My neighbour Elmo and his wife Hilda are taking their annual one-week ski vacation. They are getting a little long in the tooth and have given up what they consider the dangerous side of skiing, which they call downhill. "It’s all of them young snowboarders that worry Hilda the most," he told me over his daily cup of Starbucks in the coffee shop on the end of the pier. So, they have made the transition to cross-country skiing.
Elmo says that cross-country touring is a lot easier and allows them to pack a lot lighter for their vacations. "I have to admit though, that Hilda looks like a sack of Jell-O, jiggling in that pink and black stretch Lyrca outfit the grandkids gave her for Christmas 12 years ago," Elmo told me sheepishly. "But, what the heck, I can remember when my skis were long and my pants were baggy. Now my skis are short and my face is baggy."
After filling me in on their upcoming vacation, Elmo asked if I was going away for the winter again, although I suspect he knew my answer.
"Yep, I have the world’s best job," I happily replied. All I have to do is show up at the ski lift every day from now until it shuts off an April 15. I’m kind of like a senior citizen Wal-Mart greeter on the ski slopes of the Yellowstone Club.
During the next four months, I get to ski about a hundred days or more, meet potential members of the only private ski resort in the world, teach some of them how to ski better and learn a lot from most of them. At the same time, I can get caught up on whatever stuff the members have been doing since last ski season.
In general terms, my job is a paid vacation. I certainly don’t consider any of this work, unless you consider making first tracks in powder snow all day work. As a matter of fact, I don’t remember ever working since I gave up framing houses as a carpenter almost 50 years ago.
The only problem I have (if you can really call it a problem) is packing enough stuff for a four-month ski vacation. Elmo couldn’t understand my packing dilemma. After abandoning downhill skiing, he has quickly forgotten the importance of gear. He asked me what was the most important thing that I take to Montana.
I told him that not counting my wife and my extra rolls of Duct tape, my most important luggage was my three pair of skis. Elmo looked at me in disbelief. That’s right, I take three pair of skis. When I play golf, I don’t carry just one club in my bag. It’s the same with skiing. I have a pair of skis for cruising on the groomed stuff, a pair of semi-wide skis for most of the skiing I do and a pair of five-year-old, fat skis for any powder snow over a foot deep. Mind you, we get a lot of one-foot dumps in Montana.
It’s a logistical problem to haul all of the stuff to Montana because over the years, Laurie and I have gathered about a half a dozen of everything. We have a large collection of our favourite sweaters, parkas, pants, gloves, hats and goggles. That doesn’t even include all of our skis. When we gather our 20-year collection of ski stuff together in a pile, it's lucky I have a trailer to haul everything. Last winter, I hauled the trailer back and forth a couple of times and practised slow-speed, black-ice driving and skidding for a thousand miles each way.
I envy Elmo and Hilda in their simplicity of cruising on a pair of cross-country skis. It’s low-cost, low-maintenance skiing. But for Laurie and me, there is nothing else in the world that can compare to the feeling of freedom when we get off at the top of a chairlift, put our pole straps over our wrists and head down our favourite run. There are at least 214,387 different ways to ski down each run on our mountain and although I have already been skiing for 63 years, I’m looking forward to 63 more years of doing the same old thing.
I can still remember the first time I skied on Mt. Waterman near Los Angeles in 1937 on a pair of $2 skis. I also remember the first time I skied on Pioneer Peak at the Yellowstone Club (via helicopter) five years ago. If you gave me enough time, I could probably dredge up from my memory bank something outstanding about every one of the days since 1937 that I had on a pair of skis.
Whether you choose to cross-country ski, downhill ski, skate ski, telemark ski or snowboard, I suspect you’ll agree that there is something magical about traveling across snow. I look forward to hauling the trailer from our island in the Northwest to our winter home at the Yellowstone Club. It’s paradise at a different temperature.
My News Year’s resolution is to be able to somehow thank everyone who has ever bought a ticket to one of my movies or purchased one of my books and in so doing, has contributed to the lifestyle that Laurie and I are privileged to enjoy.
So, here’s to 2002 and the many different ways there are to enjoy our world when whatever blemishes it might have are covered with a blanket of snow.
