Shouting at the Wind

Every so often, some self-appointed preservationist shouts from the pages of glossy advertisement-laden magazines about the loss of the soul of skiing. The tone is familiar to all of us who live in ski towns and work in the industry: our focus on the needs of our guests, on attracting new ones, on making a profit in the business of operating ski resorts, and on running our businesses like businesses and not like cute little clubs that may or may not be viable, has killed skiing as we knew it in simpler, kinder and gentler times. Recently, several particularly jaded commentators have speculated out loud from articles and op-ed pieces in magazines – usually sandwiched in between ads for Range Rover and for exclusive real estate investment opportunities – about whether the current economic recession has resulted in the return of skiing to the 'real skiers'. Apparently, according to these people, one cannot be affluent and be a real skier. In fact, I'm a bit uncertain about what the criteria are for being a 'real skier'. Does the fact that I have a graduate degree or the fact that I've never lived out of my car for a winter disqualify me? Unclear.

In many respects, anyone who feels that somehow our industry has lost its soul, that it has left behind the values that imbued its beginnings or has sold out to the all-mighty dollar clearly is living off of a trust fund, is a socialist who thinks that all of us should be supported by the government, or is totally out of touch with reality. The expression 'biting the hand that feeds you' seems apropos. Most important of all, those self-appointed preservationists themselves have lost sight of the most important thing about life in the mountains and in the ski industry: it is an essential tenet of what we do and why we do it that we strive to share our mountains with all who wish to join us.

It is true that there always will be tension between locals and tourists, between natives and transplants, and between those who prefer to keep our resorts intimate and rustic and those who wish to develop on a large scale. These tensions are natural and are at times difficult to manage, but they serve the important purpose of keeping all of our eyes on the values underlying our devotions. I am very fortunate to live and work in Ludlow, Vermont and at Okemo Mountain Resort. All of us here agree that our location in a real, pre-existing and hard-working town is one of our resort's greatest strengths. Ludlow is not a pre-fab, pre-planned, developer's concept of a village and I assume that our guests like it that way. People coming to Vermont for a vacation (in whatever season) want to come to Vermont, not some faux version of Vermont. We welcome them to our town and work to make our town and our resort attractive to them while making sure to not lose our authenticity. Keeping it real, in this sense, is sometimes easier said than done and there definitely are resort towns all over America that have lost much of that authenticity, if they ever had any at all. Somehow, though, even those towns that did not pre-exist their ski business still have a real life to them, avoiding Gertude Stein's admonition about there being no there there.

As for the soul of skiing itself, I for one believe it is alive and well and easily found everywhere one looks. We just have to pay attention and see the forest for the trees. For example, this past weekend it was cold here in Vermont, very cold. I mean it was seriously cover-every-last-bit-of-skin frigid. But the sun was out, the skiing was terrific, and the people came out in droves. Our mountain was crowded for a non-holiday weekend and, though I'm not sure what the head count was or how many hot chocolates the resort sold, there were certainly a lot of people out there enjoying the day. If that many people – young and old, local and tourist, green circle and double diamond, party and parsimony – are willing to schlep up to the ski hill, strap on some boards and slide around all day in sub-zero temperatures (Fahrenheit), there's something going on and it's not the death of skiing as we know and love it. It may be some sort of dementia, it may not be the most practical use of our time, it may mean there are some geese missing their feathers, but it's a good thing nonetheless.

In the current economic climate, several major resorts have been sold and many more are not doing well. Notably, Intrawest, the operator of several of the largest ski resorts in North America, has just filed for bankruptcy. We've all trimmed our budgets, hired smaller staffs, and set modest goals for the winter. It's a tough industry in which to survive even in the best of circumstances – whether as the owners of a resort, the managers of it, or certainly as a ski instructor. As in the case of our guests when the weather turned cold, when the climate turns difficult we see the real enthusiasm of our colleagues and friends as we rededicate ourselves to the choice we've made to be here doing what we do.

Ultimately, some people simply prefer to shout at the wind. They are welcome to do so, even if it is from the pages of glossy ski magazines. I think it must be hard to shout like that with one's face covered to protect against frostbite when the temperatures drop. Then again, maybe the 'protectors of our soul' just choose to bring their soapbox indoors on those days for a non-fat extra hot foam latte to commiserate with their friends about the cold and the tourists while I and mine are outside expressing our love for a life in the mountains with all who will join us. I'll see you out there!