58

PO

WD

ER

THE

SKIE

R’S

MAG

AZI

NE

PHOTO: DAVID REDDICK/TGR; INSET: CHRIS FIGENSHAU/TGR

THINK WE’RE BOWLING.That’s the impression I get from

the four maple lanes shimmeringunder fluorescent lights, the largered and green balls rolling downthem, and the pins occasionallybouncing off each other and intothe air. I think that’s what this is,and I’m pretty sure we’re doing it atthe base of Bulgaria’s Bansko AllSeasons Resort—Eastern Europe’snewest mega ski area, and a placeI’d thought someone might go toget away from bowling. Yet herewe are. Throwing the rock. With agroup of skiers dressed as mon-sters. Which is weird.

Not that monsters, or bowling forthat matter, are foreign to this part of theworld. Dracula used to impale his foes afew hundred miles north in Romania’sTransylvanian Alps. Frankenstein’s castleis an overnight train ride to the northwestnear Mainz, Germany. Titans andCyclopes roamed the coastlands ofGreece and Turkey to the south. Thebowling is easier to rationalize—it’sbrightly colored, not very cool, andAmerican, which pretty much guaranteesit a special place in Eastern Europeanculture. Like Hall and Oates. But still, I’mnot sure it belongs here, in this quaint10th century farming-turned-ski town setat the foot of the Balkan Mountains.

From the look on his dark, Slavicface I can see our Bulgarian guide, AndyBalevski, doesn’t think so either. He’sskied Bansko most of his life and repre-

sents all things extreme in the southeast-ernmost corner of Europe. He co-owns aski school here in the winter and a wind-surfing school on the Black Sea in thesummer with his girlfriend, Maia. He’slogged countless first descents in thePirin Mountains—a sub-range of theCentral Balkans surrounding Bansko. At26, he’s the president of the BulgarianExtreme and Freestyle SkiingAssociation (BEFSA), a ski club 60members strong that hosts an annualextreme competition here.

Andy looks to me for help in under-standing the scene. He smiles self-con-sciously. The Headless Horseman watch-es from the shadows. Frankenstein isstanding at the bar. It’s not the costumesthat have him buffaloed; it’s the idea ofmajor American ski media being here atall, in his hometown resort. The monsters

are here to film a new ski movie.Photographer Dave Reddick and I cameto cover Bansko’s rumored powderslopes in print. Just last year, Banskoexisted as a backwater, ex-communistrecreation facility operating with oneChernenko-era triple chair and a handfulof half-soused lifties. Only a year ago,Andy and his posse of locals skied waist-deep powder all day, never crossing atrack—not just in the days after a storm,but ever. People never bowled in Banskobefore now. Last season, this hotel didn’teven exist.

Andy takes Maia’s hand and standsto leave. “This is crazy,” he says. He’s notupset. His and BEFSA’s efforts helpedget us here. But he’s right. This is crazy.All the incredible changes Bansko hasgone through in 19 months. The literalovernight transformation from sleepyEastern Bloc powder haven to up-and-coming international destination. And allthese Americans—yes, there are others—here to expose Europe’s next secretstash. It’s almost too much to compre-hend. Especially with the monsters, andthe crashing balls, and this doppelgängerof Frankenstein who is now lurchingtoward our seat with a tray of 12 WhiteRussians.

____________________________________________

“HE’S TYING SHOELACE KNOTS,”Dave says.

“Square knots?” I ask. “Or bowlines?”“Shoelace knots.”I look closer. He’s right. It’s 8 a.m. and

the sun is rising over the Pirins. We’vebeen waiting all week to secure helicop-ter time after a warm spell across Europeruined inbounds skiing. Now we’re stand-ing behind Bansko’s sparkling new gon-dola base station, watching our pilot tie

60

PO

WD

ER

THE

SKIE

R’S

MAG

AZI

NE

I

Todorka’s West Face: 3,200 feet of Bulgaria’s best.PHOTO: DAVID REDDICK/TGR

Black on white. PHOTO: DAVID REDDICK/TGR“How ‘bout a rubber band?”

