Schweitzer Mountain Remains a Humble Wintry Playground

A girl in a tutu, eight years old going on nine, stood ready for her close-up, with her family nearby—cameras all pointed at her. It was a special day, and not just because it was her birthday; the birthday girl would get the honor of ringing the opening bell, not at the New York Stock Exchange, but at a place dearer to her young heart: the clock tower in the base village of Schweitzer Mountain Resort in the Idaho Panhandle. I arrived at the grounds when she did, ready at 8:45 a.m. wearing ski boots, a helmet, and of course, a birthday sash. One of Schweitzer’s crew was there to facilitate the daily routine-turned-special occasion: after a voice announced the snow report over her walkie-talkie, the two gals pulled the rope to ceremoniously ring the bell at 8:50 a.m., proclaiming the opening of the lifts and the start of the day. Those who had already lined up early for first chair were on their way.

Bigger Yet Humble

Despite a 50 million dollar investment having been pumped into Schweitzer Mountain over the past five years—plus the acquisition by Alterra in the summer of 2023—it's wholesome episodes like this one that keep this lesser-known Idaho ski resort modest, retaining a small mountain vibe, even though it’s been on the big multi-resort Ikon Pass since ‘21/’22 and is slated to expand. Schweitzer may not be as popular as its fellow Idaho Ikon resort Sun Valley, but it certainly isn’t less formidable. It’s the largest resort in “The Great Potato” state at 2,900 acres—500 more than Sun Valley—boasting steep groomers, great glade runs, and wide open bowls in the Selkirk Mountains, all to a relatively small crowd.

During my few days there, I seldomly waited in lift lines, even on a weekend, as I snowboarded on a variety of terrain, initially with a mixed bag of snow conditions, due to a lack of cooperation from the snow gods. I actually thought it was ironic that on a warmer day, I was riding through “mashed potatoes”—in the state known for the root vegetable.

More Than Potatoes

Off trail, Schweitzer’s expanding domain is evident in its base village’s amenities, where I undoubtedly had my share of starchy tubers in the form of fries and “potato tostones,” to name a few iterations. However, the dining menus were more expansive than I expected, across its variety of dining options.

My eats ranged from bowls of “phramen” (pho meets ramen) at the Sky House Summit Lodge, to Mexican-inspired elote dip and Korean-inspired cauliflower at the village Chimney Rock Grill. Gourmandie, a hybrid of a wine shop and a cafe, served up charcuterie boards and artisan flatbreads, while Crow’s Bench, the casually elegant restaurant in the village’s Humbird Hotel (named after the area’s historic Humbird Lumber Company), had elevated dishes like steelhead trout in an onion dashi broth with pea tendrils, and an irresistibly thick, double-boned pork chop with parsnip purée and caramelized apples. Collectively, they were all delicious things that I burned off over time, snowboarding down the slopes as I admired nearby Lake Pend Oreille—Idaho’s biggest and deepest—reaching out to the distant horizon on a clear day.

Après Prayers

As for the après scene, I checked out a few village options, from homey dive Pucci’s Pub, where I easily befriended locals at the bar, to the lively Taps Bar, the mountain’s main stage for live music in the old Lakeview Lodge. Both exuded an unpretentious mountain scene, with flowing beers, smiling faces, and kitschy paraphernalia on the walls. Meanwhile, the bar at the Crow’s Bench felt a little more upscale, at least aesthetically, with clean line design and a walkaround fireplace—perhaps influenced by modern Swiss design, despite “Schweitzer” (German for “Swiss person”) getting its name from the legend of an old crazy Swiss man that used to live at the base of the mountain over a century ago.

Crow’s Bench in the equally contemporary Humbird Hotel was still a friendly place, and it was particularly appropriate for a drink when the snow gods didn’t cooperate during my second afternoon at the mountain. That’s because the light fixtures above the bar are cleverly spaced out to spell out “P R A Y F O R S N O W” in Morse code. I said my prayers by means of a shot of Ullr, that libation named after the Norse God of Snow.

Waiting For Good Snow

With the promise of a snowstorm on the horizon, I killed some wait time at the Cambium Spa, another clever homage to the area’s historic association with the timber industry; “cambium” is the actively growing ring of cells of a tree trunk (under the bark). I also went down the mountain to the charming town of Sandpoint, the lakeside hub of Lake Pend Oreille, which is increasingly becoming more of a ski town than a summertime lake town, according to my local guide Sean Mirus. It’s got a winery, four breweries, and several eateries, many of which double as après-ski venues for live music. Sandpoint can also serve as a place to chill out during the day for avant-ski (before skiing) since Schweitzer also offers twilight skiing on Fridays, Saturdays, and select Sundays and holidays.

Saved By The Bell

The snow gods answered my Ullr-fueled prayers by the time the next morning’s bell rang. Overnight clouds brought in four inches of fresh powder, with much more on the way—in fact, it continued snowing for days, bringing Schweitzer back to a winter state of normalcy. I lined up for the Great Escape Quad before the morning bell ceremony, so that as soon as it rang, I was off to the races. I rode the ridge of The Great Divide trail before dipping down into the Outback Bowl on the backside of the mountain, where I had some of my season’s best runs, making fresh tracks in virgin snow with the spray of powder blowing in my face.

People may fear that Alterra and more development will ruin Schweitzer’s small mountain charm, but I can attest that at least for now, it still retains an old mountain feel. And as long as the snow keeps coming in and you’re skiing or riding some of Idaho’s best trails in its grandest yet modest resort, it won’t even matter. I can’t promise there will always be the best snow conditions—that’s up to the snow gods—but hey, sometimes in Idaho, mashed potatoes aren’t just for dinner.