Newbies

I've said it before and I'll say it again: the most important lessons we teach as ski and snowboard instructors are first-timer lessons. We have one chance to make someone's first experience on skis or on a snowboard a positive, engaging, fun experience and if we fail, if we have a bad day, we lose an opportunity to share our sports with more people. There is an internal industry corollary to the beginner's lesson, and it's how I spent one of my days last week.

During both of my annual ski seasons – here in Vermont and in New Zealand in "summer" – I spend a lot of my time on the clock training instructors. In the nuanced little corner of the world that is ski and snowboard instruction, ongoing instructor training is an essential component. In many ways, staff training is our best quality control method: we use it to make sure that our instructors are technically proficient, that they understand our particular view of the role played by guest service and a guest-centered teaching method, and that they continue to evolve as skiers and riders as well as teachers. Those of us who instruct for a living crave instruction ourselves, and so our training also forms an important part of how we think and feel about our jobs in ways that are hard to quantify. It is in this sense that the best and most devoted students make the best teachers. I enjoy training instructors a great deal – being a "clinician" in our lexicon – and it's one of the things I do that really enables me to continue my own development as a thinker about ski technique, ski teaching, guest service, and how people learn, move and function generally. Sometimes, however, staff training can become something far more basic and far more rewarding.

Recently, I've provided some training for instructors at a neighboring resort here in Vermont and I've been fortunate enough to spend a good chunk of it working with young and relatively new ski instructors. Last week, in fact, I spent a day with a young woman who was working as a ski instructor for the very first time. We covered the basics of ski technique, how we think about it in terms of skills, how we articulate it to adult and child guests, and how we consider what to teach and when. As part of our training day, I arranged for the "newbie" and the other young instructors to receive their uniforms and do some routine paperwork, immediately followed by a couple of free runs to shake out the cobwebs from the ski school jackets and to end the day with some vital fun.

On our first lift ride in the new jackets, a gondola, we chatted about everyone's nerves about being a new ski teacher and about the anxieties associated with caring for children in a mountain environment. I then realized that our "newbie" was fidgeting quite a bit and seemed a bit uncomfortable in her new jacket. I wondered out loud if we had decided on the wrong size and then it dawned on me: this was her first-ever ski instructor uniform and it made her a bit self-conscious and a bit more keenly aware of the new path on which she had set herself. It made me warm all over to look her straight in the face, confirm that it was her first uniform, and officially welcome her to a profession from which so many people I admire and care for derive such lasting satisfaction and enjoyment. Simply awesome! After a couple of runs where I like to think she was standing a bit taller and skiing a bit more deliberately, we walked into the staff room where a number of more senior instructors were milling about at the end of another day as ski and snowboard pros. As we entered, a number of them oooed and ahhhed at the young staff in their smart new jackets and I announced to everyone in the room that our "newbie" was in an instructor uniform for the very first time. Everyone cheered, congratulated, slapped on the back, and genuinely extended their heartfelt welcome to our newbie – old grisly mountain men, young dudes and babes, snowboarders, skiers, retirees, Americans, Europeans, kids and adult staff, instructors and supervisors alike shared in the moment to help her realize how much they all appreciated her joining them. It was really very cool. Our newbie may have been slightly embarrassed and self-conscious at first, but I'm confident that she understood why we all thought it was so cool. It was a wonderful moment, and was one I suspect is repeated in locker rooms all across the alpine world every year.

While I was kidding slightly as I told our newbie that I wished her a successful life as an instructor, filled with poverty and happiness, I was only partly kidding. It's a hard life, teaching skiing - long days out in the elements, little money even under the best circumstances, and peers who fail to understand why we've decided to spend our time as "bums" and not respecting that we're really professionals devoted to a craft. In the faces of the staff present on that day last week and on newbie's was a shared understanding of the inherent good in what we do, the simple joy of it, and the immense (if not monetary) rewards that we receive from it. As long as we all carry a little slice of what it's like to experience the joys of teaching skiing and riding to someone for the first time, we're bound never to become jaded and to continue our progress as skiers and riders, and as teachers. I wouldn't trade it and I was thrilled to be a part of a new beginning on that path. As we head into 2010, it's a wonderful reminder of what's really important here in the mountains.

Shaken From Slumber

Someone knocked on my door early this morning. Still in a slight daze, I opened the door just a crack at first to see who it was and not let in the cold. The person on the other side saw the crack, smiled with a broad grin and then pushed his way into my home with force, giving me just enough time to jump out of the way and get ready for the onslaught. No, it wasn't my neighbors looking for free ski advice or some extra flour for their breakfast pancakes. No, it wasn't my parents, driving up to see whether I'd had some overnight epiphany about getting a "real" job with some actual financial security and a good health care plan. It wasn't my friends clad in lycra wondering if I was ready to go cycling, and it wasn't the neighborhood black bear looking for some honey. Hey Booboo. Nope, it was winter, and he's got some pretty good spring in his step for an old man.