PHOTO: DAVID REDDICK/TGR

our skis with twine—in lieu of a cargobasket—to the skids of a brand new Bellhelicopter. In fact, his grounds crewman,who until this point had wandered aim-lessly around the landing zone in reflec-tive pants, looking at the door handleslike they held the mystery to verticalflight, is holding his finger on the knot.

“There are updrafts,” Micah Blacksays to the pilot, appropriately namedIvan. Ivan watches Micah’s hands as hewaves them in the air, trying to simulatethe flying bits of metal and flesh thatwould result from a pair of dislodged skishitting the rotor. Ivan nods, twists hisbushy white mustache in his fingers, andreturns to the bows. After 30 years as amilitary birdman, he’s excited to fly today,too. He told us earlier that he’s beenwaiting all winter to “practice landing onsnow.”

Thankfully, after a collective lifetimeof heli skiing the Chugach, the TetonGravity Research (TGR) film crew we aretraveling with takes over ground opera-tions and gets us on our way. A roll ofduct tape is produced. Then nylon strapsarrive on the scene and the troops loadup. With skis firmly taped, tied, and buck-led in place—imagine a driving scenefrom National Lampoon’s Vacation—Micah and the first crew take off for themountains. Twenty minutes later, we fol-low suit in a second load. As the chopperskims a succession of gondola towersleading up the mountain, the terrain Andydescribed to us comes to life.

Todorka Peak rises 8,200 feet out ofthe Pirin Mountains like a pyramid and isthe home to Bansko resort. Though notquite as big, topographically the moun-tain smacks of Whistler or Verbier—withanywhere from 1,000 to 3,000 verticalfeet of skiable terrain over steep, granite-lined faces. Thanks to storms blowing off Backward in Bulgaria: Marc-André

Belliveau bringing new moves to theold country. PHOTO: DAVID REDDICK/TGR

Even out of costume Jamie Pierre is capable of monstrous deeds. PHOTOS: DAVID REDDICK/TGR

the Mediterranean to the south andRussia to the northeast, an annual eight-to 13-foot snowpack—the most inBulgaria—transforms the mountain’srugged flanks into an amusement park ofnatural features. Thick stands of old-growth Bosnian and Macedonian pinesshelter snow across ridges and draws.Granite outcroppings along the top quar-ter of the mountain hold a half-dozencouloirs and rime-covered spines.

The resort’s 11 intermediate andbeginner runs are classic

European, stretchinga football field acrossand wending likefairways down thenortheast face. The

inbounds trails aresteep and dynamic

enough to spur a bid for afuture FIS race (Alberto

Tomba is the official ambassa-dor of Bansko) but Bansko’s true

coup de gras lies beyond its boundaries.The West Face of Todorka, beyond

the western boundary of Bansko, boaststhe kind of ski terrain developers buildresorts around. The mile-long ridge thatextends southwest from the summitholds more couloirs than you could counton an afternoon tour. Small chutes feedfrom the upper ridge into larger couloirsthat run from 2,000 to 3,200 vertical feetinto Banderitsa Valley. Because you haveto traverse to access them, however,skiers only get to test the bottom two-thirds of any of the runs. One-hundred-foot pines, spaced bus-lengths apart,populate ridgelines that dive in a steep

curve toward the valley floor. BecauseBansko’s boundaries have never closedin almost 20 years of existence, the WestFace has basically become a massivebackcountry run about the size of Aspen.To complete the picture, two 30-roomlodges sit in the middle and head of thevalley. They’re minimal but also cheap andopen for business year-round.

The chopper rises out of BanderitsaValley and a network of snowy ridgelinesunfolds to the east. I spot a person stand-ing on one of them. I look at Ivan and

check my seat belt. His face is contorted.It twitches. I look closer and see his eyesare closed. The skis wiggle on the skid, alone bow wagging in the wind. A gust hitsus and Ivan opens his eyes and looksdown. The figure is waving frantically at us.

____________________________________________

WHITE RUSSIANS ARE REGARDED in Bulgaria’s bowling alleys—and history—with a mix of apprehension and appreci-ation. When the Russian-backed Father-land Front marched into the capital city ofSofia in 1945 and claimed Bulgaria as acommunist state, Bulgarians followedtheir leaders begrudgingly. Fifty yearslater, they had much to thank theirRussian comrades for.

