Skiing: A Passion

Any reasoned, thoughtful consideration by someone just over 30, my first day of skiing should have been my last. A fellow Caterpillar hire, raised in Denver, who returned to Denver after only a year in Peoria, said he would teach me. It was at Winter Park on a cold, windy, snowy day (called blizzards in Kansas). The beginners area was just out from the lodge—no lifts except a chair that went, I surmised, to the top—which my “friend” promptly left on after a brief instruction: “Side step up the hill as far as you can, turn around and snowplow down; see you at lunch.”

My skis were wood Rosingnalls with riveted metal edges 209 cm (82”) long, secured to laced leather boots with cables around the heel which an over-center clamp pushed forward to a toe piece that was supposed to release sideways.

When we met at lunch I told him I had mastered the learning phase and was ready for the chair lift as a more efficient way to gain altitude than sidestepping. He said, “No, you need to continue to practice,” in spite of the storm. I watched him disappear up. Why would anyone think this an activity worth pursuing?

During our two years in Denver the family learned to ski—no formal lessons, just advice from friends who were skiers; and listening when we stopped near ski instructors and their students. Most ski instructors seemed to say, “Bend zee knees, plant zee poles and follow me.” But skiing is expensive and consumes whole days so half a dozen days per year is all, making it difficult to become proficient. Breckenridge was our choice, requiring three hours each way over Loveland Pass on Route 6. The Eisenhower Tunnel was in the planning stages and Vail was just a real estate sign. Breckenridge was family oriented, cheaper, and had good beginner runs.

The following two years in Albuquerque was similar, with skiing at Santa Fe, just over an hour away.

Back in Peoria after that, I skied mostly with groups of various friends, using a week’s vacation. We could leave work at four pm and by driving non-stop all night and changing clothes at a filling station in Denver we could be at the lift line when it opened; but dazed and wondering why our timing and coordination were off the first couple of days. The rapturous exuberance of skiing seemed to require being preceded and followed by some suffering. Like life?

The Peoria Ski Club had two-day weekend trips to Wisconsin requiring overnight bus rides both ways. I always reported for work on time except one twin-engine Cessna trip through Denver when the plane was snowed in due to bad weather. A call in was not sympathetically received. The Club offered six cheap trips to European destinations: Mont Blanc, Innsbruck, Verbier, Cortina, Zermatt, and Granada. Of the 100 or so on the trips many went who didn’t even ski because they couldn’t beat our prices. A local travel agent, raised in Europe, couldn’t meet the price because the French government subsidized the trips as we went in or out through Paris on Air France. At Chamonix (Mont Blanc) one liter of wine was $.23 with a $.17 return for the bottle. We couldn’t go to Colorado for such a price.

I took daughters Linda (16) and Liz (12) to Zermatt. Liz, having been given her own pocket money, was always at the head of the exchange line as we went from country to country. On a nice sunny day the group I was skiing with took the all-day trip over the top to Italy. At lunch I noticed a pair of skis out front that looked like Liz’s Blizzards. She was inside having pizza and spaghetti with a group she skied with having similar skills. I never saw Linda during the days, but reports were that she was skiing with a group of boys. At the end of the week she was an expert skier.

The final day I was waiting for our club race to begin near the mountain top. Someone came up and said your daughter fell off the long T-bar midway and was standing beside it crying. So I skied down the T-bar to find Liz beside a precipice on one side and no obvious ski trail down—it was a long way but we made it down and back up the T-bar, which had several turns and was quite long. T-bars and Poma lifts were common. The first rope tow I saw after several years of skiing was at Alta. I stood and watched several children go up, then tried it. And was promptly thrown to the ground—twice! But then I figured out the technique.

Many people helped my skills progress along the way and I in turn helped many—over a hundred or so. My most satisfying teaching success was at Sun Valley with son Kyle, over 30 at the time. He went from never having skis on, to handling the black diamond slopes with style at days end. He was in reasonable shape, athletic, paid close attention, followed instruction and tried, and the result was outstanding! At five, granddaughter Nicole learned on day one in ski school at Winter Park. The next day she went with me to the top (Continental Divide) at Monarch, exhibiting no fear!

Wife Margo took her introductory lesson at Angel Fire, NM, with a “ski instructor.” At lunch time he told the class they would go to the top. Margo was struggling with vertigo and he told her, “Not everyone is cut out to ski!” Margo quickly agreed. That’s the absolute dumbest thing I ever heard from a good teacher! Consequently, Margo does not ski.

Prior to our marriage, second wife Linda K. was in Aspen with the Peoria ski club. Aspen Highlands used the Graduated Length Method of instruction. She reportedly spent most of the week with a ski instructor, who apparently had no paying clients. By week’s end Linda had gone from beginner to expert. GLM starts with very short (2’) skis, but go mostly black diamond runs the first day. Each subsequent day the skis were a little longer. GLM sounded like a good system to me, but is no longer in vogue.

On a car trip to Steamboat, we four attended an Easter Sunrise Service at the lodge/restaurant halfway up the mountain. Only two of us had thought ahead and brought our skis to take early advantage of four feet of powder and sunshine. The lifts were struggling to open for the workers only, but we made it to the top. Bill, a Cat man who took a year off after college to teach skiing in Europe, and I started down, he leaving perfectly carved, symmetrical, beautiful turns. Not thinking, my chosen path was to crisscross his, sloppily. When I joined him to look back at our handiwork he informed me in no uncertain terms about a ski etiquette point I hadn’t considered. I was dumb-founded later to see many skiers using snorkels in the deep powder. I can’t say I’m comfortable in powder, but I always enjoyed trying it. It was difficult that day to get in the car at 2:00 and head back to Peoria.

I broke an ankle at Keystone, but my only serious injury was to six ribs and a collar bone near the top of Alta. On their arrival I strongly suggested that the ski patrol bring in a helicopter, but their reply was, “Just get in the basket,” which was a rough ride down. The first aid station at Snowbird seemed to be well equipped with doctors, x-rays, and all sorts of crutches, etc.; but they said I needed to go to the Salt Lake Hospital. The ambulance ride down was even more painful and I figured I might die. After a night in the hospital we flew back to Peoria, where bone doctor’s secretary informed me “we don’t do ribs”. During the exam the doctor said his secretary had misspoken and should have said, if anything, “Come on in, but we can’t do much for ribs.”

When skiing with the club I always joined the races just to benchmark my skills. I won a NASTAR silver medal at Jackson Hole, and a 3rd place in the over 70 class at Flat Lands (six mid-west clubs) at Copper. Well...there were only three racers!

Clubs are important to provide a variety of skiers to ski with and for cheaper trips. The year I was president in Peoria we had about 1000 dues-paying members (only approximately 25% skied) but we had the best parties, style show, and gave away a free trip to Europe.

I have not quit skiing—it’s just that the right opportunity hasn’t presented in four years. But at 84 I feel I still could and would. I surely miss the viewing of God’s nature and handiwork, as I always stood at the top of the uppermost lift and quietly contemplated the sight before heading down!