On Christmas break 1959, my parents signed me up for ski lessons at a Mom N’ Pop ski area north of Lake San Isabel called “Broden’s”. It consisted of a rope tow and about one half mile of a straight down hill slope. There I went all bundled up like Ralphie in the classic “A Christmas Story”. I had wooden skis, lace up boots, cable bindings and goggles that looked like something out of a sci/fi movie. We loaded up in a bus at the YMCA and headed on our adventure.
I don’t remember much about the instruction we got. Basically it was how to grasp the rope on the tow and let it jerk you into space. Right hand in the front, and left hand around your back holding the poles. There were so many crashes at the entry point it’s a wonder anybody actually skiied. I did make it to the top where I learned the famous “snow plow” (now called the wedge) as a method for getting down the hill. I guess I had fun because I came back again and again.
By 1962 we had graduated to the T-Bar at Cooper Hill (the training site of the famous Tenth Mountain Division) near Leadville. It actually took us up the mountain into the trees, and I had moved from the Snow Plow to parallel skiing—I was BAD!!! In 13 year—old language that meant good. In 1963 my dad bought stock in the Monarch Ski Area. About 30 families living in Pueblo did the same. The stock buy granted our entire family a life time ski pass at Monarch. Every Christmas vacation after that, these families would migrate to Salida where we stayed at the Circle R Motel and skiied every day though the New Year. I now realize just how privileged (blessed) I was.
I got to know every square acre of that entire area. I can still recall the sounds, smells, trees, rocks, and slopes that became our winter home. When my Dad died in 2000, one of his wishes was to have some of his ashes sprinkled on a run called “Sleepy Hallow”. On a very snowy day in 2001 the whole family put a part of Dad by a tree on the entry to that sacred space. I can still recall my mom being brought up there on a snowcat at age 80, in a blinding blizzard.
In 2014 I made what was my last ski run from the top to bottom of Mt. Steamboat. My 65 year—old knees could no longer take the stress of skiing. Twice I tried to get knee replacements, and each time the surgery was cancelled because of a microbe invasion in my body. I admitted to myself that it was time to retire the skis. So now I just ski in my memories.
I do swim and do water aerobics every week. One of our instructors has us do an exercise called skiing the moguls. I love it!!! In my mind as I am bouncing through the water I go to Breckenridge Ski Area and ski the Black down Peak 9. It’s blue sky day in my memory. The half mile from top to bottom takes me into my memory bank to the point I can almost smell the fir trees. I never fall…and my stop at the bottom is complete with me throwing up a nice cloud of loose snow.
Thanks Mom and Dad, for giving me the gift of skiing.
Onward and Upward,
Mark
Lyfting Me Up 