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Perry Schmunk; Life after Whistler

"People who cannot invent and reinvent themselves must be content with borrowed postures, secondhand ideas, fitting in instead of standing out." - Warren G. Bennis He's the newly elected mayor of Tofino.
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"People who cannot invent and reinvent themselves must be content with borrowed postures, secondhand ideas, fitting in instead of standing out."

- Warren G. Bennis

He's the newly elected mayor of Tofino. A successful entrepreneur, an engaged parent and a savvy protector/promoter of the ocean paradise in his front yard. In short, the guy has absolutely nothing to complain about. Life is good, his business is thriving, the future looks exceedingly promising and his surfing skills are improving each year.

Alas, not all is well in Perry Schmunk's world. Though few get to glimpse his pain, Perry nurses a still-bloody wound from a past that he's never really been able to let go. It's all too apparent in his voice when he shares his story. Nostalgia. Regret. Shame. Anger. Fury even. His emotions shake and dance through his words. And you can't blame him. It truly is a remarkable tale.

I mean this guy went from hero to zero in the blink of an eye. Saw a career shatter into a million pieces for no apparent reason. His life was flipped completely upside down. One moment he was managing one of the most exciting and innovative ski schools on the continent. Respected by colleagues; admired by staff — a guy with limitless opportunities. And then: Wham! The next thing he knew he was driving a cab in town and wondering what happened to his job, and how the heck was he going to afford Whistler on a cabbie's salary, and what would happen to his relationship with his four-year old daughter if he couldn't live here anymore?

Chilling story, no? You couldn't come up with a more noir plot if you tried. I mean this one has it all. Pettiness. Betrayal. Dishonesty. It's like an old morality play from the 18th century.

It's just too weird for words. Stripped of his livelihood, virtually bullied out of the mountain town he'd fallen so hard for, the young ski pro with the once golden prospects suddenly found himself out in the cold having to invent a whole new life for himself. Yeow. Talk about harsh.

After a beating like that, most people would have folded their tent, packed up their bags and slunk away in defeat. Hard not to after such a thrashing. But Perry wasn't quite ready to raise the white flag yet. Taking a page from his past, our man Schmunk slowly transformed himself into a twenty-first century version of the old country, guest-focused, high-touch hotelier. Innovative, youthful, ambitious, fun — Perry's a walking, talking, surfing advertisement for the nouveau Tofino that's now just emerging into the world. A man loved and respected throughout the community. A leader. A mentor. A... But wait. I'm getting way ahead of myself again. Why don't we start at the beginning?

Perry Schmunk didn't strap on a pair of skis until he was eighteen. You heard me right. Never even considered it until his first year of university. Like all good Saskatoon boys he played hockey and football and all sorts of other games. But sliding down the mountain on two slats of wood? Never.

It makes sense though. Saskatchewan? Mountains? The only place you could slide on snow was down the shallow banks of the local river valleys. Big deal.

And then everything changed.

"I wanted to get my first-aid ticket," explains the forty-seven-year-old. "And in those days, you could join the local Ski Patrol and get certified that way." There was one small hitch. You had to know how to ski. Pfff. No big deal.

"So I started skiing," he says. And grins. There's a still boyish earnestness in Perry's voice. Not in a bad way. More like a Scout who never grew out of DYB, DYB, DYB. He continues: "So yeah, me an' my dad — he'd never skied either — we went out to Blackstrap Mountain together and eventually learned how to get down the hill without falling too much."

There are people who connect with snowsliding in deep and mysterious ways. It invades their dreams. Infects their lives. Changes the course of their karma even. Such was the case with the young Saskatooner. Perry was bitten hard. He didn't quite know it yet. But his casual encounter with skiing was about to blow the lid right off his safe little world.

