The Greatest Ski Area In the West -- 43
44 -- THE GREATEST SKI INSTRUCTOR IN THE WEST
The Greatest Skier In the West -- 45
The
Greatest Skier
In the West
Two of the three who desired great skiing--Prentice the Thinker and Ira the Watcher--had been waiting for hours at the bottom of Mount Babylon keeping a look-out for the greatest skier in the west to come by while Sheridan the Doer did his best to see if he could not bump into the great one somewhere up on the slopes.
"Surely," said Prentice, "if Sheridan cannot locate him, even the greatest skier in the west must reach the bottom of the runs sometime and rejoin the lift line."
"And," added Ira, "surely we shall recognize him skiing down after seeing him in so many Eddy Mulligan ski movies." The two kept waiting diligently; if you wish to learn something difficult, they figured, you might as well learn it from the master, . . . only--
"There!" shouted Ira. "I believe I see the greatest skier in the west coming down the most difficult run, Widow-Maker! Yes, it is unmistakably the turns of the great one," he pointed, glancing over at Prentice, "as one can tell in his fresh tracks where no man has skied recently."
"And what is that coming down behind him in er-ratic form?" asked Prentice, "with not S-turns . . . but Z-turns that resemble the hand-writing of an arthritic third-grader?"
46 -- THE GREATEST SKI INSTRUCTOR IN THE WEST
"I believe that is our old friend Sheridan," Ira laughed. "He may be more gutsy than us two, but it does look as though he could use as many ski lessons.
Oh, no! Look! A tumble!--but what a recovery!--No!
he' tumbling again! On the steepest slope, I do believe our Sheridan may beat the great on to the bottom! As our friend Angus would say, Sheridan skis like a Stephen Crane short story, with alternating hope and despair."
When the two finally reached the bottom, Sheridan was so out of control, he forced the greatest skier in the west to turn and stop so abruptly that he accidentally sprayed Prentice and Ira with so much snow and slush they almost fell off their bench. "Sorry, he apologized,
"your friend there is so over-zealous that perhaps even I should not dare ski ahead of him."
"So you are Ahmed, the greatest skier in the west,"
said Prentice as he took his goggles off to wipe off the snow caked on from the heavy spray.
"Yes," answered Ahmed, "I have been called that, and no man disputes it. And you two, according to your daredevil friend Sheridan, are Prentice and Ira.
Now, what can I do for you? --Are you film-makers?
photographers?"
"Uh, me and the boys," Sheridan opened up, "were hoping that you, acclaimed by all to be the greatest skier in the west, might bestow upon us the secrets of great skiing. --How is it that you are able to ski so fast on the flat? . . . and so slow on the steep? where the rest of us lose control."
"Yes," chimed Ira, "we have been watching you ski for the past few seasons now in the ski films and the glossy magazines, and we have often wished it could be ourselves someday in those pictures."
The Greatest Skier In the West -- 47
Unable to explain that . . . one has be quick to be slow . . . and one has to be early to be quick, "Well,"
answered Ahmed, giving the same over-simplified answer all great skiers have been giving for decades: "you just gotta get out and do it--ski, ski, ski! And, you know, I don't have to ski free anymore, so my time is quite valuable. And, anyway, I have this philosophy about great skiing: those who can . . . do; and those who can't . . . teach. Anyway, we are doing some shooting for the new ski film tomorrow--this year Eddy Mulligan wants to do a different twist on it: he wants to make the film sort of instructional, describing what we experts do to make it look so easy, and he might not mind having a couple of student-types tag-ging along."
That next morning, the three students, Prentice, Ira, and Sheridan, stood in the lift maze hastily awaiting the first chair ride of the day. Prentice had the honor and privilege of riding up the chair with Ahmed, the greatest skier in the west:
"So you ski mainly at Ski Area Del Rey, huh? Did you ever know a guy that used to teach there named Angus?" Prentice asked.
"Ah, yes," Ahmed smiled, "Old Silver-Tip, we call him."
"Yeah," Prentice smiled, "he's got that tuft of grey hair right up front there on his forehead, like he's getting old or something."
"Ha! Is that how you think he got the name Old Silver-Tip?" Ahmed asked. "Let me tell you: he had that name long before that tuft of grey hair came in the last few seasons. The girls gave him the name Old Silver-Tip for a different reason--that sly devil. they all
48 -- THE GREATEST SKI INSTRUCTOR IN THE WEST
liked his boyish charm, but he was often too eager for some of them. And then I think they started getting to be too much for him--or he finally fell in love or something. Where is my friend Angus this winter?"
"Oh, he decided to stay back at the ranch we were working at together. Said he couldn't afford teaching skiing this winter."
