In the middle of the week, there aren’t as many people skiing.
As a result, there aren’t as many people getting hurt. Not to say that there isn’t as much to do – there’s plenty to do. There are tower pads to raise and/or dig out from the new snowfall, and/or to replace because a groomer has nicked one with his tiller. There are bamboo poles marking hazards to retrieve or place and/or replace because a groomer has nicked one with his tiller. There is training to do, sleds to pack, brush to cut back out of the trails. There are ropes to coil because snowfall opens a trail or to string because snowmelt dictates we close it, and/or ropes to replace because a groomer has nicked them with his tiller.*
And, of course, there is always the deck of the summit restaurant to shovel, because…well, I’m still not sure why that’s our job.
Every once in a while, however, something serious happens. Someone hits a feature in the terrain park, under-rotates and lands on their head. A skier goes off-trail and hits a tree, spitting blood from a lung. Skiers collide. A guy has a heart attack. A dude has one (or four) too many at the summit bar and tries to ski down. Every once in a while, someone gets lost. Continue reading