I arrived at Baker blindly and with low expectations. Spoiled and smug from living in Jackson Hole, I was convinced nothing could compare to laps off the tram. After all, this was Washington, land of 32-degree cement. A quick study of the posted trail map—with only 1,500 feet of fall line and a network of slow-speed chairs—left me unimpressed. New pass in hand, I loaded Chair One in the driving rain with hope fading fast. But secrets here are slowly revealed, and now, three seasons later, I find it difficult to ever leave.
What I discovered is that nothing about Baker is average. Snowfall and terrain rank it among the best, but something deeper is at work here. The cumulative effect of the whole is harder to quantify. An organic process formed the soul of this ski hill and the nature of it can’t be replicated or improved with a corporate formula. And that’s fine with the locals who covet this place, because its spell has already been cast on them.
For the uninitiated, explanations always start with the subject of snow. The lucky who skied here during the winter of 1998-99—when 1,140 inches fell from the sky—speak of the record year with religious reverence. Invoking the holy trinity of wet Pacific moisture, the sweet spot of the storm track, and the ideal topography for orographic lift, they explain with fervor why miraculous 200-inch-plus base depths are the norm on this mountain. A 647-inch annual average backs up their claim with tangible proof. Even when neighboring Crystal and Whistler are celebrating a few new inches, Baker regularly measures its storms in feet.
Chasing snow is a maddening game, but at Mt. Baker the odds are overwhelming that you will find what you seek. With a 647-inch annual average and a world record of 95 feet in 1998-99, the reputation of this storm-churning vortex is backed by hard data. Even last year, when the Northwest was hit by its worst winter in decades, Baker ended the season with 465 inches, more than most resorts could wish for in a good year. When other Cascadian resorts are simply being dusted, a three-foot pounding on Pan Dome is no rarity. But Baker is home to more than just great snow depths. Steep terrain, diesel-powered chairs, and an atmosphere that takes you in as family all align to make this mountain a rare and captivating place.
