Newton Was a Terrible Ski Instructor

Spring, last week, at Glendhu Bay in Wanaka, NZ

My seasons teaching skiing in New Zealand include an amazing amount of instructing mileage, most of it with beginner and intermediate skiers. Thankfully, it’s the best way I know to vet my ideas, shore up my understanding, and secure my belief in the fundamentals.

Each season, some theme seems to arise from the volume of work that I do which helps put skiing and teaching into perspective for me. That was certainly the case this past season, and that theme is still both cracking me up and informing my teaching. So, without further or due, Russ’s 2017 Big Picture Theme and Groundbreaking Thought About Skiing, drumroll please … wait for it …

Physics is only complicated when you explain it.

I’ve settled on the belief that once kids can run around, throw balls and catch them, annoy their sisters, and figure out that the stove is hot to the touch, their understanding of physics is perfect and all we can do as adults is mess that up. I’ll prove it to you with a few basic examples I’ve been using with guests – adults and kids. You’ll have to use your imagination (you were a kid once so you should have some imagination in there somewhere).

Example 1. First, a non-skiing example to keep it simple. Imagine a kid who’s learned to ride a bike with training wheels and who is heading out for their inaugural voyage without them. First, they adjust their balance going in a straight line. Then, once they're feeling good, they go around the corner. Now, imagine a kid going around the corner on a bike for the first time and tipping the bike the wrong way, to the outside of the corner instead of towards the inside. Huh? Exactly; it’ll never happen. They instinctively know how and in what direction to tip the bike. Now imagine what would happen if you tried to explain to them about tipping the bike going around the corner before they tried it for the first time. This is when you start to sound like the adults in a Peanuts cartoon (blah, blah, blah) and the only other sound you’ll hear if you’re paying attention is the sound of the fun getting sucked out of bike riding.

Example 2. Imagine that all five of us are in the back seat of my dad’s car on the way to soccer practice. Now, we all know that my father drives too fast, and today he takes a left turn way too fast. You, sitting on the far right side of the car seat as you are, get smooshed by the rest of us against the right side, don’t you?! Now, to stop you from getting smooshed will it work if we let our weight go to our right foot, stay strong on that leg and foot as the car goes around the corner? The answer is “duh”, of course it works. This is a good time to practice your quizzical kid, ‘adults are weird’ look – it’s very valuable.

Example 3. A common thing that ski instructors do when skiing with kids across very flat ground is the game of world-wide fame called “pole basket slingshot”. It’s simple: while sliding along your most despised cat track have a kid behind and slightly offset to one side of you grab hold of the basket of your ski pole that you’ve extended back towards her while you keep your hand on the grip, right pole if she’s on the right side, left if on the left (without poking her with it – safety first). Once she’s got a firm grasp, pull the pole quickly forward so she rockets forward. As long as kids understand the goal (e.g. going fast) they’ll know precisely when to let go of the pole so that they slingshot past you. Mix it up, change speeds, sides, facial expressions and you’ll all have a blast as long as you make appropriate sound effects. Explain the physics of the slingshot to them and they’ll suddenly miss their parents and will dread skiing with you forever.

I love talking to adults about skiing in this way, using these examples about our natural understanding of physics. I particularly love it when there’s a kid available to prove the point. Telling parents that their 6-year-old child has a perfect understanding of physics and then proving it never ceases to entertain me, although I usually have to redeem myself with one of my celebrated uncle jokes (“Hey, kid, snot funny. It’s, just, snot, funny.”).

Remember when Bill Clinton addressed the Democratic National Convention as keynote speaker when Dukakis was nominated? He droned on forever and then got resounding applause when he said “In conclusion”. We’re at that point here, which is to say that I’m getting to the point.

Isaac Newton was a great physicist and one of history’s greatest minds but he’d have made a lousy ski instructor. Newton wasn’t the first person to notice that apples fell from the tree to the ground. His contribution was in providing the correct explanation of why and how in a way that allows science to analyze, predict, and precisely calculate the effects of gravity. Without Newton, we’d never have flown in airplanes, launched satellites, or been to the moon. Still, without Newton apples would still fall, our kids would still tip their bikes the correct way going around corners, and skiing would still be awesome with awesome sauce on it.

