Skiing

We took our daughters skiing this March break for the first time.  Our friends the Wallisons had invited us to their house in Snowmass, Colorado. Maud, who is four, was going to do ski school. Philomena, who is two, was still too young. In the week before leaving, we looked through old photos of Daddy Claude in his first ski outfit, an example of pure 1970s French chic, “made in Paris” as the label says, by V-de-V. Helmet, goggles, buck teeth, big smile. Our daughter Maud looks quite a lot like her daddy – more so with a helmet and goggles on – and he couldn’t wait to see her in her gear.

I wasn’t sure how Maud would learn to ski, but I was certain it was possible.  In my day I have been knocked about by enough three-foot critters in helmets snowplowing their way down the fall line like avenging angels to know that very little children can indeed learn to ski. The ski school/adventure zone at Snowmass, called the Treehouse, had been heartily recommended to us. They would take care of everything, we were told.

Word up. Day one, we got there, we registered, they outfitted Maud with skis and boots (our kind neighbors the Baumanns lent us a helmet), and we booked four days of ski school. We asked was the money refundable if, say, Maud hated skiing? “Oh, yes,” said the lady at the desk. “We’re very flexible. You have to be when you’re dealing with three and four year olds.” She told us they would refund unused days, and that if we wanted to take Maud out at lunchtime, they would refund the rest of the day. Day two, she started ski school. They taught her how to slide her skis about, and in half an hour, they moved her up the Magic Carpet. By mid-morning, she was skiing.

I can’t say it was cheap. It was, I think $140/day including the rental and the lift ticket, as well as instruction from 9:00 a.m.-3:00 p.m. Not cheap, but boy, was it effective! There were four students to a teacher, and those teachers were so nice, I really mean so nice, that all of the potential downers of skiing – fear, discomfort, separation anxiety – evaporated. I saw one of Maud’s teachers, Robin, skiing with a little boy in her arms for half an hour.  The poor chap had fallen asleep, exhausted after the day’s activities, and this awesome teacher held him like a mama gorilla, while still leading her posse back to camp. 

In the attached video you see Maud on her fourth day of ski school. Daddy is proud. The video was taken by our dear friend Melissa, and it is she who shouts out “Go Maud!” Go Maud, and go Treehouse at Snowmass!

-by Winsome