So, you want to be a ski patroller at a ski resort?
The job requirements: you have to be a proficient skier with Wilderness First Aid Certification. What鈥檚 not advertised are these qualifications: you have to be a hearty, independent individual willing and wanting to roam the mountain from before dawn to way after dark for meagre, embarrassingly low wages.
A ski patroller鈥檚 winter is a long one, full of frozen feet; uniforms that badly need a wash鈥攂ut who鈥檚 got the time?鈥攎agical light at sunrise; the unpredicted snowfall with a few stolen, glorious, season鈥揷hanging turns; and laughs at the absurdity of the whole ski scene.
Ski patrollers are multi-talented souls that indescribably love working outside; providing first aid on the scene of mundane injuries, as well as life altering accidents, where maiming and death happen on the difficult side of a mountain in often adverse weather.
They are also workhorses, replacing hooves with skis and cumbersome poles, pack boxes with toboggans, sleds and red packsacks emblazoned with the universal symbol of first aid and humanity: the white cross. Their packs are stuffed with a myriad of lifesaving devices: screwdrivers, avalanche beacons and a dry, squashed sandwich.
Ski patrol is the law up on the mountain. There鈥檚 not a whole lot of glory in this part of the job. You鈥檙e lipped off by self-entitled, belligerent drunks and yahoos as they duck under yet another fence into a closed area and you鈥檙e harassed by locals/friends on powder days, while you鈥檙e holding the baying, drooling hounds behind a woven rope.
Then, two words from a scratchy radio: 鈥渙pen it鈥� and the rope drops, and a stampede pushes forward, with the insane intent to be the first down Charlie鈥檚 Bowl. With the rope in hand, the patrollers are left trampled by powder-madness-mania.
They work long, long hours outside in all weather conditions, hauling supplies or injured skiers in toboggans, behind skidoos, while calming and reassuring frantic parents and friends.
Pounding endless kilometres of ancient, red slat snow fences into the unyielding rock of Marmot Basin, only to repeat the futility the next day when these same fences are blown helter-skelter over Tres Hombre into Whistlers Creek.
Things were not a whole lot different in the early years at Marmot and Whistler. Ski patrol鈥檚 duties were very similar. But, the times were thankfully, blissfully innocent. Employees at today鈥檚 ski areas have to manage people that insist on the right to sue, with the 鈥渘othing is my fault syndrome,鈥� liabilities, lawsuits and stupidity.
My father, Toni Klettl, was one of the patrollers at Marmot Basin and Whistlers Ski Hill in the early 1950s, in the innocent, take-care-of-yourself era. He also taught first aid and tested ski patrollers into the mid-1970s.
In the winter of 1955鈥�56, Jasper National Park鈥檚 Chief Warden Brodie asked Dad if he鈥檇 go on ski patrol at Whistlers Ski Hill with Tom McCready. By then, the cabin from the lower area鈥攄own by Highway 16 near the Miette Bridge鈥攈ad been moved up to the new area, upper runs had been cleared and a poma lift had been installed.
Dad and Tom spent their days sidestepping up and slide slipping down. Mechanized groomers had yet to be invented! There was a strong insistence from some local skiers鈥攖here were some complaining, even back then鈥攚ho were backed by Supt. Dempster that 鈥渕oguls were not to be tolerated.鈥�
When Marmot Basin opened in the season of 1964鈥�65, Parks Canada was in charge of hiring and training the ski patrol. In an extremely progressive, bold move, Dad hired the first female professional ski patroller in the national parks. This probably doesn鈥檛 seem like a big deal to today鈥檚 generation, but back then, bars had two entrances: Gentlemen and Ladies and Escorts. Dad received much criticism about his decision to hire a woman, but he stuck and stayed true to his conviction by saying: 鈥渋f they can do the job, they get the job.鈥�
These saviours of the slopes are brothers in arms no matter their gender or the decade. They share a comfortable, silent camaraderie, as they huddle around a propane heater in a small, plywood shack perched at the top of a mountain, with bitter winds shrieking and swirling, relentlessly trying to find a crack, or stuffed into the pickup van in the unfriendly, oh-so-cold, unfeeling light of pre dawn. Unspoken love, simple pleasures, desire for winter and infatuation with all things snow keeps these ski patrollers fuelled, motivated and coming back for more.
Dad and all the other early patrollers probably felt just like the patrollers of today feel, running on not much sleep, loving the turns and constantly living with sore feet.
They live for a chance to breathe in the powerful, invigorating winter air, and they throw explosive, contagious energy to the mountain; in turn, the mountain bestows a way of life upon them, graciously giving back rewards that are intangible: an addiction too hard to describe, a feeling, a sense of place, a mountain belonging.
Loni Klettl
Special to the 51暗网
Loni Klettl is a born and raised Jasperite, whose father Toni Klettl was one of the last park wardens to raise his family in the backcountry. Loni, an alpine skier who competed in the 1980 Winter Olympics, has been skiing Marmot Basin since her childhood and has been sharing her memories of the 50-year-old ski hill on her Facebook page. Printed here is one of those stories.
The 51暗网 is compiling stories of Marmot Basin鈥檚 past in celebration of the ski hill鈥檚 50th anniversary. If you have a story to share or a photo of the old days, send it to Nicole Veerman at [email protected].
