Mt. Baldy

Overview

Mt. Baldy is a relic, a stubborn holdout against the march of time and climate. It clings to the peaks above Los Angeles like an old prospector who refuses to leave his claim. The ride up is slow and biting, a two-seater relic with wooden slats that rattle and groan in the wind. It carries you skyward with the steady inevitability of something built before speed was a concern. At the top, three lifts wait, each aging in its own way, each carrying skiers to runs that on a good day might remind you why the place still holds on. But good days are rare. The snow, when it comes, is a gift from an increasingly forgetful god. Most of the time, Baldy is what it has always been: hardpacked, icy, and unapologetic. Still, there is a reason to come. The price is fair, and if you are close, it is worth a visit, if only to see the Mojave stretch out beneath you, vast and golden under the winter sun. There is history here, a quiet dignity in the way the resort refuses to modernize or fade away. The world-class powder and polished efficiency of the Sierras are far from this place. Baldy is something else entirely, a fading piece of California's ski past, still standing for now.