Under Todor Zhivkov’s 27-year reign,Bulgaria embraced the socialist mani-festoes of Marx and Lenin. It sided withRussia in its stand against the capitalistWest and erected monuments to itsRussian leaders in the streets of Sofia.When the Fatherland issued a call for

increased youth recreation in the 1980s,Bulgaria responded in kind.

Skiing had long been a pastime atBulgaria’s three resorts, and soon therewas talk of building another. A third ofBulgaria is made up of mountains, sothere were plenty of proposed sites. Onesat 100 miles south of Sofia near a 10thcentury farming village, surrounded bysome of the most beautiful peaks in theBalkans. The town lies near an ancientThracian settlement and had been a stopon the overland Mediterranean tradingroute for centuries. One of Zhivkov’s gen-erals went to investigate. He liked whathe found and approached the local partychief about cutting several runs for aresort. The chief said no. The general left.Some months later when the chief wasaway on vacation, the general returnedwith a company of troops and cut theruns anyway. By the time the chiefreturned, there was nothing to do butclear the deadfall and string a lift. Suchwas the impolitic inception of Bansko.

The resort became the locals’ choiceover the next decade. Its bevy of steep

lines on the hill and lack of them at the liftwere preferable to more developedresorts like Borovets and Pamporovo.Plus, Bansko’s well-preserved Bulgarianculture—from Middle Eastern-esque folkmusic to plum brandy to a dozen varia-tions on the shish kebab—made it one ofthe few towns in Bulgaria to have sur-vived the homogenizing cultural effects ofcommunism. Andy and his posse offriends were more than happy to abide byMoscow’s edict. They traveled from Sofiaon weekends to stay at a 13-story stu-dent dorm built on the side of Todorkaand show their commitment to the party—all night long with Russian vodka, and allday long on powder slopes the Russianshelped cut.

Then perestroika swept throughEurope in 1989 and vast, corrupt privatiza-tion mixed with shortsighted economicpolicy left Bulgarians broke. Where skiingwas once socialized and tickets sold forpocket change, Bansko had to start charg-ing for lift passes. By the late 1990s,Bulgaria had become the poorest countryin Europe—with an average annual income

of $1,510—and Bansko’s slopes werenearly empty.

Where bankruptcy grows, banksmake hay and in 2000, Bulgaria’s FirstInvestment Bank initiated plans thatwould change Bansko forever. The bankretained Austrian consultants to showthem how to build a European-styleresort—including hotels with bowlinglanes—and then waited two years for thepermits. Environmentalists blocked thedevelopment, citing that cutting old-growth trees violated international envi-ronmental law. In the fall of 2002, thebank prevailed over the greens and work-ers broke ground. The bank was so eagerto complete the development, they dugthe footings for the new lifts during thewinter. By the following fall, they’d erect-ed two new Doppelmayr quad chairlifts,three on-mountain restaurants, a state-of-the-art snowmaking system, a newbase area, a gondola running to town,four new trails, and 10 new hotels intown. To say the development was one ofthe most immodest and immediate in thehistory of European skiing would be an

understatement. In 2003, Bansko stoodas the single largest monetary invest-ment in Bulgaria.____________________________________________

THE HELICOPTER DROPS TOWARDthe ridge. I see that the man waving isMicah. After more than a decade heli ski-ing in Alaska, he’s familiar with everyaspect of mountain flight, except how toland the ship. Considering the way Ivan isbringing us in, we’re thinking of givinghim a shot at that, too. Micah hasstamped out a 20-by-20-foot landingzone in the snow. He throws a handful offluff in the air to show Ivan what directionthe wind is blowing. He takes a knee and,after Ivan’s second successful snow land-ing of the day, leads us to the edge ofthe cirque.

Countless couloirs and bowls extendabove the Demianitca Valley, accessed bya half-dozen ridges and twice as many4,000- to 9,000-foot peaks. The ridgewe’re standing on is about three milessoutheast of Bansko and opens into 10short but perfect granite-lined couloirs.

