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Garrett
Istare up at the enormous structure before me.
“What is that? A castle in the sky?” I ask.
The alpine-style hotel is perched atop the highest peak in Balsam Ridge on the far side of the valley. It is impressive.
“Welcome to Misty Mountain Ranch and Ski Area,” Langford says proudly.
“I thought Mom said it was going to be called the Balsam Ridge Ski Area and Coyote Mountain Snow Tubing?” I ask.
“Yeah, that was the tentative title, but we moved the snow-tubing hill from across the main entrance to the backside of the ranch on Misty Mountain and renamed the entire resort.”
It’s an impressive structure.
I whistle. “How many rooms does this thing have?”
“It has a hundred seventy-five guest rooms and twenty suites. For now,” he answers.
“For now?” I say as I look from the resort hotel to him.
“I plan to expand in the future. If I can drum up interest and investors. I’d like to double the occupancy in the next ten years. Plus, add a few slope-side chalets that can be rented, so guests can just ski right out the door and down to the main lodge.”
He points to the top of the hotel. “You see that? It’s a rooftop terrace with panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows for events. It will be a great place for weddings and parties with breathtaking mountain views. I was hoping to have it finished before Graham and Taeli’s wedding, but I don’t think it will be. I’d even like to have our own little village up there with restaurants, bars, and gift shops. During the summer months, we could offer horseback riding, hiking and biking trails, and mountain-climbing courses, just to make enough to keep things up and running in the off-season.
“The idea is to blend two concepts, both the old and the new. Honoring the Appalachian and Balsam Ridge traditions but allowing for the comfort and luxury of a five-star ski resort. Keeping it far enough away to not infringe on the quaintness of the valley, but close enough to help pump in financial stability for the locals during the winter months,” he explains.
“It’s certainly impressive, bro. What’s your expected open date?” I ask.
He lets out a breath. “I’m shooting for next year, late fall. It takes for-fucking-ever to get permits approved and engineers up here. The chairlifts should go in this October, and hopefully, we’ll have the parking lot graded and paved in the spring. I’ll start hiring and training staff in the summer. I’ve already recruited some of the best ski and snowboard instructors out of Colorado. If things go as planned and I don’t get bogged down by any more red tape, I’m planning a huge grand opening next November. I figure I already have a big-time musician in the bag for the event.”
He slides his eyes to me and grins.
“Of course. Just let Pierce know the details, and I’ll be there.”
“Thanks, bro. You want to go look at the land now?” he asks.
Langford loads us up in his four-wheel-drive side-by-side and drives us out onto the most breathtaking property I’ve ever seen. He parks us on a breathtaking peak and we exit the vehicle to check out the property.
“I have a sixty-acre parcel I’m willing to part with for one point six million—and that’s with the family discount. I planned to list it for one point nine-nine based on the latest appraisal. It’s the largest parcel of land still available for private holding in Balsam Ridge. It’s fifteen minutes from the valley and five minutes from the Blue Ridge Parkway. The land is easily accessible from three different state-maintained roads. The north boundary of the property is only one mile from the four-lane highway for quick access to Knoxville, Gatlinburg, or Pigeon Forge. It’s got over twenty acres of mature forest and wildflower meadows, five miles of excellent trout streams with multiple cascades, and a fifty-foot waterfall. There is a great flat spot at the crest of the property for building with incredible views, the timber is great quality and highly merchantable if you don’t use it yourself, and you’d happen to have the best neighbor imaginable,” he explains.
“Where’s your house from here?” I ask.
He points to the right. “Just over that ridge.”
We could cut a drive between us.
I like that idea.
We hop back into the ATV and stop at one of the streams.
“This place reminds me of the spot up near the dam on Coyote River, where Pop used to take us fishing when we were little,” I muse.
“It does. I loved those Saturday morning fishing trips. At least until we were teenagers and preferred sleeping in over spending time with our pop,” he agrees.
“Yeah, but he started sneaking us a sip of beer and making us promise not to tell Mom, and we started getting our lazy asses up again,” I remind him.
We stand there for several moments, taking in the sight.
“So, what do you think? Are you interested?” he asks.
“I believe I am and in more than just this land. What do you think about taking on a silent partner in the ski area?” I ask.
He turns to face me. “Are you serious?”
