodge. Sitting on the outside deck, we enjoyed cheap pitchers, relishing in the mid-winter sunshine.
From there, we split up, with the “older” folks, plus Georgia, booking it back to Bozeman, and the younger bunch heading for the hot springs in White Sulphur. Soaking in the mineral-rich waters proved the perfect respite from the ski day, and we jumped between the three pools, including a quick turn in the super-hot indoor pool.
Georgia came down looking disheveled, claiming the “dim-sum” on her bindings might need to be tightened.
Finally, at Tim and Adam’s request, we walked down the street to Bar 47 for more beers. Not that we really needed ’em, but if anything, it was another excuse to linger in town a little longer before heading back to Bozeman. Eventually, though, it was time.
I can’t speak for the other vehicles, but every passenger in mine was conked out by the time we hung a left onto the highway, about a minute from the hot springs. The light snoring was an indisputable sign of a good day, one well worth repeating next year—or maybe even next week. Expectations, once again, will be high.