My second theme from the season is apt here: clarity is more important than detail. Yes, that means clarity in explanation, but more importantly it means clarity in our students’ understanding. When we’re careful about digging further into the details and judicious about letting the curiosity of our students govern how deep we go, we’re more likely to keep things fun and make our teaching more effective for our guests. So, ski teachers, don’t mess with anyone’s clear understanding of something by explaining it. And this also goes for chefs, because I don’t want to know how much butter you’ve used when I’m eating birthday cake.

Our ski season here in Vermont begins in a few short weeks, and I’m looking forward to feeling gravity and lots of other principles of physics without having to explain them too much. Did someone say cake?

Rounding It Out

Have a listen to the sounds from the shoreline near the confluence of the Clutha and Hawea Rivers outside of Wanaka, New Zealand in October.

I have some stock responses to the questions my guests ask about my endless winter. There are the sincere: "Sometimes it's hard to tell whether I chase winters or they chase me;" and "I do miss summer but I gladly sacrifice it for more winter." Then there's the clearly exaggerated: "Winter here is just like the summers back home." I guess there's some truth in each of them. Still, the most important response, and the one that is most relevant now, is this: I may have two winters each year and no summers, but I do get to experience spring twice! Consider whatever poetic line you prefer about spring being a season of renewal, life springing eternal, or the birds and the bees, and remember just how wonderful spring can be. Here in Wanaka, it's ever more the case.

With the business and the renown of Cardrona Alpine Resort growing as rapidly as the town of Wanaka itself, my winter season here is neither marathon nor sprint. It's more of a 440, putting everything we've got at top speed, 100% of the time for four months, without much letup. It's awesome, I love every bit of it and it'll only get better as we continue to evolve, but it can be pretty tiring. Thankfully, spring here hits like a tidal wave of quickly lengthening days, an enormous number of birds that make more and a greater variety of noise than anyone at home can imagine, and gardens that out of nowhere seem to explode into amazing greenery over night. Where I'm living this season, we've got two large bushes an either side of our front door that greet us daily with an amazingly pungent, vaguely fruit-like smell that is so impossibly fragrant that the only apt comparison is to the smell of citrus-scented cleaning detergent, only better, naturally. I am aware that the amount of time I spend in the cold and the snow heightens my appreciation for all of the joys of spring, but I'm equally confident that any sentient being would have the same response upon arrival here at this time of year.

We're in the final stretch now at Cardrona, with less than a week to go until we close for skiing and riding until next year. The remaining resort staff is in high spirits, we've got ample snow to end on a great note, and though we're all ready to stay out of our boots for a while we are all still enjoying our remaining time up the hill. Thankfully, unlike the end of the season at home, we come down at the end of the work day to the valley floor, to the lake side, and to the banks of the river and get to immerse ourselves in all that spring has to offer. Thermals and ski boots and shorts and flip-flops in the same day, every day, is a pretty wonderful thing and is a normal part of my life here.

When there is no obvious end point of one ski turn and the beginning of the next one, when they move and flow from one into the next, it's a good sign. And right now, the same can be said for my seasons, as another Cardrona winter melds into a Wanaka spring in seamless fashion. And it's working for me. Big time.

The Albert Town Lagoon in Wanaka.

Brown Bread

Actual brown bread found in a Wanaka super market!

The skiing at Cardrona has been terrific lately. We had several storms in succession followed by some pretty stunning sunny days on the heels of four consecutive weeks of very busy Kiwi and Australian school holidays. I’m fortunate to have some friends who have nudged me into free skiing with them in “civies” (meaning out of uniform) instead of putting my feet up at home on my days off, and it’s been oodles of fun. Invariably when this happens, our conversation turns to food.

On a recent awesome day of skiing awesomeness at Cardrona, my friends and I took a quick lunch break at the Captain’s Lodge on the far side of the resort. Among my companions that day were a couple who are long-time Wanaka residents and ex-pat Germans who, naturally, brought their own snacks. Out of their backpack came some cheese, sausage from the local butcher, and slices of homemade brown bread. What’s the big deal? No big deal at all, if you’re accustomed to being in the Alps or in the Eastern USA. Still, here in New Zealand, it was a revelation, albeit a small one. Eyes rolled as we all talked about how much we miss brown bread, how much our favorite mountain meals include brown bread and, invariably, soft cheese. I talked about my very vivid memories of a ski trip in remote Alberta many years ago where lunch typically consisted of sandwiches of fresh baked pumpernickel, strong-flavored spreadable cheese, and a tin of sardines. Open the tin half-way, squeeze the oil out into the snow, place those little delectables in a row on the brown bread, and enjoy. Eyes rolled, groaning ensued, and we were all transported for a moment. Then we promptly returned to New Zealand and enjoyed the rest of the day in this incomparably beautiful place that we all love so much.

