Think You’re a Tough Skier? Try it with Kids. - February 2019

It was definitely a proud papa moment. There they were, at 7 and 8 years old, on a pow day queued up alongside burly-bearded gnar-chasers and Tahoe-tough chicks at the base of Mott Canyon.

“Are you sure you guys want to ride the chair without me?” I asked. “It doesn’t slow down.” “Dad, I think we got this.” Michael said.

“Yeah, I didn’t even fall on the way down.” Jane added.

It’s true, we navigated down ‘Widow Maker’ and dropped into the first chute, ‘Snake Eyes’ with barely a wedge turn and only a few initial whimpers from Jane. And I guess they’re right, even though they were the only kids side-sliding into the narrow gauntlet of Mott chair, they’ve got it.

“Sweet,” The snowboarder with a fully encrusted ice beard nodded his approval as Jane and Michael sat down and whooshed away up the hill without the chair slowing down. “Good kids.”

And it’s moments like that, where I think I’m doing a service to humanity. But like most things, when it comes to parenting, this feeling is… oh so fleeting.

Not even an hour later, after a quick snack on the way down to Cal base, everything flipped on its head and I was thankful not to be surrounded by a crowd of powder-chasers for surely their tacit approval would vaporize: we were about as far from ‘sweet’ as we possibly could be.

High above ‘Gunbarrel,’ Michael had zipped ahead and Jane, whose poles I was carrying so that she could make fists in her gloves to generate warmth, lagged behind. Somehow, Michael ended up on skier’s left of the ridge heading toward ‘Round-A-Bout’ and Jane veered to the right onto ‘Hogsback.’ For a moment, both of my kids disappeared.

I definitely lost my cool. Tears were shed, lots of hiking ensued, but ultimately we managed to regroup on the ‘Face’ side of the ridge.

“Michael.” I spoke in my sternest voice. “Under no circumstance what-so-ever, are you to ever lose sight of me. Understand?”

He nodded.

“What is a tree well, Kid?” I asked through clenched teeth.

“Loose snow by a tree,” He mumbled.

“What happens if you go in one?”

“I could die.”

“That’s right,” I fumed. “I need to be able to see where you are at all times.”

“Jane.” I turned toward my daughter.

“Uhh… Yes, Daddy?”

 “Your hands are cold, I’m doing what I can for you and next time, we’ll make sure you have mittens and not gloves, but you can’t throw a fit and just sit down; you can’t. You are too big for me to carry down the hill anymore.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

“We’ll be at Round-A-Bout soon and then we can just cruise on down to the truck, but right now we need to tough it out and ski together. Agreed?”

They sheepishly nodded their heads and we skied down.  

All I can say is that, if you think you’re a gnarly skier or rider, try it with kids.

                About two weeks later, during a particularly potent storm cycle, Wifey and I brought the kids out in another blizzard. Jane had mittens this time and proper layers, but in our rush to meet our friends and their kids, we neglected to check that she had put her neck warmer under her helmet strap instead of over it. Wifey was ahead with three other kiddos and a friend and I was getting Jane and her small skis to Powderbowl chair. We stopped once to unfasten and re-adjust, then moved into the lift line.

                Jane was still being a bit fussy and dragging behind, but making forward progress with my encouragement and occasional pushing assists, when we got run into.

                “Hey Buddy, watch it,” I turned my head and said.

                “Then keep moving, A#!@%-le” was his response.

                This was definitely not what I was expecting from someone who had just run his board over my skis and nearly knocked my daughter over. With my fuse already short from managing Jane’s hysterics, I must admit I lost some of my normal diplomacy.  

                “Don’t you see I’m with my kid, back the F#$! off!” I think was my response and I certainly got in his face to deliver it.

                But then he actually hit me: right hand to left cheek. Well… to be honest it was more of an adorable little slap, but it certainly was physical contact with intent to harm.  

                I’m proud that I didn’t tackle him, because that was the first thought crossing my mind and with a board on his feet, he would have gone down pretty easy.

Instead, something clicked in my brain and I said, “Sweet. Thank you. You just lost your pass.” I turned away, saw that Jane had found Wifey who was drawing attention and getting people to help. I scanned the crowd, looking for any Heavenly jackets. “This guy just hit me, where is Ski Patrol?”

At this point, plenty of other witnesses kept distance between us and moderated with statements like, “It’s a powder day, take it easy.”           

With only lift ops at the base of the chair, I rode up hoping to find Mountain Safety or Ski Patrol at the top. Jane was crying next to us on the lift which made me reevaluate the whole interaction. What are my kids learning right now?

Unfortunately, there were no officials at the top either. I gave a description to the Lift Op, but the jerk was long gone.

This may have been for the best because the rest of the day was amazing. No more cold-kiddo-tantrums. Lots of tree skiing and mini-cliff hucking. We hung out under Powderbowl Chair and dropped any features we could find including the bigger one at the bottom. The kids, all four of them at 12, 10, 8, and 7, took turns throwing themselves again and again off the mini-cliff and being super stoked on their accomplishment.

And I’m proud that they’ll remember that pow day as the day they learned to huck cliffs and not the day that their Dad got into a fist fight in the lift line. 

I can feel my heartrate elevate and blood start to boil even now, days later, as I’m typing this.

Having children with you for adventures elevates and heightens each experience. The joys are so much more rich and fulfilling and the lows seem to tug at your soul.

I wouldn’t have had either of the lift line experiences, the Agro-idiot at Powderbowl or the glow of hard core approval at Mott, without my children there to trigger them.

I also wouldn’t have had the skiing highs and lows, kids learning to huck cliffs or kids learning to stay together in a blizzard, without my children.

It is this technicolor version of reality that we parents inhabit. Everything is more vivid, more beautiful, more painful, more stressful, more joyful, and just more in every sense of the word.

I wouldn’t change it for anything, although a friendlier atmosphere on pow days would be nice.