This blog must, in fairness, begin with a disclaimer. The "Bad Boys" of whom I speak (and among whose number I proudly include myself) are neither bad, nor boys. Indeed, as of this writing, our average age is comfortably north of sixty.
My participation in the Bad Boys began in 1989, with an invitation from our titular leader, Tony, a corporate lawyer based in Washington, D.C., and skier of considerable note. Tony owns a home in Jackson Hole, Wyoming named "Bad Boys" (think "Tara" or Graceland"). I was visiting with my younger son, Larry, and my wife, Riki. Our hosts were Tony, his wife, and two daughters.
I had come late to skiing (mid-forties, as most would agree, qualifies as "late"), and was understandably daunted by my surroundings. Jackson Hole is a remote skiing outpost noted for the highest vertical drop in the continental United States. The peak of Rendezvous Mountain, part of the Grand Teton Mountain Range, stands a dizzying 10,450 feet above sea level, and features some of the most challenging trails most skiers can expect to encounter in a lifetime. The Tetons (French for "breasts," something which only adds to their allure) form an imposing skyline of pristine majesty. The outline of one portion on this mountain range is known as "the sleeping indian," and looks like the profile of a chieftan in repose, complete with head-dress and hawk-like nose.
At the time, there were very few runs (other than the Bunny slope) that a beginning skier would wish to attempt. Although I did ride up to the top of the mountain in their famous tram on that first visit, it was never with an intention of skiing down. No way! While my son, Larry, was cautiously escorted down from the top by Tony, Riki and I rode the tram back down from the top of Rendezvous Bowl, comfortably located above such distractions as clouds and treelines. Just to put Rendezvous Mountain in perspective, trail ratings (i.e. green for beginners, blue for intermediates, and black or double black for experts) are always relative to the mountain. There is a heavily moguled run called "Wide Open," (known to us as "W.F.O.") which would be a "double black" back east. At Jackson Hole, it is a double-blue, meaning "more difficult" intermediate.
After a day of enduring altitude adjustment headaches and breathlessness, I began to comfortably cavort on the bunny slope.
On the third day an instructor (of whom I have less than fond memories) took me up to the middle of the mountain. Never being comfortable with heights, I had some problems dismounting from some of the chairlifts. What followed next was both harrowing and exhausting. Western mountains are often connected by what are called "traverses." It is a gentle word, hardly preparing a beginning skier for the narrow, winding passages where one side is the mountain, and the other, "the great beyond." With my legs spread into the snow plow (or "pizza slice"), the only stance I knew, my thighs were aflame with the effort it took to keep me on course. By the time we got to the open space where I was to be instructed, I had little, if any, energy left for the lesson, which (in any event) was totally lost on me. After a fruitless hour or so, I managed to make it down the mountain, where my skills at apres-ski were far more accomplished than those just demonstrated on the slopes. At our final dinner in this area of breathtaking beauty, Tony invited me to join the Bad Boys at its next gathering, traditionally taking place during the carry-over week linking late February to early March. Having less than five days of skiing to my "credit," I wasn't sure I was up to this serious foolishness, but nonetheless agreed.
The following year, I embarked upon the lengthy trip to Jackson, Wyoming. Even in those Halcyon pre-9/11 days, the plane ride(s) called into question the old cliche, "getting there is half the fun." Arriving at JFK well in advance of my 7:00 AM flight, our plane only went as far as Salt Lake City. From there, you hop a "puddle jumper" from Salt Lake to Jackson, a forty-minute flight that, on more times than I care to recall, turned around due to snow-inflicted visibility problems in Jackson.
Given my novice status, you might wonder how I prepared for the challenges of skiing with the Bad Boys--what kind of special exercises, lessons, or practice sessions on more gentle eastern terrain I undertook. The answer is, simply, "none."
At the time, the Bad Boys ranged in age from people in their early forties to two fellows in their late fifties. In addition to the altitude adjustment, I had an attitude adjustment to make as well. There was a fellow named Phil, who was just shy of fifty-nine, and another, Warren, whose 60th birthday was celebrated later that week. I could not conceive of people being able to ski that well--let alone ski at all--at what seemed (at the time) such an advanced age. One thing the Bad Boys did for me right off the bat, was change my perception of age and its limitations.