Of course, this is not merely about food. Time and again, Kiwis amaze me with their keen interest in trying new things from far away places, food in particular. It’s not tough to imagine that in the early days here on the South Island, without the large Maori populations that they have on the North Island, the people here were pretty isolated and it shows in their cuisine, which is acutely Anglophile. Think hard cheese, soft sausages, and, yes, white bread. Things are evolving quickly here given their openness – Kiwi-style cafes serving barista coffee and panini sandwiches are ubiquitous enough to have become an essential feature of everyday Kiwi culture, where a few decades ago it was all tea shops and scones. It’s a young country that embraces this evolution, and it’s one of the things that makes the place so compelling for me. Bear in mind that in Vermont, I happily will drive twenty minutes to get to my source of authentic New York black-and-white cookies.

The butcher in Wanaka now makes some pretty wonderful hard sausages. Kiwi dairies are doing well bringing to market an ever expanding variety of cheese. And last night, while doing a typical big shop at the big box local super market, I found fresh made brown bread made with rye flower and molasses. Add some local salmon and dill mustard, or some salami and soft cheese, or maybe even some warm pastrami … The future looks bright here in the Land of the Long White Cloud and I’m ready to taste what the future brings.

August 1, 2017 at the close of another stunning Cardrona ski day.

Who's Your Boss

Early season at Cardrona means arriving each morning at sunrise - it's worth it!

Here's a little ditty I wrote for Cardrona recently: Who's Your Boss.

https://www.cardrona.com/winter/our-latest/posts/who-s-your-boss/

Different is Good; We Love Different

A classic June inversion and a stunning day on Monday, and Cardrona's operations team made a meal of it.

I’ve seen a lot of mountain resorts while working as an instructor and coach. I have my favorites and I definitely have my opinions about which places and companies are better at what they do. In the Eastern USA, the things that differentiate one resort from another can be subtle (like the often cited “vibe”), and the basic business models of competing resorts can seem remarkably similar. Real differentiation beyond logos, advertising strategy, and a place’s appearance can be tough, and that’s equally true here in New Zealand. Thankfully, I work at Cardrona where we’re different, and not just because our staff wear t-shirts that say “Cardrona Loves You”.

Since I’m sitting on the couch on a day off thinking of how much I Iove the place right back, here’s my semi-serious, totally unofficial, stream-of-consciousness, in no particular order, top 10 list of things that make Cardrona different (and, to be perfectly blunt, better):

1.       Comfy Pillows. Roll over; hit the snooze button; try to figure out why you’re in such a hurry to get out of bed while on vacation; put on your gear and load a lift close to your front door. End your day in your slippers sipping a glass of local pinot noir within sight of the groomers getting to work after the lifts shut. Ahh, the joys of a low-impact alpine vacation! Yes, among New Zealand’s major resorts, Cardrona is the only place where this can happen thanks to the serviced apartments in our base area at Cardrona. Mmm, did someone say slippers?

2.       Kiwis. There are Kiwis all over the place, and that definitely is different. Cardrona has more Kiwis on staff than any other major resort in New Zealand. Like our competitors, we do depend on foreign staff (like yours truly) so the resort goes to great lengths to give all of us a keen sense of place. What we do and who we are as a resort is Kiwi deep down in our DNA, whether we are individual Kiwis or not. It’s one reason we all feel so at home – all our backgrounds are woven together into our Kiwiness. One caveat, though, is that for all my feeling like a part of what makes us Kiwi, I refuse to call ketchup “tomato sauce”. That’s just too much to ask of this Vermont resident native New Yorker.

3.       A Distillery. The Cardrona Distillery is on the valley floor, right across from the bottom of our access road. I’m not a big drinker but I’m not above joking that, going forward, I’ll only work at ski resorts with ready access to a distillery, for medicinal purposes of course.

