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On Learning How to Ski

I have been skiing for a long time.  Early on, my skill development was quick but limited by what was available.  It was a time when cost was a major consideration.  My first skis were toys; a couple of bent boards with cloth toe straps, and a pair of dowls for poles.  My second set of skis (heavily worn with no steel edges) were hand-me-downs (in the photo below circa 1957) from my Uncle Lauri.  (Later I tried to turn the skis into cross-country skis – they are now Christmas decorations).  The pole baskets were repaired with rope (now hanging in the Clubhouse Fireplace Room).  I had not yet developed leather work skills.   Learning to ski with these skis placed a heavy enthuse on carving because the wood was worn out from between the wood again and did not allow much side slip.  This was a hard way to start, but it did pay dividends later.  Lessons and the desire to ski drove past the limitations.  

My first “real” skis came Christmas 1958.  They were from Strand’s Ski Shop in Worcester and had STEEL EDGES!  But still bear trap bindings.  This was a major step forward – the skis would actually side-slip.  More lessons at Green Hill Park.  Then another set of skis – longer with a toe piece that would sort of release with enough force (no moving parts).  I skied in races at Green Hill Park, sponsored by the City of Worcester and Strand’s Ski Shop. I placed in some races (see photo below).  More lessons and trips to Stowe with the North High School Ski Club.  Tom Christensen was a big part of the trips.  Tom talked me into teaching some fellow classmates – more memories.  If you ski Toll Road with me, ask about them.

More Lessons in the late 1960s and into the 1980s, mostly at Stowe during leave from the US Air Force and when I needed some company.  Lessons were included in the multi-day tickets and it was good to have someone to ski with.

When my daughters Louise and Katie were old enough to ski, I had company.  I became the instructor.  All my granddaughters are now highly competent skiers.  They take lessons from me, Stowe, and local ski resorts.  My oldest granddaughter (Maggie) skis with me regularly.  We attended Bomber’s Clinic several times and were in the SWC Early Ski Clinic at Stowe last year.  Stowe instructors are among the best available.  Maggie is now in college, and we have plans to ski together again this year – mostly at Stowe.  

I am now older, but still skiing.  I like to think that my skill level is high, although the strength to ski double black diamond bumps is fading.   Without lessons, skiing would be difficult and not so much fun.

Walt Kangas

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Miracle in Lake Placid

From Memoir Moments by Mary Kuykendall

While all of us were thrilled to “work” on the downhill race, we had a competition of our own going.  When the U.S. hockey team, mostly made up of college players, beat Finland and went on to face the professional Russian team, the national press went wild.  So did our Capital District gang at our usual evening celebrations at the lakeside cottage bar.  Tickets simply were not available for the game.  Stories about those having tickets able to sell them for 100 times their value prevailed.  After a few rounds of ale, some suggested we have a contest to see who could finagle their way into the actual hockey game rather than watch it on Canadian TV at the Holiday Inn.

So the next evening, we trundled off to the hockey rink in downtown Lake Placid for the “miracle” event.  A huge crowd was already there.  It looked impossible to even get near the door to plead our case.  It turned out that Bill Kornrumpf would be my closest competitor in gaining entry.  Because his blue suit was clearly labeled “maintenance,” he cleverly spotted the Zamboni used to smooth choppy ice in the arena.  He decided his best chance was to follow it into the arena, hoping it didn’t break down and he was called upon to repair it.

I was still feeling sick after catching what I thought must be all the foreign flus available at the international event which attracted twenty-two nations.  I saw a medic at the first aid station and went over noting I was not feeling well.  She took my temperature which was about 104 and said, “Come with me.”  We went inside the arena to the first aid facility.  She gave me some Tylenol and had me lie down on a gurney.  Then she left to get a sneak peek at the game now starting.  I quickly jumped up and donned a doctor’s smock, went through the door the nurse had taken, and soon found myself in the arena.

The noise was overwhelming and the huge crowd was on their feet yelling.  Some shoving was occurring, so I decided I had better get rid of the medical outfit in case someone needed help.  I dumped it in a trashcan.  My blue suit sleeve identified me as a “controller” but did not say downhill.

The next thing I knew, a hockey volunteer grabbed my arm and said, “Thank goodness someone called for crowd control.  Get over to Aisle 3 and clear it.  People are taking each other’s seats there and others are in the aisle to get the best view of the action.”  So naturally I did as I was told.  I pointed to my identification as I asked people to move out of the aisle.  Then I sat down in it to make sure it stayed clear.

I am sorry to say that at the time I did not know there were just three periods to the game, not four as in football.  Moreover, I was not familiar with hockey plays.  I was astounded to see the players battling it out even when they were not in play.  Having done some ice skating myself, I was really impressed with the agility of the players.  But I was confused when they seemed to go out of their way to bash each other up against the arena wall even after a score was made.  Unlike football, there didn’t seem to be penalties.  Instead, the sound of clashing hockey sticks–sometimes into each other– just brought cheers.

When the U.S. team made a score, I wondered if I might lose my hearing.  I was clearly in the U.S. cheering section and it seemed no one would sit down.  They were constantly on their feet yelling, even when there was no action during the period change.  It was during such times I would look at the Russian team members, clearly puzzled about the roar despite no action. Today, when I look back on what they now call “The Miracle on Ice,” I have decided this was a case where the fans won the game.  Their unrelenting, incredible support for the U.S. team had not only rallied our college athletes but had disarmed the confused professional Russians.

But most of all, I could see the ABC camera across from me.  I occasionally waved hoping my friends would see me. They were at the Holiday Inn watching TV.  I had also been relieved to see that when the Zamboni came into the arena during a period break, it did not contain Bill Kornrumpf.

When I left the arena, the roar of the crowd was still in my ears and I had forgotten about my temperature.  Now I think about how orderly the celebrating crowd was compared to some fans today.  A group had assembled and in their glee they surrounded a police car and lifted it into the air; the policemen helped them do it.

I was quite pleased to be the winner of the Hockey Game Crash and took much pleasure in the free ales at the cottage.

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The 95th annual Thanksgiving morning hike and breakfast is in the record books. The gear was all delivered to the lean-to on Wednesday afternoon and then Mother Nature delivered the heavy wet snow on Thursday morning. A solid group braved the weather challenge to enjoy breakfast and the beautiful water falls. Thanks, again, to Jim, Kim, Michael and Mikayla Schaefer for continuing to share their love of all things out of doors with all of us.