Tag Archives: Mammoth mountain

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THERE’S ALWAYS AN UPSIDE

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Here I am, once again in the middle of summer in Scottsdale where the average temperature rivals the inside of my oven.  It’s actually been okay this year, partly because I’ve had a lot of projects to keep me busy and partly because I ran into a person with a shitty attitude at the gym.  Nothing makes me more irritated than people who endlessly whine and complain.  So when I met up with a woman who went on and on…and on…about how hot the weather was I looked her in the eye and said, “It’s all in your attitude”.  I have been thinking about attitude and approach these past couple of weeks.  On our visit to Mammoth lakes we re-visited the Mammoth Museum where I reflected on the tributes to Jill Kinmont.  It was Jill – or at least a book about her – that first taught me about a positive approach to life.

       Jill Kinmont SI Cover

Jill Kinmont was an accomplished ski racer from Bishop, California in the early 1950’s.  She skied on the Mammoth Mountain team, coached by Dave McCoy (see my previous post about him).  To say that Jill was a sensation is an understatement.  She was one of the brightest American prospects for the 1956 Olympic team.  In addition, she was the very embodiment of mid-century good looks – blonde hair, blue eyes and a perky personality.  In January, 1955 she was featured on the cover of Sports Illustrated, and tragically was one of the worst examples of the “SI curse”.  The same week that her cover was published she fell on a run during the Snow Cup in Alta, Utah and broke her neck.  She was paralyzed from the neck down and the doctors told her family that she would only live another five years. At 18, her life as she knew it was over. But friends like fellow ski racer Andrea Mead Lawrence and Dave McCoy urged her not to accept that prognosis.  Jill, being a natural competitor, was determined to make a life for herself.  She insisted that she was going to walk – and ski – again.  She was never able to accomplish those goals but the remainder of her life was lived in a way that is a lesson to us all.

Despite being confined to a wheelchair, she had the use of neck and shoulder muscles and learned to write, type and paint with the aid of a hand brace.   She applied to UCLA and graduated with a degree in German and English.  But when she applied to the university’s school of education she was rejected because of her disability. Undaunted, she moved north with her parents, earned a teaching certificate at the University of Washington and taught remedial reading in elementary schools on Mercer Island.

            Jill Teaching

When she and her mother returned to Los Angeles after her father died in 1967,  one Southern California school district after another refused to hire her.  Finally, the Beverly Hills District employed her as a remedial reading teacher where she taught for several years.  She spent her summers back in Bishop teaching children at the Paiute Indian reservation.  In 1975 she and her mother moved back to Bishop where she was hired and spent the next 21 years with special needs kids at Bishop Union Elementary School. When a new high school opened in Bishop, the students voted to name it the Jill Kinmont Boothe School. She oversaw the Indian Education Fund, which provides scholarships to local Native American youth, and had a local following as a painter.  The proceeds from her art sales were donated to the scholarship fund.

As if her physical injuries weren’t enough Jill also had to endure losses in her romantic life.  At the time of her injury she was dating the skiing phenom Buddy Werner.  After her accident he couldn’t handle her injured state and broke off their relationship.  He died a few years later in an avalanche.  She then dated and became engaged to daredevil skier Dick “Mad Dog” Buek but before they could marry he died in a small plane crash.  All that tragedy in one life is almost unimaginable.  But luck was finally on her side when she met John Boothe in Bishop.  They were married in 1976 and they lived a wonderful life until her death in 2012.

                       Jill Painting

I first learned about Jill Kinmont’s story in 1969 when someone gave me a copy of “A Long Way Up”, the story of her life to that point.  The book was subsequently made into a popular movie, “The Other Side of the Mountain”.  Her story was so inspiring that I’ve often thought about her during tough times.  Her spirit and attitude provide a positive and upbeat touchstone.  I wish I had 100 copies of her book because in my fantasy life here’s what I’d do with them: when someone complains endlessly about 105 degree weather, I’d shove Jill’s book in their face and tell them to get a life.  Or, perhaps, I would quote Jill herself, who told the LA Times when they named her Woman of the Year in 1967, “To get mad, to scream and holler, to tell the world off— that doesn’t get you anywhere.  You look for what’s good that’s left, I guess.”

