Standing on a small footbridge at the new Inn at Sundance Mountain Resort, I was mesmerized by the water below. In the heart of winter, its rushing flow created a gentle, bubbling cadence — unexpected, calming, and alive. I looked up to see snow clinging to the broad shoulders of Mount Timpanogos , its rocky face standing stark against an azure blue sky. For a moment, it felt as if Robert Redford himself was looking down on us. Just 45 minutes from the bustle of Park City, Sundance exists in a different rhythm, one that moves in quiet harmony with Mother Nature. It’s precisely what Redford envisioned 65 years ago when he discovered this narrow canyon tucked beneath Timp’s eastern flank. When plans for a hotel at Sundance began circulating a few years ago, devotees of this deeply personal mountain wondered what would come of it. Now open to the public, the inn feels less like an addition and more like a natural extension of the landscape. Its footprint is modest and intimate — nestled against the slopes, warmed by fire pits, and stitched together by a river that quite literally runs through it. And somehow, it looks as if it has always been there. Over a pretzel and a beer at the Owl Bar, we traded stories and sketched out the next morning’s ski plan. The Owl Bar’s heritage reaches far beyond its walls. Its sprawling bar and back bar date to the 1890s, salvaged from a saloon in Thermopolis, Wyoming, once frequented by Butch Cassidy and his Hole-in-the-Wall Gang. Outlaws then. Legends now. Dinner next door at the Foundry Grill brought a familiar dilemma: gnocchi with mushroom ragù and pancetta, pork tenderloin, or the hearty house-smoked meatloaf? Choices, choices. Our server, River, was the perfect guide — easygoing, intuitive and very much of the fabric of this place. Later that evening, as we wandered through the inn, Redford’s presence felt tangible. It lingered in the bighorn sheep painting above the fireplace, in his vintage motorcycle poised on the connecting bridge, and in the well-worn books drawn from his personal library. We settled in front of the fire with hot tea and the quiet of the night. I slid a three-inch-thick book along the coffee table — “The Alps 1900: A Portrait in Color” — and was instantly transported. Wengen. St. Anton. St. Moritz. Lech. A bygone era when cog railways carried men in lederhosen into high alpine bowls, and skiing felt daring and deeply personal. Sundance may not offer the acreage of Park City Mountain or the scale of Deer Valley’s East Village. It doesn’t carry Alta’s mythology or the legend of Alf Engen. But what it does offer are alpine vistas that echo the Alps and, more importantly, an intimacy that invites a genuine relationship with the mountain. At first light, the sun gently tickled the snow-covered ridgelines of Timp. Outside our window, lift crews just a few feet below were setting up Outlaw Express, preparing for the skiers who would soon arrive, eager and impatient. Moments later, sunlight spilled across the broad faces high above, bringing the striated rock face beneath the peaks vividly to life. Downstairs in the Living Room café, I revisited that alpine dream over a bowl of muesli, hard rolls and cheese. The view through the windows was calling us up the mountain. I thought back to my exploration of “The Alps 1900” the evening before as I settled down into the cafe. The view out the window was electrifying. In the boot room, I swapped stories with the attendant, UVM student Joseph, as I layered up for the crisp morning. Rendezvousing on the mountain, I was joined by our son, Chris, who had traveled from Kansas City to ski Sundance on his birthday. Soon we were riding Outlaw Express, carving clean arcs into fresh corduroy beneath the steady gaze of Timp. There’s a certain intimacy about skiing that is easy to lose amid the glitz and spectacle of modern resort hotels. The experience can feel curated, rather than discovered. At Sundance, nothing feels manufactured. The Inn at Sundance draws you deeper into the sport. It slows you down, quiets the noise, and reminds you why you fell in love with the skiing in the first place. Under the shadow of Timp, with the river running softly below and the mountain rising patiently above, skiing feels less like an activity and more like a conversation with the mountain. The post Ridgelines: An intimate inn under the shadow of Timp appeared first on Park Record. ...read more read less