For ice climbers, the tiny town of Ouray, Colorado (population: 813) needs no introduction. The self-proclaimed “Switzerland of America” sits tucked away in a box canyon beneath the soaring San Juan Mountains of southwestern Colorado. It’s a gorge on the literal edge of town, however, rather than the lofty peaks above, that make Ouray an ice climber’s paradise, drawing climbers not just from Denver and the rest of the state, but from around the world. They come from near and far for one thing: the Ouray Ice Park, with route after route of farmed, fat, blue ice.

It wasn’t always this way, though.

By summer, Ouray is an outdoor lover’s playground that greets its visitors with historic architecture – Victorian facades – indicative of the town’s bygone mining days. The popular 14er, Mount Sneffels, vaults above town with the rest of the San Juans. Like many mountain towns, Ouray’s economy was and is one driven by tourism. Summer tourism. But unlike many mountain resort communities, Ouray has no nearby ski resort to drive the winter season. Telluride, the closest major ski area, is 50 miles and more than a one hour drive away.

Up until the mid-1990s, the coming of the winter season meant that Ouray virtually shut down and became a veritable ghost town. In 1996, only two restaurants remained open through winter, remembers 13-year resident Erin Eddy. Now, 14 or more restaurants stay open through the heart of winter, feeding the stomachs of hordes of hungry ice climbers.

What prompted this change? Much of the credit belongs to Ouray’s community officials, who devised an innovative and unconventional plan that has paid off in big ways for the town and its winter economy. In short, they built the Ouray Ice Park, the world’s first park dedicated exclusively to the sport of ice climbing. Located less than a ten-minute walk from downtown Ouray in the Uncompahgre Gorge, the Park was built on private land, yet altruistically is open to the public free of charge.

Of course, the practicalities of making the park a reality weren’t nearly so simple. Even so, the details of the arrangement proved just as altruistic. It all began in 1992, when Eric Jacobsen, the owner and operator of Ouray Hydroelectric, purchased the property from a defunct utility company in a bankruptcy auction. Sympathetic to climbers that wanted access to the gorge, Jacobsen requested only that he be provided with adequate liability insurance coverage. In a unique land use agreement, Ouray County insured Jacobsen and Ouray Hydroelectric under its insurance umbrella. In return, Jacobsen leased the land to Ouray for recreational purposes for the price of just $1 per year through 2008.

Then, in the fall of 1994, a crew of local volunteers from the community strung out PVC pipe, garden hoses, and a variety of shower and sprinkler heads along the top of the gorge. Soon after, they started farming ice using surplus water from an upstream reservoir. What began as a handful of ice climbs, soon became 100 routes strung out along a three-quarter mile stretch of gorge. Today, those routes total nearly 200, and the expanded Park spans four different land parcels – the initial private land, city property, county property, and U.S. Forest Service land. (The Park is hopeful of consolidating those parcels in 2009.)

It became a Cinderella story of “build it and they will come.” The ice climbers came in droves and soon, Ouray’s winter economy was as robust and vibrant as during any other season. The Park, free to all, became a vehicle for the economic success of the community.

With its early success came the need for more oversight. So, in 1997, the Ouray Ice Park incorporated as a non-profit with a volunteer board of directors tasked with managing the Park. Erin Eddy, who saw Ouray’s winter restaurant scene grow from two to fourteen, became the Executive Director (he also works as a local real estate broker). Eddy oversaw $32,000 in upgrades at the Park, including a $7,000 donation from the Ouray Chamber Resort Association and a $20,000 anonymous donation that allowed for the upgrading of the pipes and spray nozzles, and provided for a reliable source of water. “We maintain one mile of two- and four-inch pipe now,” he says. “It’s a massive undertaking. Water’s not a fun medium to work with in sub-freezing temperatures. My guys are constantly frozen solid – they’re out there at six in the morning turning the water off so people can climb, and they’re out there again from five until seven at night turning it back on to make ice all night.”

Those “guys” Eddy refers to are his three ice makers. Two of the three don’t ice climb at all, and one is an up-and-coming young climber. “If climbers worked for us, all they’d want to do is climb,” Eddy jokes.

The Park also began hosting the Ouray Ice Festival – one part festival with demos and clinics, and one part ice climbing competition – that attracts some of the world’s best ice climbers. Eddy estimates that it takes 250 volunteers to put on the festival, which brings in 4,000-5,000 spectators and climbers for one long weekend each January. By comparison, Eddy says the Park will see about 15,000 ice climbers over the course of a winter season. “People have really come to recognize Ouray and its ice climbing potential,” he explains. “We have school groups, clubs, a big weekend crowd from places like Denver, and a lot of international climbers.”Those international climbers include my buddy Clive, who makes an annual two-week pilgrimage to Ouray each winter from his native England.

During my most recent trip to Ouray, my wife, Kelli, and I visited the New Funtier, one of the Park’s many climbing areas. Using a combination of ice screws and a sturdy tree perched near the lip of the gorge, I built an anchor, strung our rope, and we rappelled into the gorge. From there, there was only one way out – up. I climbed first, swinging my tools into “hero” or “plastic” ice, ice climber speak for perfect climbing conditions. Later in the day, we moved farther up the gorge to South Park, another climbing area where the routes were steeper and less crowded. There, we found Clive and some of his British friends. Together, we climbed late into the afternoon. With our forearms spent, burning with lactic acid, we retired to town for a quick dip in the hot tub and then went out to dinner at The Outlaw, where Clive’s pal Malcolm entertained us with his best John Wayne impression.

It was one intense day of climbing, but it was an experience that left us with a deep desire to return to Ouray and climb again. Which, as far as the Park and its mission are concerned, may rightly be considered “mission accomplished.”

Photos courtesy of Peter Bronski

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