NEVADA UNEXPECTED

Who knew the Silver State was a place for skiers?

Last March, I met Nevada.

Not the Nevada I thought I knew. Not the Nevada with the neon lights, the motel for clowns, the abandoned city beneath Lake Mead, the extraterrestrial highway—although meeting that Nevada would be interesting. I did not meet the Nevada that shines so brightly that astronauts can see it from the International Space Station. Nor the one where riding a camel on a state highway is against the law. Or where it’s illegal to sell dentures in pawn shops. No, no, no, not that Nevada—that Nevada is for gamblers and tourists, and jokers on the lookout for used dentures in pawn shops.

The Nevada I met is different. The Nevada I met has more named mountain ranges than any other U.S. state, including Wyoming, Utah and Colorado. The Nevada I met is skiable. The Nevada I met is for skiers.

Lake Tahoe is the largest alpine lake in the United States and one of the world’s clearest bodies of water—and nearly half of it is in Nevada.

But hang on. There’s an elephant in the room. His hair and complexion are odd, he’s unwelcoming to visitors, and last March, around the time of my visit, he suggested my country would make a great 51st state. Every time I said the word “out” or “about” in Nevada, I was asked if I am Canadian. And when I tensed and nodded the affirmative, I was surprised by the response: “I’m sorry. I didn’t vote for him.”

And so there I was, last March, in a Nevada that was unfamiliar to me. Where Americans were saying sorry to me instead of the other way around. And where I was astonished to learn there are 35 peaks over 3,000 metres. Thirty-five peaks over 3,000 metres? It’s the most mountainous state in the Lower 48. Who knew Nevada could be so skiable? 

HEAVENLY 

My Nevada ski tour starts and ends in Reno. We head south first to Lake Tahoe to ski Heavenly Mountain Resort, then north to visit Diamond Peak Ski Resort, then back toward Reno to visit Mt. Rose Ski Tahoe. The circle tour linking the resorts is fewer than 200km—not much more than the distance from Toronto to Collingwood, or Vancouver to Whistler. 

The community of South Lake Tahoe is just an hour from the Reno airport, meaning I’m by the fire sipping a cocktail at Nevada’s Edgewood Tahoe Resort well before dinner. That lake—that big, blue, beautiful lake—spreads widely before me, dancing with sparkles. Snow-capped peaks rim the water. It’s little wonder they call Lake Tahoe the jewel of Sierra Nevada.

Nearby, Heavenly Mountain Resort straddles the state line between California and the Silver State. But for me it has always carried a strong California vibe: tall redwoods, A-frame cabins, blond ski instructors with names like Chip and Skindog and Sunny. Which stereotypes would be revealed on the Nevada side of the ski resort? Casinos in the ski lodge? The ding-ding-ding of slot machines? Showgirls? Mel Tormé? Pink flamingos?

But Nevada skiing showcases none of these things. My first taste is a slow snake along Heavenly’s Skyline Trail leading skiers from California to Nevada. Below me: steeps, gladed redwoods and twisty blue groomers. The snow is sun-warmed and soft, there is ample space between the trees, and the bumps are mushy and malleable. As we slide across the state line, trail names shift from California-cool (Mambo, Groove, Big Easy) to Nevada-western (Stagecoach, Outlaw, Mineshaft). In the afternoon I’m drawn to Milkyway Bowl like I am drawn to red wine and dark chocolate. In the daylodges I see no slots, no spinning roulettes, no baccarat tables. This is a whole new Nevada. Not one I’ve been expecting.

The Nevada I thought I knew does reveal itself briefly over dinner. Just off the casino floor in  Caesars Republic, Bravo TV’s Lisa Vanderpump has a buzzy new resto called Wolf by Vanderpump. But it’s more spectacle than restaurant: antlers, faux trees, chandeliers copied from a hunting lodge in Scotland. Two cages contain white marble wolves ready to gorge on my neighbour’s wagyu ragu or Lisa’s signature cheese balls. Whisky is delivered in a wolf’s head. Wait, are we in Vegas? I hustle it back to the quiet of Edgewood Tahoe.

DIAMOND PEAK 

Lake Tahoe is the largest alpine lake in the United States and one of the world’s clearest bodies of water—and nearly half of it is in Nevada. Hugging the shoreline, we drive north from Heavenly to the village of Incline in less than an hour. We stop at Sand Harbor State Park to Instagram a photo: rocky beaches, lapping water, steep-sided, snow-tipped mountains. A-frame cabins are surrounded by massive, mossy trees. The scent of redwood is dry, woody and subtly spicy.

Along the drive I am distracted by local lore: It is to Incline that Frank Sinatra brought a troubled Marilyn Monroe in 1962, just days before she died in Los Angeles. Sinatra was an investor in Cal Neva Lodge, entertaining often in the Celebrity Room with his Rat Pack pals: Dean Martin, Joey Bishop and Sammy Davis Jr. 

But there are no signs of the Rat Pack now, or anyone really. The Cal Neva has closed, and checking into the Hyatt Regency Lake Tahoe, all is quiet. There is a casino inside the resort but it’s mostly empty. Busier is the ski shop next to the casino that smells strongly of wax and P-tex—another aspect of Nevada I have not been expecting.

Only 10 minutes up the twisty road is Diamond Peak, a community-led ski area with terrain I would pit against Taos or Aspen Highlands any day. What it lacks in Taos or Aspen panache it makes up for in skiing. Treed runs are many, and after a snowfall they remain untracked, sometimes for days. Incline locals ski here on their lunch hours, and many ski with their families on weekends. But during our ski day, Diamond Peak seems like a private playground. 

Especially sweet were the gladed runs off Crystal Ridge with telling names like Bonanza, Elevator Shaft, Rollerglades and Gnarnia. There aren’t enough hours in our day to repeat the number of laps I crave in Solitude Canyon. At an elevation of 2,256m, the view from Snowflake Lodge over Lake Tahoe is one of the best in Sierra Nevada. It’s no wonder they call Diamond Peak a hidden wonder.

MT. ROSE 

And then, finally, Mt. Rose, our final stop before I board the plane back to Canada. Just a 30-minute drive from Reno, which is commonly known as the biggest little city in the world, Mt. Rose is buzzy and, frankly, very busy. But it’s big too: eight lifts, more than 70 trails and 486 skiable hectares. With breadth like this, there are loads of ski runs to choose from.

Mt. Rose fans out at the top in broad, sparsely treed runs. There are many, many wide blue squares with more western names: Mine Train, Big Bonanza, Silver Dollar. Big surprise, I like the glades best, as well as The Chutes off Zephyr Express that plunge 455 vertical metres. The new Lakeview Express offers skiers another magical view of Lake Tahoe. For 2026, Mt. Rose has invested an additional US$6 million in Wildside Tahoe, the largest tubing centre on the West Coast. 

With its buzzy-ness and busy-ness, Mt. Rose could fit more comfortably within my original Nevada stereotype, although I see no slots on its slopes, no Elvis impersonators, and sadly, no Thunder from Down Under. Those are reserved for the Reno International Airport, where I board a plane back home. By my gate I am almost surprised to hear the dinging of slots and that voice that calls “WINNER WINNER WINNER” every seven seconds. 

Nevada does glitz and gambling okay, I am thinking. But the one I just met does skiing better.

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