On sustaining 50 years of business off heli drops and pillow pops.
Crouched on the edge of the pickup zone, we were in position, covering our faces to shield the ice and snow pelting we anticipated from the incoming helicopter. A mix of heli-skiing veterans and newbies, we are ecstatic—and maybe a touch nervous.
It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve been in a helicopter–dressed from head-to-toe in Gore-Tex, ready for blower snow and turns that dreams are made of. When you see that belly coming in hot for landing it’s powerfully exciting.
We were never hardcore skiers. Just a hardcore family.
I'm finalizing the details of a family ski vacation to Mount Snow, Vermont. It occurs to me that it may well be our last family ski trip as a foursome, and I’m having a difficult time getting my head around that fact.
What’s ending our run? Not ill health, not divorce, not boredom with the sport or the mountains. Thankfully, there isn’t job relocation taking us away from the snow. No, my two girls are growing up. Actually, they have grown up. And damn, are they busy.