It's old, it's famous, it's fragile.
Reasons enough to protect this tiny mountain enclave from monied interests that might cover it in condos and pave its powdered peaks.That's why Alta - population 397 - has an unusual but longstanding city ordinance that says you can't be on the Planning Commission if you live there or own property within the town's boundaries.
"There's no way you could get somebody without a conflict of interest," said city administrator John Guldner. "It'd be impossible to get anything done without people pointing fingers."
Wedged at the top of Little Cottonwood Canyon in a four-square-mile area that includes the 22,000-acre Alta Ski Resort, Alta is nationally known for its high-mountain scenery and the 1,000 inches of powdery snow it gets every winter. In its 60th official year, Alta vies with Sun Valley, Idaho, in claiming to be the oldest, continuous ski venue in America
Its fame is its problem, in a way.
Developers want to make the most of what's left of buildable open space, but the out-of-town Planning Commission in recent years has excercised its power to keep construction in check.
Builders of a condominium project formerly called Sweetwater in the early 1990s wanted to put 440 timeshares on 25 acres on the west edge of town. The commission said no, the fight went to court and the development - now known as Suger Plum - was eventually scaled back to 100 units for now, with a proviso that might allow 100 more someday.
Similarly, builders in the Albion Basin subdivision of town have pushed hard for a go-ahead to build on 83 lots. The answer's been no.
"There's no water for them," explained Guldner.
The commission wields its say in monthly meetings at the upscale New Yorker Club in Salt Lake City, where Guldner said members are more engrossed in debate than whatever's on the high-priced menu.
"It's not like it's a fun lunch . . . in the past it's been disruptive."
Curiously, Guldner said there's no problem filling the seven-seat commission, which this week made its two "alternates" full-scale participants.
"I think people from anywhere in Utah view Alta really as their own," he said.
"It's a treasure," agreed commission member Ed Blaney, whose full-time job is executive secretary for the Salt Lake County Council of Governments.
He notes that Little Cottonwood Canyon has qualities that go beyond aesthetics. "If we don't preserve our canyons, we'll lose our watersheds as well as the canyons."
"I think anybody who lives on the Wasatch Front basically has a great degree of vested interest in the place," said Prescott Muir, a Salt Lake architect who chairs the commission. "It's our back yard."
Muir said allowing Alta residents and landowners to make planning decisions themselves might not be disastrous, but the bottom line might ultimately prevail.
"Some of the lodge owners would maybe have a bit of a different attitude toward development," he said.
Growth in Alta has slowed since the early 1980s when 30 building permits were issued for its steep hillsides each year. City government, in recent years, has allowed 10 permits annually, a number that Guldner said is plenty in an environment that is both delicate and difficult to build in.
Real estate prices might also limit growth. Finished dwellings in Alta range from $300,000 to $800,000, price tags that keep most people out but don't deter some.
A couple of years ago, a nationally published column on Alta by William F. Buckley conjured up evocative alpine evenings in a pristine, quiet canyon. Buckley titled it, "My Alta."
The story drew some blood from an out-of-state dentist who has vacationed in Alta for 45 years running and wrote to the resort with a blustery response.
"I can't believe he called it his," said the dentist, "when everybody knows it's mine."