A parent’s most valuable gift might be bridging the past to the future. What if that bridge melts away?
In April of 1983, with my buddy Stan Tener of the Snowmass ski patrol and photographer Del Mulkey, I skied the Haute Route from Chamonix toward Zermatt. For five days, we climbed steep couloirs, traversed high cols, and skinned up and cruised down long, undulating glaciers—60 miles of frozen highway. We did it on “pins.” In those days, this meant three-pin bindings, narrow “norpine” skis and leather telemark boots.
The tram was crowded this morning as it climbed rapidly in the clear blue French sky. The 22 inches of new powder snow had gotten everyone in town up early. Waiting in line took longer than normal because of the early birds with inside connections.