The Journey Home

Another ski season is about to go into the record books.  We have seen record snowfalls, great powder days, extended season end dates, and, sadly, injuries and deaths.  As we look back to our anticipation for the first snowflakes last Fall, our memorable experiences of skiing and riding started well before first sight of the mountain destination.  We have now lived the season; the good days, the not-as-good days, the “I can’t believe how awesome this is” days … solitary in our reverie, with family and friends.  As the days lengthen and the snow softens, we face leaving the mountains taking our memories and our emotions … “Some yesterdays always remain …” cue Sarah Brightman …

The journey home is never too long

Your heart arrives before the train

The journey home is never too long

Some yesterdays always remain …

As we journey home with our memories, we also express gratitude for them.  We give back.  Giving back to others is deeply embedded in our psyche and an active part of our mountain ethos.  Sometimes all it takes is someone or a group of skiers and riders gathering to have an impact.

The Idaho Foodbank reports that nearly nine percent of the state’s population, including more than 46,000 children, face food insecurity, some of them here nearby.  Nearly 7,000 Idaho seniors are at risk of not getting enough to eat, which leads to exacerbating health issues.  In 2022 The Idaho Foodbank provided 27.2 million pounds of food enough for 22.6 million meals, providing for about 184,000 people per month. It takes the combined efforts of farmers, food product manufacturers, distributors, community organizations, government, and citizens to make this happen.  The Idaho Foodbank managers say they can provide four meals for every dollar donated.

“We had a good friend named Larry Gebert.  He and Dan grew up together in Montana.  They were neighbors and attended kindergarten thru college together.  They were 6 weeks apart; Dan being the older one.  Larry died of a massive heart attack April 1, 2022.  He was amazing and was actively involved in over 40 charities in Idaho.  One of his favorites was The Idaho Foodbank.  So, Dan and I decided to give to the Foodbank in Larry’s name,” wrote Kathy Boespflug, a Tamarack local.  Kathy turned to a local snowboarder, homeowner, and realtor, Trisha Sears, to create and sponsor an “Ending Hunger Spring Challenge” event here at the Tamarack Resort.  Kathy and her husband Dan pledged to match donations to The Idaho Foodbank up to $25,000.

A group of skiers numbering about fifty convened on Friday evening, February 10, 2023, to take up the challenge.  What’s the best way to incentivize skiers and riders … food and wine, of course.

A builder family, Delain and Dana Kemper, who live here at Tamarack hosted the gathering in a recently completed home for sale (yes, all were careful about spilling wine or dropping food on the floor).  Holesinsky Vineyard and Winery, 2022 Idaho Winery of the Year, donated the wine.  Brian Auger, Ken Callan and Jeff Hemmes brought their Oonis to make pizza.  Salads and hors d'oeuvres were also donated.

How did we do?  We raised over $17,000 here at Tamarack, which Dan and Kathy matched.  But, we were not done.

Rex and Mary Beth Chandler, owners of the preeminent “Chandlers Steak House” in Boise, donated a special luncheon for 35 people on February 16^th to add to the match.  The luncheon was oversubscribed! 

With these events, Dan and Kathy Boespflug and their skiing and riding friends met the challenge and raised $65,500!  The impact of this donation to The Idaho Foodbank will continue to grow through a public match campaign for additional donations through the month of April.

Not too shabby!  Skiers and riders, thinking locally, drinking locally, giving locally.  What are you doing at your local ski area to give back locally?

Sometimes, the journey home is not quite in the same motif as our mountain days.

It had been a memorable trip to Snowbasin and Powder Mountain.  Snowbasin had held an obstacle race … you had to negotiate obstacles, each success leading to chugging some beer … sliding through a sewer tile on your back on your skis, climbing underneath through a picnic bench with your skis on, climbing over a concrete block wall on skis … you can imagine.  Shortest time wins; failure to consume the beer at each obstacle disqualifying.  At least this is what I can remember.  Of course, today no ski area would dare sponsor such an event.

Powder Mountain is appropriately named; great widely-spaced big-tree skiing.  Rich was off to my right as we wove our way through the trees.  Suddenly I heard a yell and Rich disappeared.  Big trees have big tree wells; Rich had apparently fallen into one.  “Come help me get out; I’m stuck.”  “Where are you, I can’t see you?”  “Over here.”  “I still can’t see you, wave your ski pole above your head.”  “I am.”  I couldn’t see anything.  “Raise it higher.”  “I can’t reach any higher; look harder.”  Finally, I saw some minor movement under one of the tree boughs, only about the last inch or so of a ski pole.  I went over to find Rich head down in an about six-foot tree well with one of his skis caught on a low branch.  Yes, I started laughing, which evoked severe consternation, “just help me get out of here.”  I took off my skis, climbed down on the side of the tree well and popped Rich’s hung-up binding.  Then I popped his other binding and retrieved both skis.  Now ski-free, Rich swung around head up and started swimming up the side of the tree well.  Another Rich skiing escapade; another successful rescue.

Ski fun over we headed south; Rich was driving his van and decided to stop and pick up the hitchhikers on the I15 on-ramp, two girls, a guy and a guitar.  They told us they were headed for LA; Rich said we were headed for Riverside and could take them to the I15-I10 intersection, the San Bernardino Freeway.  They climbed in and we were off.

About 3 pm we were approaching St. George, Utah.  Rich exclaimed, “we’re near Brian Head; I’ve never been there.  Maybe we can catch the last lift for at least one run.  Look at the map.  How far is Brian Head off I15?”  “13 miles,” I responded.  Rich said to the hitchhikes that we were taking a slight diversion but that we would soon be back headed towards Southern California.