But let's resume the story. Imbued with the zeal of the true believer, Perry immediately signed up with the Canadian Ski Alliance for a Level II ski instructor's course. He was still at university then. Still had conventional plans and normal expectations for the future. Nothing in his life pointed to anything different. But that was all before he was taught how to properly carve a ski. His week under the tutelage of the CSIA gods-of-the-time was just too much for a young man with such an active imagination.

"Wow. I can still remember how impressive those guys looked to me back then." He laughs. "There was a crew of examiners from Banff teaching that week. Very cool guys. Very pro too." He pauses. Like he's remembering their steely glare as he executed his clumsy parallel turns. "Man," he sighs. "I would have done anything to be one of them."

Sure. Totally easy to understand. Prairie wannabe on his first big ski experience — still at modest Blackstrap remember — falling helplessly in love with the instructor lifestyle. Beguiled. Entranced. Bewitched and bewildered. Wanting to emulate a pack of guys who — for the most part — have been on skis since they could walk. Cute. Nice. Pat on the head. Ha. Ha. Ha. There are literally thousands of flatlanders — guys just like Perry — who've harboured that same dream and done absolutely nothing about it.

Others have given it their best shot. And struggled. And suffered. And finally given up the quest and left the mountains to the mountain folk. Perry was different. Not only did he give it his best shot. But he became very good, very quickly.

One could say he flew. I'm not sure if this is a record or not, but young Schmunk went from non-skier to a CSIA Level IV examiner in four astonishing years. I kid you not. By the time he was 22, Perry was living and playing in Banff and skiing his way to a very respectable career. He was at the pinnacle of his profession. A member of a very small, very exclusive cabal — a sanctioned chevalier of ski teaching — the best of the very best. No one could blame him for being a little smug.

But no. Perry was far too busy paying attention to what was going on around him to gloat. "In my very first year as a Level IV instructor," he tells me, "I got involved in a national training academy experiment with the Canadian Ski Alliance. The idea, he explains, was to create a semi-permanent institution where instructors could come and upgrade their skills. "Very inspiring stuff," he says.

The academy was based in Lake Louise. Their lodging was at the legendary Post Hotel. Sigh. This isn't the place to go into detail about one of my favourite hotels in the whole wide world. Still. Owned and operated by the legendary Schwartz brothers — two Swiss ski pros who genuinely understand what it means to host people — the Post is a Rocky Mountain classic. A unique gem. As hallowed in its own way as the gargantuan Chateau Lake Louise nearby.

And Perry wasn't missing a beat. "What a treat," he says. And smiles — almost dreamily. "I learned so much from those two men. But it was the quality of the learning, he says, that really made the difference. George and André were true stewards of mountain culture, he adds. They knew exactly how important an authentic mountain experience was to their guests. He pauses. Takes a long breath. "You know, that left a lasting impression on me."

Perry's stay in Banff turned out to be a life-changer. But he knew in his heart that he still had a lot more travelling to do. He'd spent a few summers skiing Down Under. Had experienced the Pacific and its mellow climate. And that was very appealing to a guy used to frigid prairie winds. Besides, there was this place called Whistler on the West Coast of B.C. And a lot of very cool skiers were finding their way to its slopes.

"I started work at Blackcomb in the fall of 1991," he says. "I was first hired as the new training coordinator for the ski school." And the newcomer couldn't wait to get started. This place, he felt, oozed authenticity from every pore. "Everyone I knew — the entire town in fact — was into skiing. Life at Whistler back then was completely centred on the mountain... as it should be!"

Perry knew he had found his place. He had new ideas. Fresh views. He was ambitious. Keen. Bold even. And in those days, those qualities were highly valued around Whistler. It took him less than two years to convince his superiors to trust him with the kind of authority he was seeking. By the winter of 1993-94, he was Director of the Blackcomb Ski School. Yeah baby. The guy was on a rocket headed straight for the moon. He'd arrived!

Next Week: And then it all goes bad. Whistler and Blackcomb merge, the mountain culture changes and our hero falls on his sword.