The air snaps cold at the base and there’s a steady stream of boarders, boots thumping on metal stairs. Inside the main lodge, grill smoke and chatter drift out to the lifts. All day, sharp edges make work of the frontside as the wind combs the ridgeline.
Snow settles quick here, and it stays. Belleayre runs at its own mountain pace—lift lines, chair chatter, and the steady roar of snow guns working through the dark. If you need sun, pull up to the east-facing deck and sort out your afternoon plans while boots dry by the door.
There’s a crispness to mornings at Plattekill — ski bags thumping on wood, boots clapping across the lot, and a stubborn Catskill spirit carried in the air. The lodge flickers with talk over ski boots and steaming plates, while outside, lifts crank and the slopes unwind between stands of maple and pine.
The sound of lift cables and the whiff of fryer oil drift from the base lodge, while ski tips scratch over corduroy under the Catskill sky. Laughter carries from the tubing park and the bar glows late into the evening.
Hunter Mountain runs with a steady hum—lifts moving, music from the lodge, the slap of boards on packed snow. Views stretch long over dark peaks while the base bustles, no matter the weather.