We exited I15 at Parowan onto route 274 and then 143 headed up the canyon towards Brian Head.  It started snowing shortly after we exited I15.  Rich used to wear a British racing cap while driving.  With the snow coming down and the light flat, Rich put his yellow-lens ski goggles over his glasses.  With his British racing cap and ski goggles, he made quite a sight.  I am sure the hitchhikers were beginning to wonder about the advisability of getting into our van.  The road went from dry to wet to snow piling up in the middle to snow covered as we gained elevation.  While we carried chains, neither Rich nor I wanted to stop and put them on, and if we did there is no way we could make the last lift.  Rounding a bend we had to come to a stop; there was a road grader blocking the road.  Given the road conditions we would have to put chains on the van.  Rich said, “there’s no way we’re putting chains on.”  Whereupon, he, still wearing his ski googles and British racing cap, got out of the van and marched up to the side of the road grader.  Since Rich walks a bit like Popeye, his marching took on a decided flair.  Wider and wider got the hitchhiker eyes; had they inadvertently entered an alternative dimension with strange aliens?  The driver of the road grader opened the door and we all observed an animated conversation.  Imagine our surprise when the driver of the road grader descended, grabbed a tow chain and attached it to the tow hooks on the front of the van.  When Rich climbed back into the driver seat, I asked, “what did you say to him?”  “I told him it was his fault we had to stop; we could have made it all the way up but for him.  We did not have time to put chains on, and because he caused us to stop, he should pull us the rest of the way up onto the flat.  He agreed.”  The grader picked up the slack in the tow chain and up we went.  It was only about a quarter of a mile onto the high plateau.  Reaching the summit, Rich jumped out, disconnected the tow chain, and thanked the driver.

Looking at the clock, the likelihood of making the last lift was fleeting.  Nonetheless, Rich hit the gas and we shot off down the road, now surrounded by seven or more feet of snow on either side of the road.  I really do not know how fast Rich was going; I only know it was fast.  Off in the distance we could see a pickup heading towards us going just as fast.  It quickly became apparent that a collision was in our future, whereupon Rich stuck the nose of the van into the righthand snow bank.  Watching out the windshield, the pickup did the same thing.  Snow flew but velocities slowed and, in fact, we and the pickup came to an angled stop about two feet apart.  Rich rolled down his window, as did the driver of the pickup.  We exchanged rather pleasant greetings, each backed up slightly, gingerly passed each other, and both proceeded on our ways.  The hitchhiker eyes were by now at maximum aperture; they knew they had unknowingly jumped in with a couple crazies.  Not crazies, just skiers.

Rich and I ran to the bottom of the lift and asked if we had time for one run.  The old guy running the lift said, “sorry, but it’s 4:30 and I have to shut down.”  Foiled after all that; major bummer.

The rest of the drive to I10 was uneventful.  As we let the hitchhikers out of the van, I am sure they were ecstatic that they had survived their trip into the skier dimension and that some semblance of reality had returned.  I am further confident that their descriptions of the ride with Rich and me to their friends took on an other-worldly quality.

The four of us signed up with a tour organizer for a week-long trip to Aspen; a United Airlines charter to Grand Junction followed by a bus to Aspen.  During our week in Aspen we enjoyed a lot of great skiing, comradery, and the Cloud Nine Bistro at Aspen Highlands.  Unfortunately, our week at its end, we are headed back to Los Angeles.  In Grand Junction we boarded the United DC-8; United had by then retired the DC-8s from regular service and used them only on charter flights.  Ellen and I were seated near the entrance door and watched as the flight attendant and then the flight engineer struggled to close the door.  After a few minutes a ground crew member appeared with a roll of duct tape, which he applied across the bottom of the door opening.  The door closed and locked; our hearts ramped up rapidly.  What the hell?  We’re going to fly on a plane held together with duct tape?  Is this an FAA approved technique?

The flight engineer started his announcements about the flight by telling everyone that when we approached the end of the runway, he would make an announcement that everyone was to raise their feet from the floor.  He continued that the floor under each seat would open and bicycle pedals would appear, whereupon we were all to start peddling if we expected to get off the ground.  Getting to the subject of the door, he said we had nothing to worry about, that duct tape they had used was “FAA approved duct tape.”  Of course, he said nothing about the procedure!  I kept my eye on that door all the way to LAX.  The flight engineer could not leave it alone, and approaching LAX he informed us that upon touching down the floor would again open to expose brake pedals for each of us to use.  Cheated death again, thankfully.

We are reminded that skiing, riding and mountain living are community life, family, friends, and everyone surrounding and supporting our experiences.  Everyone is part of this shared lifestyle; everyone gives and gives back.  Rich had me to pull him out of a tree well.  Last week others watched a skier go into a tree well and disappear completely.  Doffing their skis and boards, they sprang into action and dug the skier out; no waiting for Ski Patrol, direct action.  Who knows what might have happened without that immediate response?  We know with certainty that random strangers had new friends at the end the day.  Grateful libation ensued.

Tamarack closed on Saturday; Sunday the upper mountain was open for staff, employees and volunteers, only.  A few last runs and we are headed home.

We made it home, now what?  Some of our ski instructor friends are golf pros in the summer, others rafting and mountain biking guides.  We follow our own interests and pursuits … to the golf course, summer travel, living outside … the choices are ours.

Our thoughts drift back to the mountains … the days in and on the snow, surrounded by the sentinels of winter.  The emotions these thoughts evoke … we cherish and preserve.  Let our mountain selves flourish away from the mountains.  Besides, the summer sun and warmth notwithstanding, it’s only six or seven months to the first snowfall of a new season …