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Strategic moves — Scooby plans for the future

Some people lead their lives like leaves in a storm. They change and move as their surroundings dictate — never planning too far in the future or worrying too hard about what may happen on the morrow.
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Some people lead their lives like leaves in a storm. They change and move as their surroundings dictate — never planning too far in the future or worrying too hard about what may happen on the morrow. Others, however, map out their proposed path through life like field generals in full battle campaign. Nothing is left to chance.

At first glance, Scott 'Scooby' Paxton would appear to be a member of the former tribe. A "lifer" at the Keg (he tells me he started work there when he was 13), Scott spent sixteen glorious years at Whistler in high play mode. And he did it with style. More than a hundred days of skiing every year, a month or two of windsurfing at the Gorge each summer, a few magical weeks on the Whistler Glacier for summer camp work, and given his legendary cooking skills: an open invitation to every party, festival, orgy and social gathering held in Sea to Sky country. No question, old Scooby had it made.

"I feel really lucky to have experienced those years," he admits. "It was really different here back then. Someone would come up with an idea — and we'd just do it." Like when he worked with the national team in the late 1980s? "Yeah, for sure" he says. And a smile spreads from ear-to-ear. "Those were the years of Boyd and Stemmle and Belczyk — a really great bunch of guys. They'd come to Whistler for a few weeks of training each summer on the glacier, you know. I got in good with the coaches — Glen Wurtele and Heinz Stohl." He laughs. "We did a lot of things back then that we'd never get away with today. But it got results..."

Like most others of his generation, Scooby came to Whistler for the skiing. But it was the summers that really seduced him. Remember the infamous Moxley barge parties? You don't? Here, let Paxton tell the story. "Well, ol' Moxley had this float on Alta Lake and he attached a motor to the back of it. So a whole bunch of lakeside residents — you know, Paul Matthews and crew — got these 20'x20' floats built and everyone lashed them to Moxley's barge." The result? "It was quite a sight. I mean you could get four tables on each barge. And that translated into about 100 people floating down Alta Lake on a warm summer evening."

Scott, as he explains, was the float-trip's jack-of-all-trades. And food prep always played a big part. "I'd help chef up a storm at the end of the barge," he says. And when the work was done, "I'd tie an inner tube to the back, plop myself in it and just let myself float along..."

So yeah, life was good for the young Whistlerite. But in October of 1986, he got a serious wake-up call. "We had all this money saved up in the Keg's Dine & Dash fund," he recounts, "and someone said 'let's go parachuting in the Fraser Valley.'" Already, that didn't sit well with Paxton. "I wasn't all that comfortable with the idea of doing this just before the start of the ski season," he admits. "But I went with it. Our instructor told us 'no one is going to die here!'" Scott sighs. "But what he didn't say was that one jumper in ten suffers a lower leg injury."

And yes, Scooby was that one in ten. "I still remember that jump so well," he says. "And it was beautiful. We were up at 3,000 feet and Mt. Baker loomed in the background. I was the first to jump out. I remember watching the nose of the airplane before it disappeared. And then pure silence..."

His return to earth, alas, didn't go so well. "I landed hard and rolled my ankle — tore all my ligaments, and broke my fibula. By the time we got back to the runway, my ankle was like a football. So — off to the hospital." He went in at noon. "I didn't get to see a doctor until four that afternoon," he moans. "And he just came by to tell me I needed surgery. And that I'd have to go to Lions Gate for that." He was operated on at 9:30 that evening; the surgeons had to screw a big metal plate to his ankle.

But that's not the punchline. "I came-to in a room with four beds," he continues. "And three of the beds were occupied by old men with severe cases of dementia. Whoa! What a reality slap. 'Holy smoke,' I said to myself on waking up. 'This is a real lesson in embracing life. These guys are all still breathing — but there's no quality of life..."