While the Bad Boys' roster has varied somewhat from year to year, the "hard core" remains, more or less, unchanged. The lineup in 1990 was impressive. My wife asked me, on my return, if there was much in the way of arguments or bickering. I was happy to report that the atmosphere was supportive and collegial. The professional backgrounds of the Bad Boys was accomplished, and mostly related to financial services, many of whom originated as clients of Tony's. Joe, Tony, (later both David T. and David M.), and I were lawyers. Vince was a client of Tony's, and CEO of a international communications company, and Warren was his Chief Operating Officer (and the official Bad Boys "accountant," charged with apportioning our expenses, which were shared equally). Fritz ran a company specializing in custom-made iron grill works for homes and businesses. Phil headed the mutual fund business for a major Wall Street firm, and John K managed several mutual funds. Bart and Andrew (AKA "The Brothers C") were partners in a real-estate operation out of Vail, and were unusually powerful skiers, only occasionally joining us as Bad Boys. Like Tony, "the Brothers C" participated in "old boys" Rugby tournaments. (Nothing, not even the severest of nature's callings, stopped the Brothers C. from pounding down the most difficult of slopes with reckless abandon. The tenuous boundaries of good taste preclude any further specificity.) A few years later, we were to be joined by Bob, a friend of Phil's, who had recently retired as a corporate executive, and taught Business Administration. Also joining us was Tony's nephew, Jamie, an investment manager. Joe was the only bachelor among the Bad Boys, with the rest of us married with children, some more than once.
Professional achievements apart, the Bad Boys' interests extended well beyond skiing. Joe and Bob both had both earned their private pilot's licenses. In addition, Joe is a mountaineer, having several serious "technical" climbs to his credit, and Bob is an accomplished singer of choral music. Jamie had been a ranked junior tennis player, a contemporary of John McEnroe. Warren is a serious bridge player. David T., former general counsel of a national corporation, has retired from the law, and is engaged in pastoral studies. He takes members of his congregation on yearly trips to the Holy Land, and is in the process of establishing a ministry. Tony is an "old boy" Rugby player who travels wherever ruggers scrum and swill beer. I remain (among other pursuits) an aging tennis bum and sometime musician.
That said, the skiing credentials of my fellow Bad Boys were most impressive, with Tony having been a downhill racer at Princeton, and Fritz a former member of the Austrian ski patrol. Phil was also an expert skier, logging in about fifty days a year. (Coincidentally, Phil and I had both served as Special Agents in the Air Force Office of Special Investigation, albeit, about ten years apart. Apart from Warren, who had been in the Army during the Korean War, we were the only "active duty" veterans among the Bad Boys, something unusual given our age group, although Joe had served as a uniformed officer in the Public Health Service, and Tony, and, possibly, one or two others, were reservists.)
Despite my novice status, the crew could not have made me feel more welcome. I was even introduced to a ski instructor named Eddie Kolsky whom one of Tony and Joe's friends from Jackson knew and recommended. I bonded with Eddie for two reasons. In addition to being a tennis pro in the summer and a devout Yankee fan, he was a gifted teacher. I remember working with him on a technique called the "side slip," which is essential to a skier who finds himself in a tight or difficult spot, and wants to control his speed by sliding perpendicular to the mountain until the opportunity to turn becomes easier. The basic direction to "release your edges," made no sense to me, as it seemed that would cause me to lose my balance and fall sideways over my skis. Eddie tried three other approaches, finally succeeding on the fourth. When I told him that one of the things I liked most about his teaching method was his ability to demonstrate and explain different approaches until he found one that I could understand, he replied that it was the fourth of seven ways of teaching the technique.
Tony, Fritz, Phil (and, later, Jamie and Warren's son, David M.) made up the top tier of skiers (along with the Brother's C, when they deigned to join us). Joe, Vince, Phil, John K. and, later, Bob and Dave T., comprised the second tier--"advanced" skiers, doing all but the most challenging "chutes." And then, there was yours truly, bringing up the rear, year after year, until I slowly succeeded in pulling even with the pack (thanks to Eddie's tutelage, the support of my fellow Bad Boys, and my own lack of sound judgment), eventually joining them on virtually every run.