"That is too bad. He is a great teacher, from what I hear and see in his students. --I must admit I have never taken a formal lesson from him; but then again, I started skiing at age 4, whereas Angus I understand did not strap them on until age 18! But I do know this: for a ski instructor, Angus has the greatest rhythm--I even asked him to be my powder-eights partner once several years ago, before the Extreme Skiing craze took off, . . . but he decided," Ahmed shrugged, ". . . his teaching schedule and obligations to his students would not allow it."
Meanwhile, Ira and Sheridan got split up when Sheridan answered a cry from a little blonde ski-bunny--"Single!"
"Have you been skiing long?" Sheridan broke the ice with her.
"Oh, about five years--I had my first ski trip for my 18th-birthday present. What about you?" she asked.
"This is about only my second season," said Sheridan. "Do you always come to Mount Babylon?"
"This is our first time back here in a long time. We usually went to Ski Area Del Rey, because that's where our favorite ski instructor worked the past several years. We tried to book him this year, but they told us he is no longer teaching there since last spring, so we thought we'd try some place different. This teacher I got this year--he's good looking and everything, but I
The Greatest Skier In the West -- 49
don't think he's a very good teacher. He scares me sometimes, even on runs not even as steep as the one Angus used to take me down."
Sheridan almost fell out of the chair-lift. "Did you say Angus?"
"Yeah, Angus, also known as Old Silver-Tip--and I heard a couple of different stories about how he got that name."
"I worked with him on a ranch east of the mountains all summer and part of the fall. He regrets not being on the slopes with his students this winter, but he claims he is not able to make it financially in the expensive ski-town on a non-certified ski instructor's wages."
"He's not certified?! He sure teaches like he is, . . .
although he does have a different way of saying things--he has a way of sort of tricking you into doing the right things. I was the worst, but he always sure got me skiing better. And my Mom and Dad sure got a kick out of him. We were sooo disappointed when we couldn't book our lessons with him this winter." The ski bunny stopped and pondered for a moment, and then decided, "That's silly that Angus says he can't afford financially to be at the best ski area--where on earth else does the best ski teacher belong?!"
The chair arrived at the top, and the little blonde ski-bunny went her separate way, where her parents waited for her, while Sheridan regrouped with Prentice and Ira and the great Ahmed and the rest involved with the filming.
The film group traversed over to a steep area called Brimstone Bowl, known for its vast expanse of wide-open powder and fiery skier crashes. They were almost to the catwalk over-looking the bowl when Eddy
50 -- THE GREATEST SKI INSTRUCTOR IN THE WEST
Mulligan shone a funny look on his face: "What's that funny smell?" he pointed out, and the greatest skier in the west wondered the same thing, tilting his head and looking back in his mind. When they reached their vantage point over-looking the wide-open bowl, Ahmed found his answer:
"Steep-herders!" he pointed with his ski pole in disgust, "as my friend Old Silver-Tip once called them. A couple of dozen of them here. Look at them chewing up the powder with all those wide Z-turn traverses!
Angus says this is what happens when unseasoned instructors herd their class too steep too soon, for lack of knowing what other fun and challenging tasks to teach on the easier runs."
"Yeah," the film-maker saw, "must be three or four ski-school classes, and not one of those students can ski this proper. Oh, well, they're all bunched up on this side of the bowl where it is not as steep, and I doubt any of them can stray all with way to the far side on two skis. We'll go over there, and maybe we can find just enough untracked to get what we need for now."
"All right," agreed Ahmed. "But I will have a talk with Alberto, the head of this Mount Babylon Ski School, at lunch--he and I are old friends, since he used to be the greatest skier in the west before turning over the honor to me when he broke his femur that one year. I think I can persuade him to keep them off our range. Hey, maybe we can get him to string up some barb-wire, as my old friend Angus used to joke, to keep skiers in their right range."
"Say," one of the others commented, "wasn't your own father the greatest skier in the west before Alberto?"
"Yes," Ahmed nodded. And then someone else
The Greatest Skier In the West -- 51
whispered, "He kept the honor right up until the time when he was killed on Dead Man's Carve, along with on other glad-he-skied-here, in the Broncy Mountain Downhill. I remember his funeral and the three Centurion instructors making seven turns each in their twenty-one-turn salute."
The three innocents who desired skiing thrashed hard all morning trying to keep up with Ahmed, the current greatest skier in the west; if it weren't for Eddy Mulligan, the greatest ski-film producer in the west, finding easier routes for the camera crew and calling all the shots and stopping everyone to move and set-up every few turns, the three would have been ditched long ago. And their thrashing went fairly unnoticed, as the camera was not focused on them, and their teacher was not focused on them--he was focused on the camera focused back at him. . . . Nonetheless, the three were still ecstatic at lunch about the fact that they were indeed skiing with the great one. And, in the devil-may-care holiday atmosphere, they claimed they were learning:
"Did you see that air I caught on that one jump?!"
Sheridan shouted at a whisper. "I never would have tried that on my own."