Frankenstein in the house. Micah Black,below a friendly fatherland likeness.PHOTO: DAVID REDDICK/TGR

64

PO

WD

ER

THE

SKIE

R’S

MAG

AZI

NE

The area holds such prime terrain, it’smind-boggling to us that much of it hasnever been tracked. The peaks acrossthe valley seem to hold a similar quiver ofpossibilities, but besides Andy and hiscrew, and a handful of adventurous alpin-ists, the backcountry around Bansko islargely unexplored. While the film crewshoots skiers launching off natural hitsalong the ridge, I find a shadowed lineand make my first run of the day. Thesnow isn’t perfect. The warm spell left athick crust. But there are six inches offluff on top, and the wind has blown muchof it along the ridgeline.

Powder billows around my shins as Idrop down the lee. The slope is moderate,about 35 degrees, and I feel the pull ofthe mountain for the first time in days.The sun is bright and the air perfectly still.A river meanders under the snow alongthe valley floor below. I feel the light fluffcushioning my boards and rememberhow Andy told me that big storms herecarry fine bits of sand from the Sahara. Inotice three tiny skiers skinning along-side the river and consider how the new

lifts and hotels will change Bansko. Iremember Andy’s stories about stormsthat dropped a foot a night for a week,how it was only he and maybe 50 otherskiers there to enjoy it. I think about thetales because they represent a time andplace where skiing prevailed over devel-opment and comfort, but also because Ihad seen it for myself.

This isn’t my first trip to Bansko. Iwas here two years ago, before thedevelopment—following rumors of anenormous mountain hidden deep inEastern Europe. The resort I found was athrowback to Telluride in the 1960s orSnowbird in the ’70s—it was massive,cheap, and there was hardly anyonethere. I’d always regretted missing thegolden years of America’s big Westernresorts, but at Bansko it seemed I was liv-ing them. You had to watch the triple run-ning to the top of Todorka closelybecause some of the chairs didn’t haveseats. Tickets were $7 a day. There wereliterally no people. The lifties started thechair when we reached the bottom of theslope and stopped it when we got off at

the top. I skied 3,000-foot powder runswith Andy and his friends for 10 daysstraight and never crossed a track. Andytold me not to get lost as the singlemountain rescue worker got paid $4 tosave a live body and $7 to drag out adead one. So he wasn’t in any rush.

One day on that trip, the BEFSAtravel director, Momchil Panayotov, toldme to follow him through the BanderitsaValley up into the trees. His father was aprofessor in the Department of Forestryat the University of Sofia. Momchil point-ed to an old, gnarled pine with massive,twisted trunks. “Thirteen-hundred yearsold,” he says. The development wasalready underway and when we skieddown the valley, as if on cue, the sound ofchainsaws echoed off the granite cliffs.We stopped to chat with a crew of wood-cutters hired from the town. They weregristled, middle-aged men with bushyeyebrows and massive, sap-blackenedhands. Their feet were covered in bubblewrap to keep them warm, and theyseemed alright with the plans for Bansko,as long as they got paid. We skied away

Bulgairia. PHOTO: DAVID REDDICK/TGR

Spinal tap. Skier: Marc-André Belliveau.PHOTO AND SEQUENCE: CHRIS FIGENSHAU/TGR

over fallen pine boughs and sawdust,trees and stumps lying around like ava-lanche debris. A twin-rotor Russian heli-copter flew overhead, carrying a tower forone of the new quads and I wondered ifAndy and Momchil had any idea whatwas coming.

____________________________________________

WHITE RUSSIANS SEEM TO BE THEonly thing keeping the monsters at bay.Frankenstein is holding two of them.Dracula is sipping one contentedlythrough a straw. The Headless Horsemanis feeding his to the head under his arm.

