News
ENLARGE
Back in the 1980s, I worked for a time at Angel Fire ski resort in New Mexico. During the day, I taught skiing. At night I waited tables in a restaurant at the base of the mountain. One of the youngsters working there was the son of the general manager. He was in his teens, and I wasn't that much older.
Originally from Arkansas, Michael was thrilled to be living in the Rockies. I appreciated his enthusiasm for mountain life and skied with him whenever I could, passing on tips on technique and encouraging his passion for skiing. He was eager to try the challenging slopes of nearby Taos, so when we both had a weekday off, we drove over the pass and tested ourselves on the steep walls of the West Basin.
A few weeks later, I headed out of town for a road trip to Wolf Creek and Telluride. When I returned to start a Friday night shift at the restaurant, I found my co-workers strangely silent as they filled ketchup bottles and folded napkins. Soon enough I found out why. Michael had died in a skiing accident at Angel Fire, colliding with a tree at high speed. Alcohol was involved.
His dad asked me to be a pallbearer at the funeral, something I wasn't quite ready for in my early 20s. The only thing heavier than the casket was my heart. I somehow felt partly responsible and couldn't shake the feeling that I had missed giving Michael some crucial information during our informal ski sessions. A few months later I pinpointed my misgivings. For all the technical information I shared with him, we never talked in a general way about ski safety, and we never got to the core of the issue: personal responsibility.
Ski safety wasn't the hot topic it is now. I don't know that I was aware of the skier safety code. I don't know that it existed at the time. The slopes weren't quite as crowded as they are now, and hardly anyone wore a helmet.
I don't think the media was quite as sensationalistic yet, at least not like today, with swarms of journalists eager to cover each skier death — especially if it's a celebrity. Most of them don't know much about skiing, and it seems like that ignorance causes many of the accidents to be hyped way out of proportion. I don't remember my ski school supervisors talking much about skier safety, but I resolved to include that topic in every lesson from then on, using my own personal experience as a starting point.
The past few years, I've been teaching my son to ski. He's just a couple years away from his teens. When the snow is good, he skis comfortably down Waterfall and Gauthier. Often as not, we're somewhere in the trees, hunting for soft snow.
With the technical skills in place, I've been relentless in trying to make him understand what it means to be a safe skier. We always stop at the edge of a trail, never in the middle. I've taught him to look uphill before starting out. He knows that the skiers in front of him have the right of way, that it's his responsibility to avoid other skiers and obstacles of all kinds. He knows to respect closures and that he should only jump when he can see a clear, safe landing or, better yet, with a spotter.
So far, so good, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed. When he's with me, at least, he follows the code, and I'm hoping that by the time he's skiing mostly on his own or with his buddies, it will be ingrained and automatic for him.
In our culture of instant gratification, when we're told that the latest gear makes it easier than ever to ski, it seems even more important to concentrate on fundamentals and personal responsibility. Sadly, there are often way too many skiers and snowboarders on our local slopes going way too fast for their skills and conditions. This may sound judgmental, but it's fairly obvious to a trained eye.
So, my plea for the season: It's up to each and every one of us to live up to the common sense rules of the mountain. Don't look to cast blame for accidents when they happen. It's not the mountain's fault. It's not the snowmaking or the grooming … it's all you.
Bob Berwyn has been reporting from Summit County since 1996 and has been a skier for nearly a half century.
Originally from Arkansas, Michael was thrilled to be living in the Rockies. I appreciated his enthusiasm for mountain life and skied with him whenever I could, passing on tips on technique and encouraging his passion for skiing. He was eager to try the challenging slopes of nearby Taos, so when we both had a weekday off, we drove over the pass and tested ourselves on the steep walls of the West Basin.
A few weeks later, I headed out of town for a road trip to Wolf Creek and Telluride. When I returned to start a Friday night shift at the restaurant, I found my co-workers strangely silent as they filled ketchup bottles and folded napkins. Soon enough I found out why. Michael had died in a skiing accident at Angel Fire, colliding with a tree at high speed. Alcohol was involved.
His dad asked me to be a pallbearer at the funeral, something I wasn't quite ready for in my early 20s. The only thing heavier than the casket was my heart. I somehow felt partly responsible and couldn't shake the feeling that I had missed giving Michael some crucial information during our informal ski sessions. A few months later I pinpointed my misgivings. For all the technical information I shared with him, we never talked in a general way about ski safety, and we never got to the core of the issue: personal responsibility.
Ski safety wasn't the hot topic it is now. I don't know that I was aware of the skier safety code. I don't know that it existed at the time. The slopes weren't quite as crowded as they are now, and hardly anyone wore a helmet.
I don't think the media was quite as sensationalistic yet, at least not like today, with swarms of journalists eager to cover each skier death — especially if it's a celebrity. Most of them don't know much about skiing, and it seems like that ignorance causes many of the accidents to be hyped way out of proportion. I don't remember my ski school supervisors talking much about skier safety, but I resolved to include that topic in every lesson from then on, using my own personal experience as a starting point.
The past few years, I've been teaching my son to ski. He's just a couple years away from his teens. When the snow is good, he skis comfortably down Waterfall and Gauthier. Often as not, we're somewhere in the trees, hunting for soft snow.
With the technical skills in place, I've been relentless in trying to make him understand what it means to be a safe skier. We always stop at the edge of a trail, never in the middle. I've taught him to look uphill before starting out. He knows that the skiers in front of him have the right of way, that it's his responsibility to avoid other skiers and obstacles of all kinds. He knows to respect closures and that he should only jump when he can see a clear, safe landing or, better yet, with a spotter.
So far, so good, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed. When he's with me, at least, he follows the code, and I'm hoping that by the time he's skiing mostly on his own or with his buddies, it will be ingrained and automatic for him.
In our culture of instant gratification, when we're told that the latest gear makes it easier than ever to ski, it seems even more important to concentrate on fundamentals and personal responsibility. Sadly, there are often way too many skiers and snowboarders on our local slopes going way too fast for their skills and conditions. This may sound judgmental, but it's fairly obvious to a trained eye.
So, my plea for the season: It's up to each and every one of us to live up to the common sense rules of the mountain. Don't look to cast blame for accidents when they happen. It's not the mountain's fault. It's not the snowmaking or the grooming … it's all you.
Bob Berwyn has been reporting from Summit County since 1996 and has been a skier for nearly a half century.