Some of my early experiences became the stuff of Bad Boys' legend, deservedly at my expense. The first (Memorable Experience #1) was my "maiden voyage" from the top of Rendezvous Bowl, a wide, but steeply moguled descent from the top of the mountain. For those unfamiliar with moguls, they refer not to Hollywood studio owners, but to bumps dug out of (non-groomed) ski runs, which rise up into small hillocks of snow caused by repeated skiers' carvings down a run. Moguls are skied by a combination of skiing in the furrows at their bottoms, or going over the tops--or both. I have actually since come to like moguls, as they can help you slow down on steep runs. They are also kind of fun, part of the unique combination of work and play that distinguish skiing from all other athletic pursuits in which I have have engaged. (I have played competitive tennis at the college and club level for many years, but even consider exhausting matches "play." Not so with skiing. Skiing entails work. Don't take my word for it, try it yourself.)
Back to "Memorable Experience #1." In 1991, accompanied by a nervous me, the Bad Boys rode up in the old tram (replaced two years ago with a bigger and faster one). The tram is the only way to the top of the mountain, and then took about ten minutes. When you got off at the top of Rendezvous Bowl, you were literally above the clouds, in a windy and cold wasteland nearly two miles above sea level. Before skiing, we took a short lunch break in a modest little shack (think "the last supper"). Why the loudspeaker was playing Dylan's "Knocking on Heaven's Door" was beyond me. I dearly hoped there was no significance to its selection. Anyway, after the lukewarm gruel and crackers which passed for lunch, off we went. Tony explained that the easiest way down was a series of wide "S" turns, essentially traversing down the run. The only problem, as a greatly relieved Tony explained to me later, was that I was picking up an undue amount of downhill speed along the bumpy traverse. He kept urging me to turn on my "uphill ski," apparently a way in which to slow down. Since my "uphill" ski would become my "downhill" ski as soon as I began to turn on it, I misunderstood, and did nothing (other than to speed up). Somehow, Tony ultimately got through to me, ("go uphill, damn it!) and I finally steered uphill, far to the left of where he would have liked me to. Once we stopped, I was able to achieve a more controlled, if inelegant, descent. Tony later told me that he had a horrifying vision of me veering out of control, and the unpleasant phone call to my wife, Riki, which would have, by necessity, followed. Fortunately, we were spared that particular notification, and the loss of my mountain virginity was toasted by the Bad Boys in our apres ski celebration at The Mangy Moose, the celebrated watering hole at the mountain's bottom. I had done my first Jackson Hole "Black Diamond" Run.
Memorable Experience #2: A year or two later, traveling left off the bottom of Rendezvous Bowl toward a daunting run called "Cirque," Tony suggested we part company, while he and the others took off for the Cirque. It wasn't a bad idea, as the route to the Cirque included a "traverse" carved into the mountain and barely wide enough for a single pair of skis. Tony had intended me to ski to the right, where gentler climes awaited. Thinking he meant straight down from where we were, I found myself facing a "blind chute" leading to God knows where. The trouble with "blind chutes," as the name suggests, is that you enter a steep descent that whips you around and exits into the unknown. Wisely avoiding this "option," my only other choice was to climb uphill and take that one-man traverse to the Cirque. I managed to climb and pull myself up to a small area surrounded by shrubs and other outcroppings, to which I held onto for dear life. My compatriots later reported having only detected my whereabouts by the branches of the shrubs moving in rhythm to my upward movement. Ironically, the dreaded traverse and, ultimately, the Cirque proved a clumsy, if safer, alternative to the blind chute. I was exhausted when I met my concerned mates, who were about to dispatch a search party (Fritz, the erstwhile ski patroller, was nominated). For years to come, I was referred to as "he of the waving shrub."
Memorable Experience #3: One of the rites of passage of an aspiring skier is to ski through the woods, sometimes given the euphemism of "glade skiing," which makes this risky business sound bucolic. Each of the Bad Boys had informally, assumed certain roles in my mountain tutelage. After the "Rendezvous Bowl Incident," Tony was taking a well-deserved rest from his instructional duties. Warren and Fritz helped me on turning, while Joe taught me how to use poles, and Jamie demonstrated some techniques in negotiating moguls. Phil was deputed to take me through the woods (on a run called the "Moran Woods" ). Cautioning me to proceed with care, as trees have an overwhelming advantage when it comes to encounters with humans on skis, Phil led me through a short passage where the trees were not too close together nor the descent too steep. Waiting for me just beyond the outcropping, I could hear him calling, "turn, turn, turn" as I emerged from the thicket. Thinking he was singing an old Pete Seeger song, I, in disregarding his advice, executed one of the easiest, if least elegant maneuvers in skiing; the "face plant." As the expression suggests, it is where the skier plunges forward, landing on his, well, face. "Why didn't you turn," Phil asked, not unreasonably. Looking up through snow-encrusted eyes, I replied, "I didn't know whether you meant left or right." In the gentlest of rejoinders, Phil said, "Either would have done."