Okemo opened for the season today, three weeks later than originally planned and with what could charitably be called "sporting" conditions. We did have some die-hard ski and ride devotees who bought lift tickets today, took the bus up to the bottom of the summit lift and made turns on the top third of the mountain before downloading the same lift back to the base. I'm certain that they had fun and I'm certainly glad we were open, but I'll wait another couple of days for conditions to improve, thank you very much. I mean seriously, I do not work for the Okemo marketing department and though I prefer to remain positive and optimistic I have no obligation to do so. Which brings me to Old Man Winter's barging into my house.

While enjoying a nice lunch with my friends from the still dormant Okemo Ski + Ride School in the Sitting Bull, our base lodge bar and restaurant, it started snowing. Hard. Very hard. And it's been snowing like that all afternoon. And it's supposed to keep up all evening. Normally, one of the things I enjoy about snowstorms is the quiet that results when fresh snow blankets the world around me. In this case, however, the constant sound of our snowmaking guns hammering out their fluffy white product is far preferable. The combination of the two things going on at once – the snow storm and the snow making – has provided a much needed lift to my spirits and those of my friends, neighbors and colleagues. When we talk about the weather in a town like Ludlow, we're not just 'talking about the weather' in the Pygmalion sense. For the first time in a long time, those conversations have some real excitement in them. I expect that by mid-week conditions will be pretty good and by next weekend we should be off to the races.

The funny part is that the storm sort of caught all of us by surprise. It's not that we hadn't been watching the forecasts with great interest and with an odd level of detail. It's just that we (which is to say I) had all been lulled into a sort of malaise of waiting, watching, kvetching, worrying and idling about with less purpose than we'd prefer. So we cracked the door open a bit this morning to see whether winter was in fact here, and he barged right in like a college roommate carrying a six-pack or a six-year-old on Christmas morning. Phew. We may have been shocked for a moment, but we sure are grateful.

Hopefully, Old Man Winter found a comfortable seat on the couch, likes his surroundings, and will stick around for a while. I'll even let him have the remote if he stays.

This Is Not a Drill

Last night, at the end of the infamous "Black Friday" after Thanksgiving, here in Vermont the temperature dropped, the wind picked up, and a small storm blew in with force. There's nothing unusual about this except that the storm brought with it the first real snow of the season. More significantly, it also brought the best sustained snowmaking temperatures yet. Right on the heels of their Thanksgiving feast, Okemo's snowmaking team made a meal of it, rendering the upper mountain trails unrecognizable from the days and weeks preceding. I took this photo from downtown Ludlow at mid-day today, and it's certainly a relief to look up at our mountain and to see real progress towards winter. The forecast for the next ten days looks great for snowmaking, so our long wait for skiing and riding should be nearly over. So, break out the boards and pack your gear, I expect to get the green light to start sliding and we'd better be ready.

Godot

What is the meaning of life? What is the nature of death? Is there a divine being? Is there life on other planets? Did Shoeless Joe Jackson actually participate in throwing the 1919 World Series? Considering these fundamental questions is the luxury of people with spare time. Watching the world go by, studying the clouds, contemplating the nature of the universe and life without snow … Wait a minute. Contemplating life without snow is not an existential question. Not this year. And we certainly have the time to consider it.

There is no snow in Central Vermont. The weather continues to be warm and sunny – lovely, really – and Okemo has officially delayed our opening until conditions change. In our collective memories, there have been very few starts to a ski season as green and grassy as this one. We have one of the best snowmaking crews on the planet and can rely on them to keep us on track even in the worst case scenarios, except this one. Those of us who have been doing this for a while, who have depended on New England winters for our livelihood and our recreation, know that it will snow. It is going to get cold in Vermont, the weather is going to turn nasty, we will ski and ride, and I promise not to complain when the temperatures drop below zero.

In the meantime, those of us who teach skiing and riding here in the Eastern U.S. do have plenty time. I've got a couple of small projects going, I'm catching up on some reading, enjoying the sunshine while I can, and actually benefitting from the ability to consider ski technique and ski teaching in the big picture. Oops, I just looked at my watch and I need to run. I'm meeting Vladimir and Estragon for some more existential musings – Godot was apparently seen wandering the streets of Ludlow. I wonder if Samuel Becket skied …

Down in the Village

I've been living in Ludlow, Vermont to work at Okemo for several years now, and having returned from my southern winter in New Zealand and settled in for another season, I'm keenly aware of just how small a town it is. Like any small town, Ludlow has its characters and its idiosyncrasies, but the times when the smallness wears on me a bit are well-balanced by the times when the smallness and its familiarity give me comfort. It is, after all, one of the great strengths of our resort that it is located smack-dab in the middle of a real town, filled with skiers and non-skiers alike, and that all of the development on the hill has not totally overwhelmed the feel of the place or the ability of hard-working Vermont families to live and raise their children here.

