Warren Miller: How The Ski World Turns
The world is a different place every night when I get into bed. In 1946, the ski world was a completely different place few people in the world would recognize today.
America had less than 15 chairlifts in the entire country as Ward Baker and I started for Alta in mid-November of that year. I was six months out of the Navy, after four years in the service.
I had saved enough money to publish my first cartoon book, “Are My Skis on Straight?” and, with a few cartons full of books, Ward and I headed for the only two chairlifts in Utah at the time, at Alta. Alta was usually one of the first ski resorts in the U.S. to have chairlifts running in early November.
Statistically, here is what ski country looked like if you wanted to ride a chairlift. California had two of them, one at the Sugar Bowl in Northern California; another one at Mt. Waterman, less than 50 miles from the L.A. City Hall.
Oregon had one chairlift at Timberline, near Portland; Idaho had three on Baldy and one on Dollar Mt.; Wyoming had a small one on Storm King Mountain in the suburbs of Jackson Hole. Colorado did not have a single chairlift, so you would have to drive all the way to Mt. Tremblant, out of Montreal, to get to the next one. I believe that Mad River Glen and Stowe each had one but then I’m not quite sure.
At one time or another, my skis and cameras captured images of them as the ski industry grew in the fifties and the sixties. It is easy to talk about all-day chairlift tickets only costing $2.50 and as high as $4, but a Coca Cola in those days only cost five cents unless you bought at the top of the mountain, and then it was ten cents.
The thing that is impossible to put a price tag on is how it felt to ski in those days. You cannot put a price tag on how it feels today, either. There are readers who have sold their homes in a big city and gone to a ski resort for their lifetime career. They used to be called ski bums and probably still are today.
Instead, I think they are people of courage to follow their own convictions, depending on the job they select. They have become snow farmers, living and dying financially by what falls from the sky. That, of course, all changed when someone figured out a way to make the snow come out of a hose and not have to wait for the storms to come and have the snow falling in the form of rain instead.
Today I talked with Elaine Kelton, who has written a good book about the women who came to Vail in the early days. They came as single women for the most part and settled down, married, and raised their families at the base of Vail Mountain. That first winter they had a gondola and two chairlifts.
Today, Vail Valley has over 30,000 people living there. It is the size of Bozeman, Mont., and of course, everyone there, in one way or another, is completely dependent on how much snow falls out of the sky. On a given Saturday or Sunday, Vail has more skiers in one day than the entire United States used to have on a Saturday or Sunday during the winter of 1946/47.
I could almost draw a comparison of skiing to drug or alcohol addiction. Just give me that person for one blue-sky day, a skiff of powder snow on a groomed run, a chairlift ticket and a good ski instructor, and they will be hooked for life.
Be careful because that first day will change your life forever, for the better, I believe. In fact, the greatest sales tool that the ski industry has is a skier who takes a friend to the mountains and exposes him or her to the greatest freedom known to man.
I was very lucky because those four years in the Navy allowed me to save enough money to pay my expenses that first winter of skiing. Remember, my lifestyle was very minimal in those days. When I skied that winter in Sun Valley, a lot of the employees were from Omaha, Nebr., the site of the Pacific headquarters.
People got a round trip ticket to Sun Valley, room and board, and $125 a month. A lot of them never cashed in their return trip. I was fortunate in one respect that I grew up in a dysfunctional family and so I never learned a work ethic. When I went skiing, I just went skiing and lived by my wits, which seemed to be enough in those days.
Could you do the same thing today? I believe you can if all you want to do is make turns on your skis or snowboard every day. The formula is simple but requires some sacrifice.
First you have to earn enough money to buy a van or a pickup truck and a camper for the back. Then you have to get a nighttime job of some kind that should be in a restaurant where you get dinner along with your wages and a season lift ticket that you pay cash for, and the restaurant reimburses you if you work all winter.
There are plenty of places within a mile or so of most chairlifts where you can park a van every night. If you are lucky you might even find someone who will let you plug your electric blanket into their electricity at night in exchange for keeping their driveway plowed out every morning. Sounds like a good deal to me.
If I had it to do over again I know I would not do anything differently. Ward Baker and I managed to ski seven days a week for two winters and got money ahead during the summer to do that. Were we the pioneers? I don’t think so. We were just lucky because they had not invented wet suits by then and riding surfboards in January was way too cold in Southern California.
Particularly when you can see the San Bernardino Mountains covered with snow as you are driving down the street with your 100-pound, redwood surfboard in the back of your car. Or you wanted to go golfing but it was raining…making that great snow in the mountains.
(Learn more about the Warren Miller Freedom Foundation.)
Photo: Filmmaker Warren Miller