On hill, it’s not too bad

I had last skied on Sunday, March 22, 2015. I was teaching a group of Adventure Campers at Smugglers’ Notch in my role as part-time instructor in the children’s alpine program. It was freezing. It was so cold that Andy and I combined our classes.

Andy, my fellow weekend warrior kids’ instructor, led the group. I was the caboose. We carried all of the kids’ poles in our arms so they could keep their fingers in little balls because they were all so cold. We checked for full face coverage before leaving the top, skied pretty slowly, and made minimal stops. There were still a few spots of frostbite when we reached the bottom.

We hustled all the kids in for hot chocolate and the first of many breaks that day. “Not exactly what we were expecting for spring skiing,” we whined a bit to each other.

One day later, I received that phone call all of us with elderly parents dread. My 87-year-old mom was at the hospital with my 90-year-old dad. He had a fractured tibia after slipping on the ice as he was getting in the car to drive a friend home. My dad, the ski school director, ski coach, tennis fanatic, who had never broken a bone in his life, had a broken leg from slipping on the ice.

Instead of enjoying the phenomenal spring skiing of 2015, I spent late March and early April at the hospital and then later at a rehab/nursing home as my dad tried valiantly to recover from his break and the three heart attacks they discovered he had suffered sometime over the winter and on the first night he was admitted to the hospital, while at the same time telling us, “I’m 90, I’ve had a great life, I’m dying and I’m OK with it,” even if we weren’t ready yet. Spring skiing was not even on my radar last March.

All of these feelings flooded back over me as I drove up Route 4 past Pico Sunday morning. Not even a stitch of manmade snow remained on the slopes of my “home mountain.” The interstate offered no glimpses of out-of-state SUVs with Thule boxes of gear.

I had no expectations of a fun day of skiing as I headed up the Mountain Road to Stowe Mountain Resort. I was here to do a job: Find out how things really were on the hill.

I looked up and the ribbons of man-made were pretty wide. My ambivalence was replaced with the first-day butterflies that never seem to go away, even after more than a half-century of first days.

The mood of the Stowe resort employees was upbeat and infectious. Tom Alario, a first-year parking supervisor, moved east this winter from Lake Tahoe. Though the West is having a great year and the East is setting records for warmth and least measurable snow, his move was for family and he’s thrilled to reconnect with his brothers in Vermont and his folks who are relocating from New Jersey to Vermont.

Tom’s biggest parking challenges were all the employees attending early-season training. Ample spaces abounded and the proverbial resort parking issue was a non-issue this past weekend.

Alario had been getting conflicting reports about the hill, from soft and slushy to icy. But mostly, “people are coming off happy because there is some snow.”

‘What they do with nothing’

I said hello to Laura Schlegel, in her first season and first week on the ticket desk. Heather Moselle, a second-season ticket seller, was assisting Laura in the intricacies of the ticket system. Heather, a proud mom, shared some wonderful photos her 14-year-old, Aiden Wright, had taken up top during his ski school instructor training. Aiden, a Stowe High student, will be working as an instructor aide with the ski school this winter.

I ditched my original plan to start with some easy runs at Spruce as I, too, had family on the hill. Jessica, my 24-year-old ski racer turned snowboarder, was out riding with her friend Mia Kulasic on Mansfield. They had been on the hill since early morning, starting at Spruce and then making their way over to the Gondola. “You’ll be able to catch us,” said Jess after texting that they were on Lower Perry Merrill.

I shared my gondola with Chris Rodgers, a standout Middlebury College Nordic skier who calls Nebraska Valley home. Formerly with Clearion, Rodgers now works with URMC in Stowe. He already had a few days on his alpine skis and was headed out to make his first tele turns.

What will the conditions be like on the hill? “What they do with nothing is amazing,” Rodgers said. And he was right.

I pushed off for my first run, and I found great snow! Soft, spring bumps on the left side of the run, with groomed man-made on skiers’ right had my quads burning a bit. Motor memory kicked in and all those ski-school turns paid off as my skills came right back to me.

Halfway down the hill, I had a huge grin from ear to ear. It was sunny. The sky was blue. The snow was good. I was skiing!

I caught up to Jess and Mia and they, too, were having a great time. It was Mia’s second day out and Jess’s first. Mia’s first day was at another resort the previous weekend. “I am just going to pretend this is my first day,” she said. “I am having such a better day.”

From all over the East

As the day progressed, I spoke with an instructor and his six-day group from London, ski patrollers Dave and Bruce whose main “injury” was an easily cured bloody nose, plus hosts and three coaches from Mount Mansfield Ski Club.

Micheline Lemay, junior program director, was thankful the resort was supporting the race team by providing training on T-Line. Dana Evan, Sunday coach, who asked me to say he’s looking for a full-time job, and Ben Blakely, head U-12 coach, said teams from all over the East were asking to come train as the word was getting out there was snow at Stowe.

The coaches all suggested snow sports enthusiasts wear our pajamas inside out and burn some skis to make the snow gods happy. Everyone felt fortunate to have what they had, but said, “Pray for snow!”

Back at Mansfield, I caught up with snowboard coach Mike Brainerd and athlete Jaxson Volansky, a 9-year-old who attends Stowe Elementary School and is on the Green Mountain Snowboard team. They said Saturday the snow was pretty wet and heavy, so they quit before the end of the day. Sunday was a bit harder and sugary, so they would be riding all day. Rails and hits on the lower part of the Forerunner Quad were keeping a bunch of park aficionados happy and busy.

I finished out my day on Spruce. I stood at the bottom of the carpet, watching neophyte skiers perfect their newly learned skills. A swath of man-made beckoned to the right at the top of the carpet.

As I turned to leave, a 5-year-old looked up at her instructor as they waited to board the Magic Carpet. “Let’s go skiing!” she said excitedly. And I left happy. And remembering why I skied.

“Thanks, Dad,” I said to myself for about the 10th time that day. It was a great end to a fun first day of skiing.