As the years rolled into decades, a second generation of occasional Bad Boys joined their parents or fathers-in-law on the mountain, including Phil's son Mike, Warren's son David M., Tony's son's-in-law, Michael and "Bullet," our lone "Bad Girl,"daughter-in-law, "Izzie," and--may I say with special pride--my sons Jason and Larry.
While the Bad Boys pride themselves on skiing hard, we have an enviable record in apres-ski. Jackson Hole boasts a number of fine restaurants with menus and wine lists whose prices compete favorably with the most outrageous in New York. Tony, our resident oenophile, examines wine lists accompanied by a list of vintages he carries in his wallet. We are also most fortunate in having Bad Boys whose culinary skills make our nights at home as memorable as those spent in restaurants (emphasis on "spent"). Joe's cousin, Chris, has been a Bad Boy for the better part of ten years, and is truly a gourmet chef. Joe and Warren have each distinguished themselves with turkey dinners worthy of Thanksgiving, which in a way, all our meals together are. I have earned my keep during these dinners by providing after-dinner entertainment, literally "singing for my supper."
It is miraculous that the twenty-plus years of Bad Boys have been (relatively) injury free. Joe had an ACL tear following a chair dismount when a (blankety-blank) snow-boarder's board swiped his skis such that they criss-crossed and caused the ligament tear and necessitated surgery. A few years later, Dave T. tore his ACL on a pre-release. (No, it's not what you think.) Sometimes when the bindings that connect boots to skis are not sufficiently tight, they can release when you don't want them to. The kind of skiing we do requires that the skis don't release on tight turns, even bounces. Obviously, in a big fall, you want them to come off, and they do. Dave's released on the first turn of his first run of the trip. He remained with us throughout the trip, unable to ski, but in far better humor than I fear I would have been under similar circumstances. Lastly, Bob injured his knee approaching a tight gully run known as "Dick's Ditch," and was done for the trip. Other than these (and a near horror-story when part of my son Jason's ski jacket got caught up in the chair-lift, and almost dragged him off the mountain until he was able to pull himself out of it under the non-watchful eyes of the clueless lift operator), we have remained injury free.
This past trip was particularly poignant. We had expected nine men until Jamie had to pull out due to complications from back surgery. Warren, who has a pacemaker, is no longer able to join us because his doctor doesn't want him to ski at altitudes such as exist at Jackson Hole. Chris, who has been out of work for a while bowed out, and his neighbor Walt had to withdraw due to a wife's illness. Lastly, John K., cancelled at the last minute with eye problems. (I won't even mention Tony's diverticulitis attack and hospitalization on Wednesday. After all, he was back skiing the next day, so big deal.) I grant that this is all starting to sound macabre!
When I arrived on March 1st, (later than usual due to family birthdays), I was only the fifth Bad Boy on hand. Fortunately, the four remaining people, Tony, Phil, Joe, and Dave, were hard-core Bad Boys, three of them among my original tutors dating back to 1990. We had a great time. On Tuesday, March 2nd, we celebrated two upcoming birthdays; Joe's 67th and Phil's (gasp!) 80th. Perhaps, gin is a preservative. Phil, by the way, doesn't even use vermouth in his martinis.
When I arrived for my first Bad Boys' experience twenty-one years ago, Phil seemed old then. Happily, he and Joe are both skiing (and from what they tell me, doing everything else) as well as ever. Happy birthday, old friends!
When I sang following Joe's excellent dinner last Tuesday night, the words to my song, "The Gift "[(c)2008], seemed particularly fitting. I'm not sure whether I was singing the song to the mountains or to my aging, but enduring, comrades with whom I shared this special bond and secret. Perhaps both.
"High amidst the Teton's wild, majestic glories, within sight of where the sleeping indian lies, I stepped into each ski, two miles above the sea, and gazed into the crystal winter skies.
"I began my downhill odyssey through powder, bump and glade, down a trail that just the lucky few have trod. I saw a moose so still it seemed a statue nature made, and I thought I heard the whispered voice of God."
Listen, perhaps you can hear it, too.
John B. Sprung