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A MAN TO MATCH HIS MOUNTAIN

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

      The Terrifying Cornice Bowl

In 1986 I stood atop the 11, 053 foot Cornice Bowl at Mammoth Mountain, skis strapped to my feet and my heart in my throat.  As I peered down the 2.100 foot drop I was simultaneously petrified and thrilled.  I was in my mid-30’s and I knew that if I was ever going to conquer “The Cornice” the time was now.  So, slowly, VERY slowly, I made my way down.  When I reached the bottom I bent over in relief and was cheered by people who had watched my descent.  Right then I knew it was a moment I’d never forget.  To this day it is one of my proudest achievements. Every year when we visit Mammoth in the summer I gaze up to the Cornice Bowl and marvel that I once skied it.    And I thank Dave McCoy.

 

There are few people in business who devote their entire life to the enjoyment of others, but Dave McCoy, founder of Mammoth Mountain, is just such a person.  McCoy almost single-handedly turned Mammoth, an extinct volcano in the eastern Sierra Nevada, into one of the premier ski mountains in the world.  To me, he epitomizes all that is great about the American Dream.  He was born in 1915 to a somewhat dysfunctional family.  His parents divorced when he was 13.  His mother moved him to Washington but for the next several years he continuously hitch-hiked between there and Independence, California (near Bishop) where he had fallen in love with the scenery and quiet solitude while on vacation a few years previous.  He eventually was hired as a hydrographer for the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power.  His job was to ski the backcountry, measuring snowpack to predict the following year’s water supply. He covered most of Owens Valley sometimes skiing as much as 50 miles per day.  His salary was $4 a day, but the truth is, he would have done it for free.  He just loved to ski.

Dave McCoy in the ’30’s.

In 1935, he and some buddies built the first rope tow out of an old truck frame and engine to haul skiers uphill in Gray Meadows near Independence. They built it for themselves for weekend play but word spread, and others came to see what all the ruckus was about skiing. McCoy charged 50 cents a day to ride it and some days made as much as $6!   It was 1937 when McCoy started the project that would become the largest ski resort in Central California.   Even while he was building the resort from the ground up, McCoy was always skiing. He was headed toward the 1940 Olympics in Japan but because of World War II, no Olympic Games were held that year.  (Later, he would go on to coach 14 Olympic skiers, never charging them for his time and personally paying their entry fees for race events.)

After World War II record high snowfall in the Eastern Sierras served to attract more and more people from Southern California to ski in the Mammoth area.  The Forest Service took notice, asking for bids to develop Mammoth into a ski area. McCoy made his pitch. To his – and our – good fortune, it was the ONLY pitch the Forest Service received.  He took a piece of paper and drew three lines, which were for chairlifts. That was the business plan.  He always said that the only reason he got the bid was because no one else wanted it.

The first chair lift opened on Thanksgiving Day, 1955.  Without a college education or formal training in business or engineering, McCoy spent the next 60 years growing Mammoth. For millions of skiers, it was the place to ski. For thousands of employees, it was the place to work. McCoy was doing the impossible and people wanted to be part of it. He was encouraging, supportive and most of all, his mission was for people to have fun.  The bottom line was an after thought.  He once told the Los Angeles Times, that skiing had been so good to him at Mammoth, he couldn’t help but to return it to the skiers and see that they had a better place to ski.  I can personally attest to his philosophy.  One day almost 30 years ago my husband and I were walking in the Main Lodge after a day on the slopes and we passed Dave on a stairwell.  He stopped us and said, “Well, did you have fun today?”  We assured him that we did.  At the time, I just thought he was some friendly guy but my husband recognized him right off and stood there, stunned, in awe of the man he had idolized for so long.

Dave, planning his masterpiece

Building a ski resort was just a piece of his contributions to Mammoth.  He personally spearheaded the effort to incorporate Mammoth Lakes and attract businesses to the area.  He was responsible for building a hospital in town.  And in 1989 he and a few friends founded The Mammoth Lakes Foundation to be the catalyst in bringing higher education and the arts to the Eastern Sierra. Today, anyone is who has lived in Mono County for at least two years can receive tuition free of charge at the Cerro Coso Community College that the Foundation built.  The town is what is it today – all because of Dave McCoy.

But in 2005, at the age of 90, he had had enough.  The bureaucracy was too much.  He commented that he enjoyed running the business as long as he could do the planning and the building and permits were easy to get. But it got to where there were too many regulations and politicians telling him how to do things.  It was just too much for this entrepreneurial genius.