Was that the turning point in Scott's life? The day he went from exuberant bon-vivant to strategic planner? Maybe, maybe not. But it certainly played a part. "I may look easy-going but I have a very organized mind," he explains. "I see something down the road – I see where I want to go – and I immediately start putting the puzzle together. It's a lot like what athletes call 'visualization'. I mean, I've seen a lot of people over the years — dreamers, posers, wannabe's, you know — but I think I was born with the genetic make-up to develop a mental plan that works."

It took a few years for all this to gel of course. But by 1994, Paxton was ready for a major trip change in his life. "I was still working at the Keg," he says, "And I was finally coming to a crossroads. 'Do I really want to be a bartender at the Keg when I'm 50?' I asked myself. The answer was no, of course. I wanted to run a marathon before I turned 36."

A marathon? Scooby? You have to realize that in those days, Scooby was not the most svelte of individuals. Nor the fittest. The late night drinking-and-eating sessions and general merrymaking of the restaurant lifestyle had left the 34-year old in less-than-ideal shape for endurance events like marathon running.

But Paxton's mind was made up. "I asked our local endurance running expert, Kevin Titus, for advice on how I should prepare. He told me to run a half marathon first and go from there." So that's what he did: Scott entered the Delta half-marathon the next summer and finished in an hour, thirty-five minutes. "From that point, I was hooked," he says. "I just couldn't get enough. After a few more months of training, I entered the Victoria Marathon." And laughs. "Kevin had warned me. He'd said: 'Pace yourself! It's a long race.' And he was so-o-o right. At 30 kilometres, everything changes. You go into full survival mode." It was definitely painful. And much harder than he'd expected. But Scooby finished the race, with a time of 3:35, a very respectful clocking for a first-timer...

But more importantly, he'd made an impression with another runner. "A few weeks later," remembers Scott, "I got a call from this gal, Margaret Hickling. She wanted to know if I would be on her team for the Hainey to Harrison relay. And I said sure."

It must have been quite the relay. For they were married the very next year, "On the eighth day of the eighth month," he says. Their daughter, Jennifer, came into the world in 1997. "At the time, were trying to get into resident housing at Whistler. But the lottery just wasn't working for us. So we decided to buy in Brackendale instead."

It was also in 1997 that Paxton took a job with the RMOW. "I worked with the Roads Department at first," he says. "And in the beginning, it was just seasonal." But when a full-time job opening came up eight years later in the utilities Department, Paxton jumped on it. "It was time," he says simply. "I figured I'd gotten by for 48 years without a full-time job. Now, if I could get 12 good years in and retire with a little pension — well, I live a very simple existence. That would probably do me just fine."

Still, he admits, it's not always fun to be plowing snow in the valley when everyone else is off skiing. "It was a tough transition to weekend warrior. I still go through periods of heavy 'withdrawal'." He stops. Laughs. "But seriously — I've really come to savour my skiing. Seems like I never get enough anymore."

One of his joys, of course, is sharing the magic of backcountry travel with his teenage daughter — whether on foot, skis or two wheels. "We're so lucky to live where we live," he exults. "I just have to walk out my door and I'm in the wild." He's not with Jennifer's mother anymore — "these things happen," he sighs — but they're still good friends. "We just live a couple of blocks apart," he says. And in typical Scooby style: "The lawyer who was handling our separation couldn't believe how smooth it went. 'I can't even charge you for an hour of work...' he said. And I just shrugged. I mean, I wasn't going to lose a day of skiing over it. I just decided to keep moving forward."

And that pretty much defines the man. "I was so fortunate to have a guy like Dave Murray as a mentor," he concludes. "I still remember sitting down with him one day — I was probably around 24 and still wet-behind-the-ears. And you know he really inspired me that day. 'Just because you're not good at some things, don't worry,' he said. 'You can always hire people to cover for you. What's important is to focus on what you are good at! Everyone has a special gift. You have to believe in that gift; you have to believe in yourself. So find that path,' he told me, 'and just go for it!' And I've been following his counsel ever since." Scott stops. Takes a long breath. "Strange how the world turns," he says. "Now it's my turn to pass that message on to others who may be struggling with their own lives. So there you go."