"Yeah," agreed Ira, "I saw you. But I didn't catch as much air as you."
"I'm more interested in the turns he makes after landing," Prentice revealed. "And, Sheridan, you'd better tone it down a bit," he scolded, "or you're gonna hit a tree or something."
"Oh, never mind, it's just so much fun I can't help it.
I gotta ski, ski, ski!"
Meanwhile, the greatest skier in the west, Ahmed,
52 -- THE GREATEST SKI INSTRUCTOR IN THE WEST
walked up the marble steps into the ski-school office of the former greatest skier. "Greetings, Alberto, it is your friend Ahmed."
"Come in, come in," he said, grabbing his hand. "It is so good to see you visiting from your Ski Area Del Rey, the greatest ski area in the west. Sit, please. And what can I do for you?"
Ahmed took a deep breath and then let it out: "It is your stupid steep-herders, Alberto. They are so many in number, we are having trouble finding virgin powder sufficient enough for the filming with Eddy Mulligan."
"Oh, I see, and please accept my apologies but I shall see what I can do," Alberto scratched his head.
"But I just do not know how to make them better skiers without taking them on steeper and deeper slopes."
"Yes, I understand, as I have the same dilemma when I give my extreme-skiing clinics, but it is just for a short while longer that we need them out of the way for the filming."
"Yes, we shall work around it--do not worry. I do hate the idea of being even associated with steep-herding, but I do not know how to get around it in this ski-school business--I do think it was so much easier when all guys like you and me had to do was go around winning gold medals. But our range is getting crowded; and it seems we are going to have to learn to coexist with one another, we great skiers with the steep-herders. Why, sometimes I think this teaching business is nothing but headaches, but who else is going to run the show, at these great ski areas in the west? --After all, how would we keep the chair-lifts running without the support of the common people?"
"Yes," Ahmed sympathized. ". . . I understand the
The Greatest Skier In the West -- 53
Roamin' Ski School had the gall to tell you, when you first accepted this position, that you must take their ski-instructor exam, you! once the greatest skier in the west!"
"Yesss! Can you imagine my surprise?! But do not laugh, for they will be approaching you soon too, as you are now beginning to give extreme-skiing clinics yourself, and you too may soon be appointed as a ski-school emperor at Ski Area Del Rey when my uncle Alberto Also retires from his position there. But they do always give the greatest skier an honorary gold-certification."
It was late afternoon when Eddy Mulligan, the greatest ski-movie maker, scratched his head and said,
"Well, boys, we got a lot of great footage today, but there's still something missing." He stopped to think some more. If we could just get one more shot maybe of a couple of guys hopping off those boulders just below Prostitution Peak--I think that would do it for today's filming. And how 'bout some new faces?"
Sheridan nudged Prentice and Ira. "No, we are much too tired," said Prentice; "and I believe we are too inexperienced for such an assignment," said Ira.
"I assure you the focus will be on the flight through the air, so it won't matter if the skiing is sloppy or you crash," Eddy Mulligan coaxed.
A couple of strange faces slid forward, and one an-nounced, "We'll do it. Prostitution Peak is one of our most favorite runs."
"How 'bout one more?" Mulligan pleaded, scanning the few remaining skiers.
". . . I'll go!" volunteered Sheridan the doer, his adrenalin already rushing.
54 -- THE GREATEST SKI INSTRUCTOR IN THE WEST
"Hey!" the great Ahmed patted him on the back.
"With a little bit of film editing, I'll bet Eddy Mulligan can make it hard to tell apart us two."
"No, no," pleaded Prentice, as the group started in the snow-cat toward Prostitution Peak just behind Mount Babylon.
"Well, we might as well go watch," shrugged Ira.
"We don't have to ski like our wild friend to watch--do we? How dangerous can it be? After all, if we do not tag along with the great one, how will we ever learn all we can?"
The Greatest Skier In the West -- 55
56 -- THE GREATEST SKI INSTRUCTOR IN THE WEST
The Greatest Ski Teacher In the West -- 57
The
Greatest Ski Teacher
In the West
Angus had just finished feeding the horses a couple of fresh bales of hay when he went into the Y2 Ranch main house to have breakfast with the ranch boss and his wife, Kent and Elisha. In the winter-time, with most of the cattle gone and no hay to put up, just feeding the horses was the main chore, and so this gave the skeleton ranch crew ample time to read the newspaper most mornings and have a couple of extra cups of coffee. However, being such a hard worker, and loving skiing so much, Angus would often hike up Mount Sparta with his skis to see how many turns he could make and how much snow he could pack for summer irrigation and watering of the stock, for the ranch country out on this open prairie below ski-level can get real dry and dusty in the summer and fall months after the snow-melt.
