"A ski lesson is a place where you teach 10 people with nothing in common something none of them can do..." reads a chapter break insert, in "Ski Instructors Confidential: The Stories Ski Instructors Swap Back at the Lodge." The newly released book is by Allen R. Smith, a ski instructor in Vail, Colo.
"The whole book is kind of a document of my love affair with skiing," he said. "I got really hooked on skiing when I was a teenager, and began teaching about 15 years ago. It's very light. There's nothing mean in it."
Allen, who is also a freelance writer and works in computer technology, calls the book a "fun way to look at skiing." Many of the tales from instructors across the country, including Sun Valley, harken back to the good old days of leather boots, small slow lifts and all male instructor pools.
Many stories, not surprisingly, are about how unconsciously funny kids are, what idiots some people can be and how ski instructors were often a pretty randy lot with their eyes on the babes.
Several Sun Valley-based instructors, including Chuck Coiner, Rod Tatsuno, Conrad Staudinger and Cleve Johnson, offered up some tales. Kirby Dawson, an instructor at Kelly Canyon east of Idaho Falls, contributed as well.
THE ULTIMATE EXCUSE
One day I was skiing with a young boy in our adaptive program who had a prosthesis below his left knee. The boy was overweight, had never skied before and abhorred just about every form of physical exercise. He didn't want to ski and was having an absolutely horrible time trying to stay on his feet. He whined constantly and was looking for any excuse to not ski.
About midway through the morning, I decided to take him up for his first chairlift ride. On the way up, he started to swing his feet back and forth, loosening his prosthesis from his knee. Without warning, his leg fell off, landing upright on the run, below. Upon impact, the ski, boot and intact leg took off down the hill, heading for the bottom. As we both hung over the sides of the chair, we watched the boy's prosthetic leg ski off into the distance. The boy looked at me with a huge grin and asked, "Does this mean that I don't have to ski anymore?"
I replied, "That's right!"
Surprised at my answer, he asked, "Really?"
I said, "No, I was just pulling your leg!"
Mark Mast, Sun Valley, Idaho
THE HIGH-PAYING GUEST
In the old days, when the Union Pacific Railroad still owned the Sun Valley ski area, there were night watchmen whose job it was to patrol the old wooden buildings at the resort. Inside the hallway of each building, was a key that had to be inserted into a clock, recording the time of day that they inspected the building. The watchman's responsibilities also included checking to see if there were any "unauthorized guests" in the rooms. Quite often, the international ski instructors would bunk in these old buildings to save money on housing. There was a lot of action in those buildings as all of the instructors were young, male instructors. One of the rules for living in the buildings, however, was that there were no women allowed in the rooms. Period.
One night, a watchman made his designated rounds of the Pine Chalet building, stuck his key into the clock and heard suspicious sounds coming from behind one of the doors. Following the sound, the watchman pounded on the door and yelled in at the Swedish instructor living there,
"Hey, I hear a girl in there." No answer.
Once again, the watchman pounded on the door and yelled, "Hey. There are no girls allowed in these rooms."
Finally, from the other side of the door, a male voice answered, "Yes, I understand. But she's a high-paying guest."
John Gudmundsson, a.k.a. Johnny Iceland, Sun Valley, Idaho
DEATH COOKIES
About five years ago, I was skiing next to a new part-time instructor while he was conducting a beginner's class. One of the ladies in the class asked him, "What are these things on the snow?"
"Well," he said, "They call those 'Death Cookies.'" The instructor explained to her that they were small, frozen chunks of snow left behind by the grooming machines. The lady continued staring at the death cookies, appearing to be quite bothered by them. She asked the instructor how one goes about skiing over them.
"If you are skiing and your left ski happens to pass over the cookies, you need to immediately transfer your weight to your right ski."
The lady thought about this for a moment and asked, "What happens if there are death cookies under your right ski?"
The instructor explained, "Then, you need to transfer your weight over to your left ski." Skeptical of his advice the lady asked the instructor, "Well, what happens if I ski over the death cookies with BOTH of my skis?"
Fed up with the lady's questions, the instructor shot back,
"Then, you're on your own, lady!"
Conrad Staudinger, Sun Valley, Idaho
The books may be ordered online from www.snowwriter.com, info@rekodirect.com or call 800-771-2147.
(Excerpts were printed with permission from the author.)