 

Dave McCoy at 100

There is a wonderful bronze statue of Dave in the center of the Village complex in Mammoth.  Each year I watch people walk by it, not even stopping to read the plaque that graces the base of it.  Little do these people know that but for Dave McCoy, they wouldn’t have the hill they ski, the trails they bike or the restaurants they enjoy in the evenings.  It probably bothers me more than it would bother Dave if he witnessed it.  On the occasion of his 100th birthday in 2015 he commented, “Life is just what you make of what falls in your lap. “Be happy, make the day happy. It’s all in your attitude, the way you open your eyes in the morning. You got to jump up and go do something.”  He’ll be 103 next month and, God willing, this example of the American Spirit will still be doing something.

 

 

 

 

 

standard Posted in Blog Info / Up-dates • opinion

DO NOT GO GENTLY … Part Two

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Please excuse me if this is brief; it’s really hard to type when you’re in traction.

Just kidding. Some of you thought that was a real possibility, though, didn’t you? But I am home, safe and sound. I honestly didn’t know what to expect from skiing after 23 years away from it. But just like me, some things were the same and some were radically different. Here are a few of my observations:

Observation #1: The Weather Channel is never to be trusted.

Last week they said it was going to be bright and sunny for our trip. Just what I wanted – spring skiing! So imagine my surprise when on the first morning we woke up to snow. I went to the Weather Channel app and drilled down to their 15 minute forecasts. They said the snow would stop by 10:15. It didn’t.

Observation #2: Ticket pricing makes no sense.

I was surprised to learn that the age for a “senior” ticket is 65. This struck me as strange. Last week I went to the movies and was able to buy a “senior” ticket and the sum total of my physical exertion was to amble down a concourse, balancing a Pepsi and popcorn, and sit in a cushioned seat for two hours. Here, they strap two fiberglass boards to my feet, haul me up to 9,000 feet, expect me to slide down on snow and ice, and somehow I’m just an “adult”. This whole “senior” ticket thing is going to require some investigation.

Observation #3: Technology is a beautiful thing.

And specifically, I’m talking about the improvement in fabric and equipment. I have lots of memories of skiing while freezing. I used to dress in so many layers that I looked like a shoplifter. And I still froze. No more. I wore a thin ski t-shirt under my parka and I was toasty, even in snow and 20 mph winds.

Skis are better too. They used to be the height of my arm raised over my head. Now, the skis barely come up to my chin. I like anything that gives me more control and these new skis are like my own little minion, awaiting my command. Even the tickets are digital. They look like a hotel room key, and when placed in your pocket, allow you to ski right through the lift portals. The portals look something like the security scanners you go through at the airport only without the annoying TSA agents frisking you and stealing your stuff.

The only thing that hasn’t changed is ski boots. Although they were comfortable and warm, they gave me all the grace and agility of Frankenstein. It was not lost on me that I could survive the skiing, only to break my arm doing a face plant coming down the steps from the bathroom.

Observation #4: The 60’s are alive and well in skiing.

One of the major changes to skiing in these 20 plus years is the advent of the snow boarder. Most of these kids (and they are almost ALL kids) look like real slackers. I sized a few of them up on our first day. They probably thought I was staring at their great outfits. I wasn’t. I was assessing each one of them as potential human missiles that would later be careening down the hill aimed right at me. But on some of our gondola rides we met a few of them and almost all were college graduates, just “chilling” for a while before they got a real job. For those of us who came of age in the ‘60’s this sounded awfully familiar.

The other similarity to the ‘60’s was the spirit of fraternity and honesty among skiers. When we stopped to get lunch on the first day I suggested that we rent a locker to store our skis while we ate. My husband looked at me like I had lost my mind (this happens off the ski slopes as well). We simply leaned them against the railing and left them there, for the entire world to see – and steal. We also left our parkas, gloves and goggles on a table while we went to another room to get lunch. And when we came back, they were still there. Maybe I’ve lived in major cities for too long, but I was pleasantly surprised to learn that there is still a place where people don’t take things that don’t belong to them. That said, I’m not sure I’d leave my iPad unattended.

Observation #5: It pays to set reasonable expectations.

I used to be a pretty good skier. But after such a long absence I set new expectations. Very LOW expectations. The last run I skied all those years ago was at Mammoth, and it is called Stump Alley. I’ve always assumed its name refers to the trees, not the appendages of humans who have fallen. It’s a fairly steep intermediate run and I pretty much knew that my days of skiing “Stump” were over. I was perfectly content to start – and stay – on the bunny slopes. You know, the ones with six year olds whizzing past and people bent over like they are in a perpetual state of looking for their car keys.

But here’s the thing: just as everyone assured me, skiing is like riding a bike. By the second run of the day I had my “legs”. That familiar pole plant-weight shift feeling came back. It was awesome. The rest of the trip was one joyous run after another.

