Your personal top ten ski moments
Column by Heather Burke Dec. 9, 2007
- Surely you have seen the guy in liftline checking his wristband
altimeter; making sure he’s on track with his vertical. The sport of
skiing is oft measured in stats and extremes.
Right here in Maine we boast the longest steepest widest White Heat at
Sunday River, and New England’s only above tree line skiing at the Loaf.
Saddleback has the highest base elevation and Shawnee Peak offers the
most night skiing in New England.
Resorts
brag about things like uphill capacity. I am not sure anyone really
cares how many people are on every chair of every lift, every hour, or
how many vertical feet Joe-skier covered. Terrain park performers
measure their tricks with geometrical abbreviations, 720 and 1080 (okay
– 1080 is impressive and worth noting three revolutions in mid-air).
I propose we quantify our ski days with more emotion, less equations.
I’m not taking any height away from today’s riders who launch into the
air like the Flying Zucchini brothers on The Muppet Show (remember
them?). I just think we need a more grounded view of skiing; a great ski
day can be captured in mountain moments, not downhill data or air time.
I think we should make our own “best” list before the memories are
Gonzo.
A worst list could be amusing too as long as no one gets hurt, the humor
stops at the broken humerus. When talk turns to the ACL, it is ANF-
absolutely not funny. Back to the best list, you should write down your
mountain memories before they melt away like the season’s snow. You can
even compare your compilation with your ski pals during long ski
commutes (like a Letterman’s top ten). Or you can keep your list for
posterity, to pull out on some steamy snow-less summer day to wax about
winters ahead
Here are a few of my alpine highlights:
1. I remember the first brand new pair of skis (after plenty of
hand-me-downs and “pre-owned”) I bought with my own money. They were
emerald green Rossignol FP’s and I carried them over my shoulder to the
ski school line-up like a Super Bowl trophy.
2. On a sadder note, I remember when my grandfather passed away, on
Christmas. My mother was heartbroken; still she mustered the motherly
courage to honor our family tradition of making first tracks on
Christmas morn. Our goggles were admittedly fogged (from inside
precipitation this time), but we shared a batch of sentimental ski runs
dedicated to my grandfather, who was obviously an avid skier.
3. I remember the evening my husband brought home little skis and boots
for our son to try on before his big ski debut the next day. He was
23-months-old (technically one), we were overzealous, but I can still
picture his big smile as he clomped around the carpeted basement. The
next day on the bunny hill was short but very sweet.
4. I still perspire when I think about my first (and only) heli-ski
trip. Surrounded by snow capped 11,000-footers, stranded with a bunch of
strangers on skis in the middle of British Columbia with no way out –
only down, my knees were knocking. The subsequent bouncing from turn to
bottomless turn in billowy powder made me grin from ear to ear. Fall
line fear was replaced by elation at elevation.
5. I remember letting our 5-year-old daughter pick the trail on a family
trip to The Canyons. She disregarded the cautionary signs and my husband
pointing out the trail name “Thrasher.” She was determined. The only
thing tougher than the monstrous moguls was our daughter’s courage as
she made her way down that heinous hill without a whimper.
6. Meeting Warren Miller was a “pinch me” moment. Maybe it was the
age-affirming revelation that my dad’s idol had become mine. Or it could
have been hearing in person his film-famous voice that had entertained
me through countless ski flicks. Warren is the real deal, and he credits
his success to doing whatever it takes for a lift ticket.
7.
I treasure the time my husband and I were snowed-in at Stowe. What luck.
The snow was coming down at a foot an hour, skiers couldn’t brave the
icy roads to go home, and new arrivals couldn’t – so we were forced to
ski their tracks and stay in their place. I can’t think of a more
charming town in which to be trapped.
8. My husband’s return to skiing after a horrendous knee injury is
forever etched in my ski brain. All the therapy that he endured (and so
many skiers like him) to regain his mobility and ski strength is a
testament to the deep love of the sport.
9. I am humorously haunted by a vision of a vertical yard sale on a
sunny spring ski day. I was skiing in shorts (bad idea), bashing the
bumps on the showcase liftline trail (bad idea #2) when I exploded like
popcorn in a microwave – poles, sunglasses, skis, headband (bad idea #3)
scattered. Months after the cheers and jeers from the lift riders above
subsided, I sported a huge thigh bruise as my scarlet letter.
I leave the top ten spot for this season. You should compose your own
list of legendary lines. It’s a mind-game to remind us why we shell out
stacks of Benjamin’s and haul snowbank-size piles of gear every weekend
on slick road - all for those personal powder-induced epiphanies.
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Sun n'Sea Travel
All Stories by Heather Burke
All Photography by Greg Burke
