Man in the State of Nature

Deep in the recesses of my mind, buried somewhere in between college memories of fraternity basements, cocktail parties, far away ski races, and introductory lectures on Buddhism, lies some rudimentary understanding of the competing theories of man in the state of nature. The great philosophers of the Enlightenment, Voltaire, Rousseau, Locke, even Machiavelli and Calhoun, all began with some premise of what mankind's natural social state would be if left undisturbed. (Undisturbed by what, I do not know. Aliens maybe? That information is lost in my brain somewhere in the shadows cast by too many macroeconomics lectures.). In general, the question the Enlightenment thinkers sought to answer is whether man is by nature a rugged individualist, hunting and gathering for his own welfare and that of his offspring; a hierarchical social being, falling into a rigid structure of division of labor; or a truly social being, doing work for the benefit of all members of an interdependent community. Bear with me here, believe it or not I do have a point to make about the ski business.

The ski business is at its core a people business. Parking attendants, equipment rental staff, ticket sellers and checkers, lifties, baristas, patrollers, everyone contributes to the nature and quality of each guest's experience by the way in which we behave and present ourselves, the way in which we interact with each guest. At Treble Cone, each and every season pass holder, every local, and all of the staff have intense feelings of loyalty and even ownership of the place. At TC we approach guest service with the mindset of being stewards of the mountain itself, with the obligation to care for it, to welcome others, and to share it with them as though it is our own. At Okemo, the nature of the feelings underlying our guest service may differ slightly but the central importance and emphasis on guest service, and the energy and enthusiasm we put into it, is the best in the business. If welcoming Treble Cone devotees is like throwing an open-fire lamb roast in a remote spot open to Zealots only, Okemo is more akin to welcoming good folks and their families to our nice neighborhood for a home-style BBQ. In each case, the end result is the same. In each place, it's about group effort, group commitment, and collective experience. Good service from all corners of a resort provided to guests of every sort is what makes the experience of skiing and riding at the two resorts where I work so valued by our guests, and it is what distinguishes both places from our competition. Yes, the terrain at TC is incomparable. Yes, the grooming, snowmaking and lift systems at Okemo are the best in the business. Yes, those elements are what may bring first-time guests our way. But it's the experiences our guests have while there that really differentiates us in both cases, our service makes them feel differently about their time with us than they would elsewhere. It's as though the resorts articulate their concept of man in the state of nature (how people behave, what they want / need, how they experience their environment) and establishes its ethos of guest service accordingly, making sure the entire staff drinks the Kool-Aid, so to speak.

Management consulting-type platitudes and far-fetched academic analogies aside, developing and maintaining a consistent ethos of service is the essential ingredient of having any successful guest-centered approach to a business. It also makes for a very intense social environment for those of us working in it (that's social as in interactive, not social as in a non-stop Happy Hour). Ski and snowboard instructors, as an aside, have a role unique in that our time with each guest tends to be far longer, far more personal and detailed, and far more interactive with each guest we encounter. An instructor's business is not merely about guest service, it's about guest relationships – our relationships with our guests, with their families, with their love of skiing and riding, and with their enjoyment of being active outdoors in the mountains. It's great but it is very, very intense. Thankfully, now that my Southern Winter season is over and I have a little over a month before the next season begins, I get a good, long break in the action.

If, as in the case of most social theories that generalize human behavior, the reality of man's natural social state is a hybrid of those Enlightenment theories, in this shoulder season I definitely move from being in a state focused on other people to one that clearly is more focused on my needs. It's about me for a change. Actually, it's more about those people for whom I care a great deal in ways beyond mere enjoyment, conscientious teaching and a professional sense of responsibility. Do not misunderstand me: I greatly enjoy working in a guest service business; I derive enormous satisfaction from getting to know my students and other guests and from working to enhance their experience, forging relationships unlike anything else in the resort business. It's just that it's really nice to turn the switch off, to interact with people (or not) on a purely personal level. Novel enough, I even get to be the recipient of guest service from time to time. I eat, sleep, bike, socialize, collect my thoughts, heal my body, rest my mind and remember why I'm here in the first place.

Long before Okemo's November opening, I'll have had enough 'me time' and I'll be ready again to find the joys of working so hard for everyone else's ski experiences. My down-time, my shifting to ruggedly individual hunter gatherer / cyclist / sloth for a while will, I hope, better enable me to devote myself fully to the rest of society when it appears in Ludlow, Vermont en masse for the holiday season. Besides, six weeks without skiing is enough. Bring on the next season!

The Passion Litmus Test

Devoted skiers and riders will make turns on anything resembling snow if need be, and the 2010 season in Wanaka proved it. A remarkable amount of snow fell on the peaks surrounding town before the local resorts opened for the season. Then nothing. For over a month. A long, dry month. Devotees made turns on some terrain in July that could charitably have been described as "sketchy". Early August brought some respite, but a constant freeze and thaw cycle made off-piste terrain a bit like the surface of the moon at times, and the cover on all of our terrain barely serviceable at others. Conditions presented real technical challenges to even the best of us, and they required what I'd describe as a particularly sporting mindset to make the most of a tough situation and enjoy it. In reality, the 2010 season was a test, a litmus test, lying in wait for all of us in order to measure just how much we love it. In the middle of September, the test commenced in earnest.