4.       We Own It. While this is true metaphorically for all that we do, it’s also true literally. Cardrona owns the land where we do business, and that’s very unusual in NZ. Similar to the U.S.A. where many mountain resorts are located on National Forest land, most of Cardrona’s competitors operate on land leased from the Department of Conservation. Not us. Thankfully, our entire leadership team has placed environmental stewardship as a core belief that informs all that we do, but it’s nice that we can get stuff done on our own time and in our own way.

5.       Cheese Scones in the Mezz Café. They’re important. Just beware, there is no methadone treatment for them.

6.       Instructors in Charge. The resort GM; the head of our very big, busy events crew; numerous patrollers; head of base area operations; lefties, baristas, rental supervisors, ticket sales folks, and a lot of other folks throughout the team have been working ski or snowboard instructors at some point. It means, for those of us working in the Snow Sports School, that they understand our view and they bring that guest-centered perspective to all that they do. And they know how to have fun.

7.       A Very Big Tiny Penguin. Cardrona's spokes-penguin Pingy is a Tawaki penguin, the third rarest penguin in the world and a South Island native (http://www.tawaki-project.org/). He rips in the park (https://youtu.be/ajmmXam0kPI), is good at handing out lollies, and is a constant presence. He’s also a buddy of mine and can get a bit unruly when the Highlanders are playing on TV.

8.       Tourism. Cardrona’s owners are not real estate developers. They’re not an unruly committee of funds or bond traders who think they know better. It’s owned by Real Journeys, a Kiwi-owned important player in the New Zealand tourism industry. That means that they’re in the guest experience business, full stop. That’s rare, it makes us better at delivering for our guests and our staff, and it’s got to be luxurious for our managers who are more accustomed to synthesizing arguments for why this or that little guest tid-bit will be good for business. Real Journeys rocks.

9.       Chondy, Baby! Yes, we have a shiny new chondola. The cabins of MacDougal’s Chondola lift are the only alpine resort gondolas in New Zealand. It’s totally awesome, it’s had an enormous operational impact on our lessons already, and we all totally love it. Cardrona’s ability to totally nail its conception, construction and marketing should scare the heck out of our competitors (see #10 below).

10.   A Plan. Every major NZ resort has a dream - base villages, sealed roads, transportation links, all manner of jazzy upgrades. Occasionally over the past decade it’s seemed as though everyone had done engineering studies for a gondola. The difference for Cardrona? The chondy is done, and we’re charging ahead with the plan. Next!

Yeah, yeah, I know. This is a bit of a love note for my employer. No, they haven’t promised me a beer in exchange for it. What I get for all this is more pep in my teaching, I get more enthusiasm for and from the guests I teach, and I get to be surrounded by a bunch of resort staff who are totally pumped. It makes for a much happier and much more exciting working life than many of us are accustomed to finding in this business, and I’m grateful to play a small part. What it really means is that after a restful day off, I’m ready to get back in the action!

Progress; Little Bits of Progress

Over the past two weeks, I’ve made significant progress towards settling into the house where I’m living with a few friends in Wanaka for the New Zealand winter. It’s taken some doing, but the house will feel like home for several months. In contrast, in my eleventh winter here, the town of Wanaka feels like home immediately, in detail, and with far more jet-lag than settling-in time. “Welcome home,” each of my friends say when I arrive back. They mean it, I take it that way, and it definitely feels like it.

Eleven years isn’t really that long a period of time historically, but things have evolved substantially down here in that time. Wanaka is in the midst of a dizzyingly enormous boom – there are more than twice as many front doors here as when I arrived in 2007 and the town will double in size gain over the next few years. The pace of the development can be worrisome in the same way and with the same issues faced by American resort towns as they grow, though I do think the new development here is far greater, far faster, and far more fraught with risk than any that I’ve experienced.

On a personal level, my presence here as this development occurs reminds me of a specific moment from my childhood. I remember vividly being on a vacation on Nantucket Island, sitting on the beach that was a little crowded and a little rowdy for my family’s liking, and watching a New York Air jumbo jet fly overhead on its way to the island’s little airport. That jet was a bright, shiny, and strikingly emblematic icon of a similar dynamic for that once bucolic, middle-class hideaway. The thought dawned on me then as it does now: does my devotion to this place make me part of the problem? I don’t think so, but I do think that sensitivity to it, by all of us who come here, is an important component of helping Wanaka keep hold of its authenticity and remain true to the reasons that draw so many people here.