Since arriving back in town I've reconnected with a lot of people – friends and colleagues both. I haven't really been engaged in a formal 'doing the rounds', but together with a bit of catching up on the local gossip there is also an important element of catching up on what's happening in the business of Ludlow and at Okemo. All this faffing about, as the Brits would say, is relevant to my job and does have an impact on my role here. Simply put, my support from the resort staff, the ski shops and the other businesses in town, and my relationships with all of these people enables me to do my job better and to keep the work I do with our guests in context.

We're very fortunate in Ludlow to have a few full-service ski shops that are exceptional and I rely a great deal on the people that run them. In my mind, the singular element that makes our shops so good is that they all work hard to put each customer on the right gear for that person, not simply what the shops need to push out the door or what's hot. Whether it's Randy at Northern Ski Works, Shon at The Boot Pro, or Torin at Totem Pole, or the many returning members of their able staffs, they are all legitimate experts with many years in the business and I never hesitate to send any of my guests to them. Boot fitting is a serious craft, ski selection is like pairing wine with a meal, and tuning is an art, and there's an awful lot of bad information and folklore out there and in the popular press about equipment, so the role these guys and their staffs play is indispensable in making the Okemo guest's experience a quality one. No, I do not work for the Chamber of Commerce and I am not on the payroll of any shop. Yes, I depend on them for my own equipment needs. Yes, I work closely with Randy and his staff at Northern but not just because they are my local Nordica dealer – I depend on them for my own needs and those of my guests. The only thing I get out of sending my guests to any of these shops is the confidence that my guests will receive the same high level of personal service that I provide in my role as their instructor. Besides, I genuinely like all of the people who run and work at the shops, I enjoy stopping in to see how things are going, and the good-natured ribbing between the shops' team members on our locals' race day is always a focal point of the season for those of us who participate. With the exception of race day (officially called Innkeepers, affectionately known as "World Cup Tuesday"), my relationship with the shops makes me feel very strongly that we're all part of the same team, engaged in a truly collective effort on and off the hill.

The small town affect is by no means limited to the ski shops. The coffee house knows how I like my java, the postmaster remembers my box number and whether I need to have my mail held or forwarded while overseas, the realtors keep their eyes open for my guests, and the bartenders know what beer I drink - particularly useful when the watering holes are packed on holiday weekends.

Now that the leaves have all dropped and the snow falls with more frequency our mountain, there's a certain energy in town, a mix of last minute preparations and nervous curiosity over what the season will bring for us here. Okemo opens on November 21^st, the traditional opening on the weekend before Thanksgiving, and at the end of the day we all take comfort that each of us here in Ludlow enters the winter season together, sink or swim. If I'm going to be in the same boat with the population of a small town, there are few crews I'd prefer to set sail with in the ski industry than the one we have here in Ludlow. It will snow, and the sooner the better, for all of us.

Rounding the Corner

It's coming, nearly here, all lights are green, all systems go and I'm definitely ready. After a few weeks of spinning my wheels - literally on the bike and figuratively - the next ski season starts here in Vermont in a couple of weeks and it couldn't arrive soon enough. Fall here is glorious in October, but with all the leaves now off the trees, the weather turning colder and nastier, and everyone at Okemo and in the shops in town working hard to get prepped for the crowds we hope will join us, we're all getting anxious to get started. It will snow, we will ski and ride, and I'll be grateful to continue my endless winter!

The Other Side of the Coin

Since arriving back in the US from New Zealand, I've been a guest at a resort in the desert southwest. Why is this relevant to a blog about skiing, teaching skiing, and the many aspects of a life and career devoted to both? It's relevant because here I am the guest for a change. At Treble Cone and Okemo, and in the snow sports schools at both resorts, guest service is a major focus of everything we do - how we approach our jobs, how we dress, how we spend our time, etc. Once in a while, it's helpful to see how other people do it, and it helps to actually be the guest. There is an extent to which I feel like a carpenter entering a house built by someone else, taking a critical view of every service, every conversation, every system, but it's only a small extent. The reality of my stay here is the not-particularly-novel realization that good guest service works, it makes for a more relaxing, more enjoyable stay, and definitely makes me want to come back. While here it's been snowing in Vermont (and all over the northeast), ski areas have started up their snow guns, and the serious preparation for another winter season has begun. So I'll take a few more leisurely strolls in flip-flops and then it's back to the action, but it's been nice to see and experience the other side of the coin for a change.