For those who were there and need a reminder and for those of you who missed it, several large storms battered the Southern Alps in rapid succession for more than two weeks in the middle of September. For the first week of the cycle, my home field Treble Cone received snow on all but a couple of days, with only rare breaks of sunshine and decent visibility. The total snow accumulation will be disputed and exaggerated for many years to come, but suffice it to say that we were positively transported, receiving more snow in that period than in the entire rest of the season combined. Snow fell straight down in buckets, dropping in large, dry flakes from the top to the bottom of our mountain in a way we're more accustomed to seeing in Utah, Alberta or Hokkaido.

One preliminary question gnawed at all of us working at Treble Cone: Where were all the people? At times, our mountain seemed like one giant secret stash, with the few lucky souls who came to ski and ride with us unwilling to spread the news, determined to keep the remarkable conditions to themselves. The real, deeper question, and the essential component of our litmus test was this: Who among us, despite the late date, despite the malaise of a sub-par season, and despite our readiness for warmer weather and a change of activity, could muster the enthusiasm appropriate for a once-in-a-decade storm cycle that blessed us with snow that was as consistently as dry, light and deep as we may ever see at Treble Cone? Had our passion been so strained, our energy so sapped by the 2010 season that we wouldn't be able to giggle, hoop and holler, show off our orthodonture, and exhaust our bodies while refueling our spirits in the way only great powder days can? Did we have enough enthusiasm left to percolate through the malaise and burst through the surface, showing in our faces and our spirits?

For those of us who work in our ski boots full-time, there are good days and bad. On the bad days, we set courses, pull sleds, fix lifts, groom trails, make snow, and ski in slow wedge turns in the pouring rain on ice, in slush, and on thin cover. On the good days, we'll make fresh tracks to ensure guest safety, free ski with hard charging athletes, and help people realize their powder dreams with better skiing. And then there are the great days, the memorable days, the days that feed our souls and renew our spirits. On those days, there is a little bit of work, there are a few people around, and there is more than enough deep, fresh snow for all of us. Those days rekindle our love of the sport all over again as we ski for ourselves and for the pure joy of it. At the end of the long 2010 season at Treble Cone, we were rewarded with several great days, epic days. Those of us still around to enjoy them, those of us who still were able to draw on a reserve of enthusiasm, passion and energy for our sport were blessed with memories that will stay with us for years to come. We passed the test, and the next time we're out all day in the rain, in the cold, and in the wind, we'll stay warmer and drier having done so. And we may even smile remembering how great it was as we look off to the horizon in anticipation.

In the Bag



Sunset over Fox Glacier township

There It Goes. Another winter is in the bag. Done. Gone. Finito. Caput. Treble Cone closed for the season on October 3^rd after a flurry of a finish. My tenure there has not been that long, but I can only assume that this September was one of the best ever on record. It was awesome on any scale, with a stretch of two weeks of constant snowstorms where the powder was shockingly good. And then sun came out for a few days, and then it ended.

On Monday the 4^th of October, I played my annual, ritual round of golf with my good friend and kids program counterpart Nick. We had a perfect day for it – sunshine, warm but not hot, light breeze – and we managed to not discuss work or even skiing for the whole round (remarkable considering that we're both ski instructors). It was the perfect way to close things. And then I went to the beach, sort of.

Following closing day at Treble Cone and the aforementioned golfing ritual, I heeded the advice of Horace Greeley and headed west. Haast Beach, which sits on the rugged West Coast facing the Tasman Sea, is a beautiful three hour drive from Wanaka. Once near the headwaters of Lake Wanaka in Makarora, the ecology changes quickly and dramatically. While in and around the town of Wanaka, including where Treble Cone is located, the khaki-colored tussock dominates the hillsides and the tree line is very close to the lake level, by the time one arrives at Makarora everything has started to turn green. Travel up over the Haast Pass on the way to the coast, and the green becomes iridescent in spring, with water flowing everywhere and native trees working their way up the slopes of the mountains still clinging to their snowy caps. It's stunning.

After Haast, I turned north towards Fox Glacier, home of one of very few glaciers in the world that is actually still growing. My point is not to regale with stories of what I've been up to, but to convey the sense of release we all have after a long season finishes. It's a wonderful thing to be able to simply pack up a car, head in a general direction, and find and learn things about a new and different countryside with the time to appreciate it.

For now, I'm in "shoulder season", a brief respite from my Endless Winter. My next ski season is just over a month away at home in Vermont, and I'll be ready. Until then, it's all about flip flops for me.

The Fox Glacier



Haast River near Pleasant Flats



View of Mount Tasman (left) and Mount Cook over Lake Matheson





Gillespie Beach, where the Fox River enters the Tasman Sea