A travel writer explores Aspen and Snowmass in Colorado’s Rocky Mountains, discovering stunning Maroon Bells views, cowboy culture, rodeos and summer adventures in America’s most affluent mountain resort
(Image: Chris Granet)
The guide’s instructions were crystal clear: “Keep both hands on the handlebars. Don’t look around. Don’t take photos.”
Yet I simply couldn’t resist. The scenery was far too stunning and I found myself compelled to capture videos of the breathtaking alpine vista surrounding us whilst coasting down from the Maroon Bells, the twin peaks situated behind the twin towns of Aspen and Snowmass, their snow-covered summits still clinging to winter’s final traces despite it being late June.
This stretch of Colorado’s Rocky Mountains is more renowned for its skiing and cold-weather pursuits, yet during summer it transforms into a paradise for those keen to discover the terrain no longer concealed beneath snow.
I’d travelled in from Denver, departing the state capital bathed in evening sunlight as we glided over the snow-dusted peaks. Lines of private aircraft filled the tarmac at tiny Aspen airport.
I’d never witnessed so many. Then again, this ranks among the wealthiest regions in the US, with as many as 125 billionaires possessing homes here, reports the Express.
Tourists appear to be predominantly wealthy or “aspirational”. Imagine the south of France or Dubai, but with ranch culture.
Our accommodation was the stylish W, positioned in Aspen’s heart and near the cable car terminal. It proved as contemporary and fashionable as the other W properties I’ve experienced, though more compact in size – less ostentatious, more intimate.
After refreshing ourselves, I met my tour party on the rooftop terrace where we sipped cocktails as the sun descended with golden beams caressing Mount Aspen. Drinks finished, we headed off for dinner through Aspen’s charming, tree-lined streets, which reveal little evidence of its rough-and-ready heritage as a silver mining settlement.
Following the collapse of the silver boom, Aspen’s prosperity plummeted and only bounced back after being transformed into a ski resort in the mid-20th century. I realised I was struggling slightly to walk.
The booze? No, the 8,000ft elevation (the thin mountain air would leave me breathless for the following few days).
The evocative Steakhouse No. 316 was softly illuminated with stylish Old West-inspired décor. My fillet steak arrived cooked to medium-rare perfection and accompanied by a zesty margarita.
Annoying jetlag brought the evening to an early close, wiping me out by 11pm, then jolting me awake at 3.30am. At least it guaranteed I was first down for breakfast.
I sampled elk sausage and eggs – my initial encounter with the magnificent creatures that continue to inhabit the area – robust, smoky, and as delicious as they are striking. Poor elk.
The morning’s programme featured e-biking up the valley through attractive wetlands (the power-assisted pedalling a blessing) and a stop at the trendy Aspen Art Museum, with its six galleries of contemporary art.
We had lunch at the museum’s rooftop restaurant. Its cuisine may have been uninspiring, but the panorama of Mount Aspen was as stunning as the staircase leading up there.
Every local we encountered that day was incredibly welcoming, stepping aside for us with beaming smiles or cheerful greetings. Despite Aspen’s prestigious reputation, it was refreshingly free from the snobbery you might anticipate in comparable British or European ski resorts.
After lunch, we browsed the souvenir shops. The standout was Kemo Sabe, a Western-themed boutique selling bespoke cowboy gear. It’s every bit as pricey as it is stylish – hats typically cost $1,000. I spotted a basic leather hatband priced at $8,776.
Surely nobody’s quite that ambitious?
Maintaining the Western atmosphere, dinner was at Hotel Jerome, an impressive structure built in the 19th century to rival London’s Savoy. Its bars and restaurants radiated a gentler Western appeal, though the seven-course tasting menu proved disappointing.
Nevertheless, the cocktails were superb and the heritage tangible.
The magnificence continued as we strolled to the nearby Wheeler Opera House for an Emmylou Harris performance. I’d never encountered her work, and the 77-year-old, 14 Grammy-winning folk artist exposed my ignorance as her captivating voice echoed throughout the elegant Victorian-era venue.
Following another night of jet-lag-shortened sleep, I was grateful we caught a cable car to Mount Aspen’s peak for an outdoor yoga session where I loosened my weary muscles whilst overlooking the mountains.
Lunch was back down at the Ajax Tavern beside the cable-car station. Its signature truffle fries were superb, but the signature double beef burgers were rather mediocre.
That sunny evening we travelled onwards to Snowmass, 15 minutes down the valley, pausing at the rodeo. But this wasn’t just any rodeo, this was the Snowmass Rodeo – packed with well-Cuban-heeled cowboys and girls sporting Kemo Sabe hats and designer sunglasses.
Nevertheless, it felt pleasantly down-to-earth, with cheerful families and grins everywhere. Events ranged from children’s sheep-riding (yes, really), bullock lassoing and barrel-racing, building up to bull-riding.
Snowmass Village itself possesses a distinctly different atmosphere from Aspen. Here, the resort has been constructed around the skiing – rather than the other way round – with an extensive network of trails and pistes spreading up the enormous Snowmass Mountain.
During summer, the tree-covered slopes become a mountain biker’s dream, boasting over 50 miles of trails. As we ascended via gondola up the Elk Camp side of the mountain, we observed as they hurtled down, tearing up trails.
Entertaining, but we found our excitement from the Breathtaker Alpine Coaster, a roller coaster nestled in the forest where you race downhill in toboggans, my bum squeaking as noisily as the brakes.
From the cable-car terminal, there’s a chairlift ascending to the summit of Elk Camp. Regrettably, it was chilly and wet up there and the views of the Maroon Bells hidden by cloud.
A quick stop for pizza energised us for the descent into Aspen’s tree woods above the village. The afternoon sun illuminated their silver bark and created lengthy shadows.
Combined with the birdsong and post-rain scents, it felt enchanting. Snowmass’s nightlife is considerably more low-key than that of Aspen.
We ate at Aurum, an upscale Mediterranean/American fusion eatery – more outstanding steak and cocktails – and also at Kenichi, a Japanese restaurant serving not only the finest food of the entire trip, but the best Japanese cuisine I’ve ever experienced.
Zane’s and The Tavern are well-loved local watering holes – the former a relaxed sports bar, the latter buzzing with boisterous young punters drowning out the gravelly old country singer.
Our last morning kicked off with that bike ride down from Maroon Bells. The sight of the twin peaks looming majestically over the unspoilt Maroon Lake was nothing short of spectacular.
And, thankfully, the journey back to Aspen was downhill the entire way. After such a stunning trip, in every sense of the word, it was a thoroughly fitting send-off.