Mount Sparta rose high above the western prairie and stood out by itself and a hundred miles around. It was a fierce mountain peak, too fierce to put a commercial ski area on for the general public to enjoy, with higher-than-average winds and lower-than-average snowfall compared to the established resort areas--and it was steeper than most and full of rocks that were not at-all manicured or covered. Nevertheless, Angus
58 -- THE GREATEST SKI INSTRUCTOR IN THE WEST
would hike up this formidable peak three or four times a week, about every other day to make this task easier and more enjoyable--this gave him time to think, and he would rest and write the other days, as well as invest more time with the horses. (This moderate schedule, in his mind, was good for the body, good for the spirit, for humans or horses, and he did not understand why more walks of life couldn't see this.) Resur-rection Ridge was his most likely line of ascension, exposed enough to be barren of snow and not too steep--
often he would enlist the help of "heins-tech" lift service in the stout ranch gelding called Apollo G, riding him slow but sure to the top of the run, then turning him loose to find his own way back down to the ranch.
Being the only ski-boy for miles around, he always got first tracks, even weeks after a storm, although the snow was sometimes tricky from being wind-blown. It was always a long gradual climb to get to the top, but the trip down was equally fast and furious, although Angus tended to slow it down and savor it more than others of similar ability. "I am not a ski racer," he would often comment to other skiers, "nor am I technically an extreme skier; I have been called nothing more than a common ski-boy, and it is my job to go up on the winter range to pack snow for summer irrigation and watering of the stock." --This did not make a lost of sense to the many skiers at the major commercial resorts far from the dry conditions of the high prairie farther to the east; and her, on this vast prairie with only Mount Sparta to supply the water for many miles around and especially farther to the east, he felt more important and more needed than he had ever felt working for any great ski school.
As Angus sipped the last of his coffee and pon-
The Greatest Ski Teacher In the West -- 59
dered which descent to take after the long hike up, Elisha gasped and dropped her spoon at the other end of the table. "Oh, no!" she cried, "it says here in the newspaper . . . that a young man was killed . . . in an extreme-skiing accident at Mount Babylon--and that his name was Ira. . . . It says here 'the young skier was one of three friends from the ranch country below Mount Sparta taking part in a clinic put on by the great Ahmed, whom many call the greatest skier in the west, when he failed to negotiate precise ski-turns among steep rocky cliff bands.'"
"Nooo," Angus grieved, "the most innocent one of the three. I knew I should have warned them what could happen if we let our desires for the future over-ride our abilities of the present! Perhaps it was my own complacency that killed our Ira."
"It's not your fault," Elisha consoled, and then there was silence for a good fifteen minutes. . . .
. . . And, when it seemed safe enough to speak again after that time, Elisha spoke: "Were you ever la-beled 'an extreme skier,' Angus?"
"No, not really."
"I find that hard to believe," she disputed; "I've heard tell from some of your peers and some of your students that you are quite some skier. And it has become apparent to Kent and me how quickly you take to riding different horses and training them as individuals. It is as though you are trading your ski-teaching know-how . . . for horse-training know-how."
"Oh, I could ski as well as many of them much of the time, . . . but I did not often put myself in the do-or-die situation extreme skiers put themselves in--although a stampeding herd of first-day beginners can be just as scary as the most devastating avalanche,
60 -- THE GREATEST SKI INSTRUCTOR IN THE WEST
even more unpredictable. There have been times, in recent years, when I did not ski up to my full potential while clinicking with some colleagues, much to their dismay: as they would try to complicate ski technique, my intention was to write down for others, as simple and entertaining as possible, . . . what I had learned so far, to give something back, not to perfect my own skiing to the point of neglecting my duties for others; after staying up lat until early dawn writing, I did not always fret myself to carve every turn as they com-manded--the Centurion instructors did not relish my unbending fixity of purpose to write and teach more than to ski. --And it was not as though the greatest ski area did not already have enough skiers packing snow.
. . . Anyway, I would generally make the same type of turns as the extreme skiers, but I usually had no big rocky cliffs lurking below when I fell--maybe a few days a year, but not daily like the crazy or wild ones. --
And, although it takes me awhile sometimes to dig myself out, most of my falls are usually in deep soft snow. --After all is there not enough snow to pack all over . . . without us risking our lives?"
"Why do the others do it then, Angus?" Elisha begged. "Why do they risk their lives skiing daily among the rocky cliffs where there is much less margin for error?--living out the 'Last Skier's Waltz.'"
"A big Ego, I guess, . . . and the need to be loved,"
answered Angus. "Usually it's the movie cameras present that get them going: the young skier dreams of stardom and the money they'll receive if only they can carve the fastest turns or ski off the biggest cliff. the movies promote this western mentality, as do the glossy magazines which show dozens of skier each issue catching big air. . . . Do not get me wrong: I have
The Greatest Ski Teacher In the West -- 61
nothing against the fastest or the steepest skier--if that is one's dharma, then so be it; it is only that the media