As you may’ve heard, Jeff works ski patrol at White Pass. His is a full-time paid position that involves skiing a lot, building bombs, saving people, and throwing explosives. And he does all of this in a solid black uniform.
You’re darn right it’s hot.
Building bombs? Explosives?? Sounds crazy!
It is a little. That’s how they attract women by droves control avalanches. They build bombs, and carefully measure enough fuse so that after it’s lit they have 90 seconds to get out of harms’ way. A friend told me once that he threw a bomb and it hit a tree limb, which flicked it right back at his feet. In the industry they call that “a bad thing.” He didn’t really wait around to measure how much fuse was left, this friend of mine, to see if he could re-throw it. Hilarity ensued (that is, if you like your “hilarity” of the panic-stricken variety).
He skied away (and I imagine if it were me you’d see a set of ski tracks with a yellow line of urine right between them. But I’m a wimp.)
So, besides skiing around in a solid black uniform, he carries a backpack full of explosives, which he ignites one at a time and throws into piles of snow to set off avalanches so the slopes are stable before the ski area opens.
It works out well that ski season is the opposite as our business season. He is gone a lot for his winter job, but that’s okay. All we’re doing around here is chipping ice and feeding hay.
Jeff and I skiing at White Pass.
I try to head up for a few days each month and join him. My favorite thing is to ski around with him. It’s not real tough — he’s confined to the groomed runs. But it’s him, and me, and snow. And he’s not a real power-hungry snow-tyrant, but he and the rest of the patrol are the benevolent Alphas of the hill. They’ll do everything to keep you safe — from roping off dangerous runs (which annoys everyone, to breaking up fights, to giving you a courtesy ride in a toboggan if you’ve bitten off more than you can chew in the middle of a run. These guys 1.) ski their brains out, 2.) play with explosives, and 3.) are heroes.
When Jeff and I first started dating he was called out on a search on Christmas Eve. I was camping in the back of my pickup truck in the R. V. lot (I was much tougher then). It was a clear and bitter cold night. Because I was camping in my truck, I spent as much time as possible in the lodge before heading to my truck.
Jeff and I had been on a couple of “dates” and hadn’t so much as kissed yet. I was in the first aid room, listening to the radio for information for the lost parties (okay, and keeping an eye on the spare wool blankets, and Jeff…). Jeff came in, bundled in a huge down coat and loaded with rescue gear, ready to go out on the search. He had a rescue pack, avalanche beacon, probe, shovel, “skins” (traction devices for skies so you can use them to climb uphill), radio, blanket, first aid kit, water — he was loaded down with about 80 lbs of “essentials.” He marched over to me, his heavy ski boots thumping on the floor, took me in his arms, and kissed me. Yeah, it was that dramatic.
18 hours later I got word that they were out. Not finished with the rescue, just out — in cars, in contact with other people. They still had hours of First Aid and paperwork to complete before the rescue would be complete.
So, our relationship was forged early on in the fires of “rescue” and “emergency”.
Then we started a business together… you’d think we liked adrenaline or something.