Andy is leaving. The BEFSA big-mountain competition starts tomorrowand he has to get up early. He surveysthe lanes. The scene in the bowling alley,and town, this week couldn’t depict thechanges in Bansko better. Skier JenAshton is sitting in lane two with a half-dozen writers, skiers, and photographersfrom North America. We passed skiersKina Pickett, Wendy Fisher, and HannahHardaway yesterday morning walking tothe gondola. Earlier tonight, the trio wereguests on Bulgaria’s equivalent to TheTonight Show, talking about how to sur-vive an avalanche. In sum, no less than 20representatives of three of the biggestski magazines and two of the largest ski-movie makers in North America populat-ed the cobbled streets of Banskothis week.

This is how change goes. The daysof $7 lift tickets and inexhaustible pow-der are coming to a close. By 2004, theprice of a ticket had jumped to $28 andskier visits had more than doubled. And

the development isn’t near over. Banskodoesn’t have any interest in remaining areplica of Telluride in the 1960s. It has itseye on the Whistlers and Vails of today.Plans for the next five years include ahalf-dozen new lifts on mountains to the

east and west of Todorka, a complete heliskiing operation, new alpine and nordictrails, and up to 60 new hotels.

There’s momentum here, unstop-pable momentum you might say, to build

Bansko out to its maximum capacity.Which, with hardly any government regu-lation, or at least little regard for it, seemslimitless. Trees will be cut, though as fewas possible the bank says. Farmers willbe evicted from their houses to make way

for Swiss-style hotels. Roads will bewidened and there’s even talk of an air-port someday.

All this is coming, and Andy knows it.Not that it’s all bad. The resort could givea much-needed economic shot in the armto Bansko, and Bulgaria. All the new facil-ities will make accessing Bansko’s hid-den caches easier. Andy understandsthis. He’s starting to know what to expect.He’s even opened a guiding businesswith his girlfriend and plans to expand itnext year. He looks around at the crowdnow. He’s happy to be here, happy to hostus, but he’s going home. Things will keepchanging—this is inevitable. But one thingwon’t. There will always be skiing in the morning.____________________________________________

IT’S AFTERNOON NOW. THE HANGOVERfrom Bansko’s local plum brandy hasworn off and the lifts have closed.Everyone’s gone. The TGR crew is head-ing to Romania, costumes in tow, atnightfall. The word is it snowed thereseven feet in seven days.

Andy wants to take us on one lastrun. He flags down a snowcat and Davidand I load onto the back. The ride is jar-ring, metal tracks whirring alongside theflatbed we’re standing on in ski boots.There’s no footing and a couple of timesI almost fall onto the treads. There’ssomething disturbing about how comfort-able we’ve become around danger on this trip.

PHOTO: DAVID REDDICK/TGR PHOTO: DAVID REDDICK/TGR

PHOTO: DAVID REDDICK/TGR

Continued on page 94

The cat drops us off on top of Todorkaand we walk to the edge of the West Face.The sun is blood red and the farmland below,stretching toward Sofia, looks like a patch-work quilt. The cat disappears down the trailand the Banderitsa Valley is silent. We followAndy and click into our skis.

We slip in and out of the old pines on theway down. Heavy winds the night before blewa foot of snow onto the ridge. This is Andy’ssecret stash—a line probably 100 people haveever skied besides him and his friends. Hemakes long, powerful turns down a steep ribthat leads into a ravine. Snow whorls off histails. David and I stay on the ridge awhilelonger and emerge into a snowfield. It’s get-ting dark. I look down at the Banderitsa Hutand see the little trail leading up away fromthe river, away from the ski tracks, and into thewoods. I see the 1,300-year-old tree, or atleast one that towers above the others justlike it, and remember the day Andy and hisfriends took me there two years ago.

It’s a scene I’ve reflected on too often.Much like this one on the ridge with the sunnow gone and the sky red like saffron. Iremember skiing quiet and fast through themassive trees, the slope dropping away into atight draw and then opening onto an apron ofuntracked powder. I recall thinking that with allthis opportunity and development, somethingmay have been lost here. Then I rememberfeeling this strange sensation as we turned oneach other’s tails—that whatever may havebeen lost was heavily outweighed by whatwas yet to be discovered—and much of it layjust beneath us through the trees.

Continued from page 67

Skier: Jamie Pierre. PHOTO: DAVID REDDICK/TGR