It had been years since we were all together. A decade and a half since we had all been scattered to the wind, each of us going our own direction, traveling wherever the wind may take us. To Colorado, to DC, to Toronto, to California, to Okemo.
They had all been rookies together, ski patrol rookies. Together, they suffered through rookie training, which included OEC here at Killington. A few weeks early in the season where the rookies train without their crosses under the sharp supervision of two senior patrollers. They run sleds, practice lift evacuation, and run more sleds, this time down Mouse Trap. They spend some time inside and then come back out to run more sleds, this time down East Fall. But still in their civilian kits.
Only once they’ve completed the training are they allowed to follow along behind a real patroller. But they still don’t get a cross. While the fanny pack of important lifesaving items comes early, the cross must be earned. Back when the BF became a patroller, they had to follow three codes before they were supervised for three codes. It was only then they got their cross.
Those guys were inseparable that winter, which is, I am sure, the point of a rookie season. Our winter was filled with way too early wake-up calls and finished with a barbecue and a thousand-dollar Thursday. While they might have been super serious during the daytime hours, wrapping up more skiers and riders faster than almost any other ski area in the country, Happy Hour was theirs.
I’ve honestly never been so jealous of something in my whole life. Watching the creation of this amazing rookie class from the outside, I felt lucky just to be there. I was never going to be a patroller, but I keenly felt the loss of the Killington School for Ski Instructors, which had been the transformational experience during the Pres Smith years. I didn’t have that. Like so many wonderful programs at Killington, it went by the wayside during ASC.
But here they were—young kids from all over the country finding their way to Killington to start their ski bum journeys. Honestly, they would have stayed forever if the world had been different and they could afford to. At the time, they could have made more money flipping burgers at MacDonald’s, yet here they were, saving lives and limbs. It was hugely destabilizing.
You don’t notice those kind of things until the end of the season. Mid-season, all you see is the glory of the cross and the teamwork that comes with it. Even looking in, I could see the hard work these guys put in. They went through all the Sudoku and crossword books, sitting in the top shack waiting for codes (this was before everyone had cell phones and stuff). We still have his map with all the patrol codes somewhere—I love teaching Team PomPom the Mountain Ops names for all the patrol shacks.
It’s also the hardest part about living in Killington. In our twenties, this community seemed magical. We had our ski school friends (both adult and kid side), our ski patrol friends, our ski shop friends, our restaurant friends, etc. Everyone comes to Killington in their 20s if they want to be a serious East Coast ski bum. It’s the place to try it out, live in a ski house, and refuse to let go of the college lifestyle. It’s awesome.
Then they grow up. Or they max out their credit cards. Some might even make the journey west. Either way, most young employees tend not to stay in Killington too long. It’s the unsustainable nature of the beast. Everyone wants to have a ski bum year, but most walk away after only a taste. Because it’s hard to make ends meet. It’s hard to stay when … ahhh! So many things. Housing, Wages, lack of upward mobility, wages … anyway, they move on with their lives.
The transient nature of the sport leaves those of us who chose to stay a little bit lonely sometimes, missing the families that we made in our 20s. Before this past weekend, I hadn’t shredded the mountain in a large group of adults in quite a long time. We were seven strong, and it was awesome. It was powerful. And it was a harsh reminder of how many folks we’ve met but how few have stuck around. How many friends we’ve had and lost along the way, all to the harsh realities of life.
But the BF and I remain. We love this place—the mountain—the way her trails wrap around so beautifully. How well they ski, whether you slowly manipulate the edges with precision or rip GS race turns down the middle. There’s a magic in these hills. It’s what draws everyone so close in the first place. I just wish they could stay.
Thanks for coming to visit, boys! Let’s not wait almost two decades for the next one xoxo.
Merisa Sherman is a longtime Killington resident, global real estate advisor, and Coach PomPom. She can be found in the mountains or at [email protected].
