Discovering the Butt in Crested Butte

Crested Butte was one of those places I fell in love with instantly. You know, the kind of place you momentarily wonder what would happen if you picked everyone up and moved there. It had everything I love about a mountain resort: gorgeous, remote, funky, and unpretentious with small-town camaraderie.

When we arrived, a storm was brewing and sub-zero temps pervaded. I wanted nothing more than to bundle up in front of the fire but had been looking forward to our anniversary dinner at a charming gourmet restaurant with the top-rated chef in the region. I thought for sure the weather would scare off our fair-weather friends…until I realized that I am the fair-weather friend! I was shocked to see Main Street bustling with activity and the restaurant almost filled to capacity. We gorged ourselves on French bread, appetizers we couldn’t pronounce and a cut of fillet Mignon topped with a delicate wasabi sauce that made my food-connaisseur honey proclaim, “The man is an artist!”

We spent the next few days soaking it all in by the fire watching the Olympics and movies, checking out Main Street’s eclectic shops and restaurants, snowshoeing the pristine backcountry and enjoying impressionist sunsets. It’s the kind of place where after a few days, everyone seems to know your business and yet you feel dwarfed by the large business of nature. Where The Gronk, a chunk of old concrete outside of town, is a local legend and somehow has charisma.

And where wild animals (my husband) leave their mark in the snow on your patio. Bonus for anyone who can figure out what kind of track is pictured below?…..

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