In the high desert of Oregon, where the wind sculpts volcanic dust into miniature dunes and the sky stays stubbornly blue even when it’s snowing, a group of skiers, riders, and dreamers thought they could buy a mountain. Not just any mountain—Mt. Bachelor, the 9,068-foot behemoth that has long served as a proving ground for powder hounds, ski bums, and weekend warriors alike.
They had passion. They had a plan. They had a website.
And now, after months of effort, they have… nothing. The dream has fizzled, lost in a blizzard of corporate deadlines, financial realities, and the frustrating physics of David versus Goliath when David doesn’t have a slingshot.
The History of Mt. Bachelor and the Rise of Corporate Ownership
Mt. Bachelor wasn’t always a corporate asset. It started as a scrappy, locals-first operation back in 1958 when Bill Healy carved out a vision for a ski area on the dormant stratovolcano. For decades, it thrived as an independent resort, a place where skiers knew the lifties by name and the parking lot was packed with beat-up Subarus. But independence is a hard thing to maintain in an industry where infrastructure costs are astronomical and competition is fierce.
In 2001, Powdr Corp. acquired the resort, a move that put Mt. Bachelor in the hands of a larger, multi-resort entity. For a while, things were fine. The lifts kept spinning, the locals kept skiing. But as corporate consolidation accelerated in the ski industry—think Vail Resorts and Alterra gobbling up mountains like a fat kid at a cake buffet—concerns grew. Would Mt. Bachelor be next? Would it lose its soul in the process?
When Powdr Corp. announced in late 2023 that it was putting several of its resorts, including Bachelor, on the market, those fears crystallized into action.
The Local Uprising
Earlier this year, we covered the ambitious efforts of Mount Bachelor Community Inc. (MBCI), a grassroots group aiming to reclaim the mountain from corporate hands. (If you missed it, check out our first article here: The Future of Skiing at Mt. Bachelor: Grassroots vs. Corporations). Their goal? To keep Mt. Bachelor locally owned, protecting it from the homogenization that tends to follow corporate takeovers—higher lift ticket prices, less local control, and that creeping sensation that your home mountain is being run by people who have never actually ridden a chairlift in sideways sleet.
MBCI wasn’t delusional; they knew this would be hard. But they figured, if a small town in Vermont could buy a ski area (see: Mad River Glen), why not Bend? They rallied support, held town halls, collected pledges, and started serious conversations with investors. They even got some national media attention. For a while, it seemed like this crazy idea might actually work.
Why the Bid Failed
But here’s the thing about buying a ski resort: it’s not like picking up a used car. You don’t just haggle on Craigslist and Venmo the seller.
When Powdr Corp. put Mt. Bachelor on the market, institutional buyers—private equity firms, real estate developers, and ski industry giants—had a five-month head start. That’s five months to secure financing, five months to line up negotiations, five months to strategize their offers.
MBCI, meanwhile, was essentially starting from zero, relying on community enthusiasm and a rapid-fire attempt to attract investors. By the time the bid deadline hit in March, they hadn’t assembled the necessary financial backing. It wasn’t lack of will—it was a game with rules they simply couldn’t rewrite.
The broader reality is that ski resort sales are rarely structured in a way that benefits small, independent buyers. A corporate bidder can promise streamlined operations, a higher sale price, and the kind of legal and financial assurances that sellers like Powdr Corp. prioritize. A grassroots movement? That’s a riskier bet.
Lessons from Other Community-Owned Resorts
MBCI wasn’t the first group to dream of a community-owned ski area. Mad River Glen in Vermont has operated successfully under a co-op model since the 1990s. Shames Mountain in British Columbia runs as a non-profit owned by the skiers who use it. In both cases, the key to success was early financial backing, a long-term business plan, and—most importantly—a seller willing to entertain an unconventional offer.
Mt. Bachelor’s sale didn’t play out that way. The resort is simply too valuable, too big, and too lucrative for the corporate ski world to ignore.
What Happens Now?
For now, the future of Mt. Bachelor remains unclear. There’s no official word on who will take over, though speculation leans toward another industry giant rather than a plucky band of locals with a dream.
But MBCI isn’t done. Even though they missed the bid deadline, they’re still pushing to be involved in the mountain’s future. Whether that means advocating for community-friendly policies, pushing for a say in new ownership decisions, or just making sure locals don’t get priced out, they’re not fading into the background.
Skiers and riders in Bend still have a vested interest in what happens next. Will the new owners invest in infrastructure while keeping pass prices reasonable? Will they support the local community, or simply maximize profits? Will the culture of the mountain survive?
These are the questions that remain unanswered. But one thing is certain: the fight for Mt. Bachelor isn’t over. The mountain isn’t just a business. It’s home.