There’s also a big mental benefit to skiing; it requires your complete attention. Usually I’m a prodigious day dreamer. I contemplate a million things on the golf course – the fabric for the family room chairs, what to fix for dinner, why that person said she had a 5 when I know she had a 6. But a lapse in focus while skiing can have disastrous results. So for the entire time I was skiing I didn’t think, or worry, about anything except keeping my knees bent and my weight on the downhill ski. As my husband said “Skiing is good for the soul.”

Observation #6: There’s a missed opportunity here.

Okay, it wasn’t all perfect. I did fall once. I put my weight too far back when I came to a stop and fell backwards on my butt. Nothing spectacular, in fact it was one of those stupid things you do and then look around in the fervent hope that no one saw you. But that wasn’t the worst part. I could not get up. After several humiliating tries I finally had to take my skis off. The only way I could stand up was to roll over and claw my way to an erect position, looking like a polar bear digging for roots. So here’s my idea: Life Alert for the ski slopes. One little squeeze of a button and some cute ski patrol guy would come along and help you up. I think I’m on to something.

So, that was my trip. I’ve spent some moments being mad at myself for having missed all this fun for so many years. I don’t know why we tend to be afraid of active sports as we get older. I suspect it is the fear of getting hurt. But living life being afraid just isn’t a very satisfying way to live. So from now on I will apply my re-conquest of skiing to other things in my life that I have been afraid to try. Except hang gliding. I’m not completely stupid.

Oh yeah – guess which run I skied on the second day? Stump Alley! Here’s a picture of me at the bottom of it. At 61 I skied the same run that I did at 38. Next time I’m not waiting 23 years between runs.

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Do Not Go Gently…Part 1

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by Suzanne Sparrow Watson

A year ago, when my husband turned 70, he decided that he wanted to take up skiing again. Our last family ski trip was in 1989 and while he has occasionally waxed sentimental about skiing, I never took him seriously. Golf, arthritis and unadulterated fear has kept me from any illusions about skiing again. But like a lot of Baby Boomers, my husband was reflective on his birthday and decided that he had no desire to just slide into old age. He said he wanted to experience the excitement of skiing and if he got hurt, well, so be it. Of course, all I could imagine was him with his casted foot propped up and me fetching things for him every time he rang a damn bell.

But I secretly admired his gumption so I humored him through the “Ski” magazine subscription, then the purchase of ski clothing, and finally, his first ski trip. I could not go with him as I was in physcial therapy for my back but I casually mentioned that I’d go with him this year (note to self: don’t let your mouth write checks that your body has to cash). But I figured that one trip from Scottsdale into the cold climes of the Sierra would convince him his dream was folly. No such luck. He has become a ski nut.

The early part of this winter brought no snow to the Sierras. I was not disappointed. But now precipitation reigns and my casual comment has come back to haunt me; I’ve agreed to go skiing. I look at it this way – I’m in decent shape, I still have some spirit of adventure, and, let’s face it, I’m not ready to admit that I can’t do something anymore. My husband was so excited at the prospect of our trip that for his birthday he took me to Ski Pro to buy me a parka. And since then his every trip there has netted me some little “gift”: gloves, ski shirts, goggles, a ski mask, three pairs of socks, and after-ski boots. I did have to go with him when he insisted on buying me ski pants. I want to say at this point that trying on ski pants is the winter equivalent of testing out bathing suits. It completely goes against common sense for a middle-aged woman to try on clothes that make her look fatter. I’m not sure that even my Spanx are going to help me avoid the Michelin Man look.

My friends think I am completely nuts. They have brought out every story about every friend who has ever gotten hurt on a ski run. I’m getting such supportive comments as, “Is there a good hospital in Mammoth?”, and “Do you want to take my Hunger Games trilogy to read in the hospital?” My neighbor, Pat, who is very athletic, went skiing last week after a seven year hiatus. I knew she would offer me some positive perspective and encouragement. So the day after her return I anxiously asked her how it had gone. She looked at me with that middle-distance stare usually reserved for mental patients. “It was horrible”, she said. “I was frightened the whole time. I skied scared every day.” Her hands were still shaking. Great. This was not the reinforcement I was seeking. Maybe I AM nuts.

Today the car is loaded and we are ready to go. I did an extra 10 minutes on the elliptical machine this morning which I’m sure is going to make all the difference when I’m at 9,000 feet. Or not. I’ll let you know.