Striking Gold in Deadwood
I peel back the corners of the cards between my thumbs, revealing the ace of clubs and the eight of spades. I turn around to make sure there’s no gun to the back of my head. It’s called the Dead Man’s Hand, because aces and eights are what Wild Bill Hickock held when the coward Jack McCall shot him dead in this very saloon. I scan the faces of my opponents, most of them grizzled cowpokes or drunken tourists, looking for tells. Before tossing my $5 into the pot, I wonder what they think of me—the only one in here sporting an Arc’teryx jacket and a goggle tan. It’s midnight at Saloon #10 in Deadwood, SD, and I’m hoping to get out of this bar soon, so I can wake up for first chair.
A 12-mile drive into the hills the next morning takes me 3,000 vertical feet from the touristy thoroughfare of Deadwood, through the small, gritty mining town of Lead, to the parking lot of Terry Peak Ski Area. The mountain looks idyllic—larger than I expected with a dusting of snow up top. It’s a Friday morning and the lot is filling up—cars with South Dakota, North Dakota, Wyoming and Nebraska plates. I pull in behind a guy in a felt Stetson cooking sausage links on the tailgate of his F-150. Good vibes right from the get-go.
Subscribe for access to this article plus the entire archive of The Ski Journal content—and receive a discount on all products. Subscribe Now