So, why the photo of the ancient mobile phone? It’s my beloved, eleven-year-old, pay-as-you-go, NZ cell phone. When I bought it, having a cell phone down here was a luxury. Its battery lasts a week, it never drops a call, it’s an incredibly reliable alarm clock, and it’s as hearty as any technological device has ever been. And, regrettably, it’s being replaced this winter. I’ve seriously considered replacing it with a smart phone filled with dazzling applications, fancy graphics, and the battery life of a flea that would connect me to the entirety of the digital world. Instead, like my hopes for Wanaka and all of the resort towns where I live, I’ll replace it with a functional, efficient and useful, slightly sleeker telephone that may have some broader capabilities and more advanced technology but ultimately will serve the purposes for which it is intended with the same vigor, albeit in a more modern and efficient form.

At the bottom it and the top of all of this, Wanaka is a wonderfully warm and welcoming Kiwi town in one of the most beautiful places that I’ve ever set foot. It’s no wonder so many people want to be here, I can’t blame them, and I definitely am one of them. Hopefully my new, non-smart cell phone will help me stay connected to my community here and in the USA with the simplicity that I prefer and without losing sight of its real purpose.

It Looks A Lot Like Winter

Tuesday, December 13, 2016 at Okemo

A few days ago, as I drove from my house in the hills above town to do some errands, I had a slightly odd and extended moment of reflection. The snow plows were out and about clearing people’s driveways and the roads after a big storm. The roads all through town were lined with bright white snow banks. Wind was whipping around the newly fallen flakes and they were dancing around in front of my headlights. The air smelled in that very clean, odorless way that only happens on a cold snowy night. And then, on top of it all, that not-unpleasant but slightly stinging sensation of the flakes striking my face as I walked to from the car to my final destination made me grin like a school kid. What I realized, what made me so happy, was that it simply felt like winter.

‘What the heck?’, I thought. Really, I’ve had 20 winters in the last 10 years and one would think I’d be used to all of this. The problem is that I am, I’m very used to it, I love it, and I’ve missed it. A lot. The “winter” of 2015-16 was winter in name only, and we never really experienced all of the sensations of the season in the way that brings me joy. Yes, we skied and rode a bit. Yes, we did have a few cold days (anyone remember last Presidents’ Weekend!). But we never had a blanket of snow; never experienced that easy enjoyment of the season and it’s ever-so-slight inconveniences that slow us down and allow us to take the time to appreciate all of its beauty. And a proper winter in Vermont is especially beautiful.

Thus far, in just a few short weeks, Vermont has had more natural snowfall than we had during all of last winter. We’ve had sustained cold temperatures since the resorts opened in mid-November and it’s been ideal for our industry’s state-of-the-art snowmaking. The quality of the skiing and riding is as good as it’s ever been this early in the season, it’s still getting better daily, and there’s another storm in the forecast.

The 2015-16 season was the type that can run people out of the snowsports business altogether, it was a brutal test of our mettle and our commitment, and we’re all badly scarred by it. The true extent of the difficulty we all faced last winter is best expressed by just how much joy we all shared this past Monday. It was a real powder day, with enough dry, light snow falling on the mountains throughout the state that even the most jaded old industry pros were out there just being present, in the moment, forgetting last year’s woes and having a ball. The consensus among my friends and colleagues on Monday was that we are all still absolutely in love with skiing and riding. Oh man, do we still love it. All the more so given how badly we needed a reminder of just how good it can be.

This season began with the eyes of the entire ski racing world focused on our little corner of the world for the first time in a generation, and with our people’s passion for the mountains on display for all to see. The success of the FIS World Cup races at Killington reaffirmed our motto “Winter in its original state”, and after last winter’s difficulties that reaffirmation was as much for ourselves as anyone.

What we do in the mountains of Vermont in winter, who we do it with, and the way in which we do it is an expression of who we are. So far this winter, being able to express ourselves in that way without reservation has been remarkably therapeutic and deeply appreciated by all of us. Soon, during the December holidays, we all hope to provide as many guests as we can with the same reminder we’ve been enjoying. And if that means more turns in abundant natural snow for me, I’ll be all the better for it!