Flipping the Switch

It's winter, as of this week and just in the nick of time. Our traditional pre-Thanksgiving opening here at Okemo on the third weekend of November was delayed this year due to what we still call "unseasonably warm" weather. At some point, I suppose, we'll have to relent and declare this the normal state of affairs in the 21st century climate of New England. In any event, two weeks ago I road biked comfortably in shorts and a short sleeve jersey, and last weekend we had our annual 'train-the-trainers' meeting for the Okemo Ski + Ride School indoors because of the lack of snow. The resort opened this past Tuesday with one trail and 'sporting' conditions, but cold temperatures hit hard and our snowmaking team has been working around the clock. This weekend many families have descended upon Okemo to ski and ride off their Thanksgiving feasts on several trails. All were rewarded with what was originally supposed to be a squall that stuck around all afternoon and has been dropping snow on us in some real quantity. It's as though when we turned on the compressors to get ready for snowmaking last weekend, we flipped the switch and turned on winter itself. Add to that the number of people bringing life and energy to our base lodge and the shops in town, and it really does feel like the season has started. We anticipate adding more terrain daily to our trail count and settling in for the long haul of a great season, and everyone, myself included, is excited for the winter to be under way. Finally.

Not-So-New School

New school, old school, blue school, red school;
Telemark, alpine, snowboard, bar stool.

I do realize that 'bar stool' makes no sense here. I may not be much of a poet, but I've been frustrated lately and 'bar stool' is the best I can do. At least it rhymes with 'school'. In any event, at the risk of sounding like a grumpy old man, what's frustrating me is the near-sighted sense of history among young skiers. There can be no doubt that Shane McConkey was an inspiring athlete who pushed the boundaries of our sport and that his death was a terrible loss. He did not, however, start a revolution. Perhaps it's a matter of pre-digital age exploits not finding as much of an audience with young people, making it difficult for them to have a broader perspective. It may bring grins to my friends' faces when I pull out VHS copies of Greg Stump movies, but when young folks at Treble Cone who aspire to fame and fortune in big mountain skiing tell me that they've never heard of Scott Schmidt, it makes my skin crawl. He was in Powder Magazine center folds, for crying out loud! Last winter, one of our young American instructors at Okemo who has been a life-long skier admitted to having never heard of Bill Johnson or (deep breath here) Franz Klammer! That one nearly gave me a heart attack with visions of being greeted by Sondre Norheim at the pearly gates. Wow, pass me the schnapps, some aquavit, slivovitz, or zirbengeist; pass me something!

At the end of the day, I take solace in the simple fact that most of us are still out there skiing for the same reason people have for generations - in the half-pipe, the woods, the race course, the park, the groomers, the bunny hill, and in the backcountry. Even at its most utilitarian, skiing always has brought joy and inspired passion in people. Simple folk, new school pioneers, downhill legends, and numerous other people far more accomplished, far more articulate, and far more influential in the world than I am all have written passionately about skiing for centuries. My favorite among these forefathers is Fridtjof Nansen.

Nansen was a scholar, athlete, explorer, writer, diplomat, humanitarian, one of the fathers of modern Norway, a Nobel Laureate, and in his spare time he was the first man to cross Greenland. Skiers are most familiar with his line that "It is better to go skiing and think of God, than go to church and think of sport." His seminal book First Crossing of Greenland (Pá Ski over Grønland), recounting Nansen's 1888 crossing of Greenland, is an absolute classic. This treasure trove of skiing wisdom resonates even now, and Nansen's words help to inspire me as I await the start of another season:

Of all the sports of Norway, 'skilobning' is the most national and characteristic, and I cannot think that I go too far when I claim for it, as practised in our country, a position in the very first rank of the sports of the world. I know no form of sport which so evenly develops the muscles, which renders the body so strong and elastic, which teaches so well the qualities of dexterity and resource, which in an equal degree calls for decision and resolution, and which gives the same vigour and exhilaration to mind and body alike. Where can one find a healthier and purer delight than when on a brilliant winter day one binds one's 'ski' to one's feet and takes one's way out into the forest? Can there be anything more beautiful than the northern winter landscape, when the snow lies foot-deep, spread as a soft white mantle over field and wood and hill? Where will one find more freedom and excitement than when one glides swiftly down the hillside through the trees, one's cheek brushed by the sharp cold air and frosted pine branches, and one's eye, brain, and muscles alert and prepared to meet every unknown obstacle and danger which the next instant may throw in one's path? Civilisation is, as it were, washed clean from the mind and left far behind with the city atmosphere and city life; one's whole being is, so to say, wrapped in one's 'ski' and the surrounding nature. There is something in the whole which develops soul and not body alone. Nansen, Fridtjof, First Crossing of Greenland (Pá Ski over Grønland), 1890.

