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Downhill Skiing and
Uplifted Spirits
I
don’ t remember learning how to ski. My dad got me used to the idea of having boards attached to my boots when I was a toddler and guided me down snow banks in our backyard.
I still have those little red wooden skis, curled up on the tips like elf shoes, still layered with silver wax on the bottoms to make them slide better. I keep them in the same box as my tiny ballet slippers. But unlike ballet, which lasted only one year, the seasons of skiing continued, one after another, until the memory of learning to ski faded and skis felt as natural as shoes.
I, of course, took it all for granted then. My brother Jeff and I would tag along with my dad( known as“ Fast Jack” to skiers) to Mt. Holly when he taught lessons or slalom raced or attended club meetings. He would buy us rope-tow-only tickets so we would stay on the intermediate hill. He’ d check on us from time to time to make sure we could still feel our fingers and wiggle our toes and he’ d give us a little money for hot chocolate. I have never tasted better hot chocolate than Mt. Holly offers, then or now. I think their secret ingredient is salt; I can taste it in the last swallow, but the atmosphere might have a lot to do with the flavor as well.
Through my late teens and 20s, I all but stopped skiing, going only once or twice a year. I decided it was silly to voluntarily spend time outdoors in the winter and that it was much nicer to sit inside, watch TV and wait for spring. Of course, my dad couldn’ t comprehend that mentality at all; and by my early 30s, he talked me into focusing more on skiing and getting out to Mt. Holly on a regular basis again. He convinced me that I was a good skier and that doing something you’ re good at is great for the self-esteem. Hmmm.
So I bundled up, went in search of my self-esteem and found it somewhere on the Woodward slope. I’ ve never looked back.
BACK ROW: Peggy Irwin and“ Fast Jack” Irwin. FRONT ROW: Jeff Irwin and Stephane Irwin at Mt. Holly, 1970.
Through the years, modifications were made to the Mt. Holly topography; new chairlifts replaced old ones, and additions were made to the lodge. Some people came back every year and others we never saw again. I’ m sure I could be taken into the lodge blindfolded and know where I was, because of the smell of the old varnished timbers. Mt. Holly is like the sport of skiing itself – ever evolving. Yet some constants remain, a delicious mix of high tech and nostalgia.
One of those constants is the powerful grace with which my dad makes his way down the hill. He moves over the snow like an artist paints brushstrokes on a canvas: curves here, lines there, short strokes and long. It is mesmerizing to watch the picture take shape as he completes his run. I think the hills want Fast Jack to ski on them because he shows them off to every inch of their full potential – no bump ignored, no slope forgotten. And he always makes sure the other skiers know how great they look coming down the hill.
Non-skiers, grumbling about the snow, tell me that they realize I don’ t see it their way because I ski.
But I tell them I don’ t look forward to autumn’ s end any more than they do; I ski because we have winter. There is never a winter shorter than one that includes skiing, no sky so bright, no air so crisp, no sunset more beautiful.
And my ski buddies are the most fun and upbeat people you’ d ever want to ski with. Sure, they have troubles and challenges like anyone, but they all have an uncanny ability to leave them on Dixie Highway. Maybe it was best summed up in the words of my niece Emi when she was about eight. We stood atop White Lightning as she looked up at me through her goggles, smiled, and said,“ Skiing makes me happy.”
Now that’ s perfect skiing.
STEPHANE WELCOMES YOUR FEEDBACK AND ANY TOPIC IDEAS:
stephaneirwin @ gmail. com
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Innovative Health- Winter 2017