Sounds perfect. I can't wait.

Daydreaming

I'm in Vermont, but at times my mind and my heart are far away from here – far in a geographical sense, far in a visceral sense, and far in terms of time. In shoulder season, sandwiched between my Southern Hemisphere winters in Wanaka, New Zealand and my Northern Hemisphere winters in Vermont, I do manage to keep reasonably busy. I have plenty of work to do to get ready for the upcoming season at Okemo, plenty of people to catch up with after several months overseas, and generally enough to occupy my time. Still, there are moments, whole days sometimes, when I'm not exactly present. When the weather comes in – as it has a great deal this fall – and I stay indoors to exercise instead of outdoors where I prefer, I drift to those faraway places and times, places real and imaginary, where my ski dreams have been or will be fulfilled. Yes, there are moments when those dreams may shift to a tropical beach with warm iridescent blue waters, but it's the skiing in my dreams that really transports me.

I've been very fortunate in my adult life to have spent time skiing in some extraordinary places in some truly astonishingly dry, incredibly deep powder snow. I remember those days and the people I shared them with in exceptional detail. Zermatt with Matt and Jason, many Vail days with a big posse, Taos with Steve, Utah solo, the Cariboos with Peter, White Face with the team, a couple of otherworldly days with Terry at Mad River, and one particular day at Treble Cone with Tyler that included a run in the Motatapu Chutes with Tim that was absolutely ridiculous. There are more, many more memories, and many more yet to come.

Today has been a dark, windy, classic Vermont November day complete with temperatures hovering around the freezing mark, snow at higher elevations and rain in town. I've been far less productive than I'd like in the sense of ticking things off my to-do list. But, in terms of dreaming deep powder dreams and contemplating the universe of snowy possibilities, I've accomplished a great deal from my seat on the couch. Thankfully, when I fall into this far-away powder daze, I now have youtube to feed the monster. If you're feeling a bit down, a bit like the concrete jungle, the Eastern dank, or the treadmill of life is getting to you, give yourself a moment and consider what's out there yet to experience through your skis or boards and the people who share your passion for them. Then, watch this video from Team Thirteen called "Deep Powder Skiing at Bridger Bowl: Part 1". It's been around a while, it may actually make you cry, and it definitely renders me less present than I felt before watching it; but, I do hope you'll agree that it's worth it.

We have just a couple of weeks to go before the ski season begins and I hope that we'll be reminded that real life can at times really come close to our dreams, especially the powdery ones.

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



The Ongoing Storm

More than a week. With nine days to go in the 2010 season at Treble Cone, a season which has not exactly been a blockbuster for snow, we're in the middle of a storm cycle that has been ongoing for more than a week. It's essentially been snowing every other day for nine days, the temperatures have remained good and cold so that the snow has been very dry and very powdery, and it has gotten deep, very deep. The Saddle Basin remains closed due to avalanche danger and high winds, but with only a few die-hards still charging hard on our expert terrain, there are still plenty of fresh tracks for everyone. We're pinching ourselves down here, and the storm isn't over yet. I had hoped to post some better 'glory in the deep pow' photos, but my priority has been squarely placed on getting in my own turns and not stopping to take snaps. I have some thoughts to share once the storm clears, the season ends, and the sun comes out, but until then these photos that I took last Monday will have to suffice. In the meantime, as my friend Michelle said on Treble Cone's snow report this week, it's time to exercise the powder clause in your contracts. Get a good night's sleep, get to the hill early and make a meal of it. The skiing and riding at TC remains outstanding by anyone's measure and there's precious little time to waste.