Someone’s Always Watching
This kind of stuff is interesting to look back on. At fifteen I had followed my father and joined the National Ski Patrol System as a weekend volunteer. Dad had gotten into it for two reasons – he believed in volunteering, and it was a way to help finance the cost of taking his family skiing. I joined as much for the challenge and the camaraderie as anything. To qualify, you had to pass a series of first aid, tobogganing, and ski tests.
Every weekend we would head to the pass and ski. All the way up the pass we would look out the window and agonize about what the weather would be like at the top. Be it snow, rain, wind, biting cold or baking spring sun didn’t matter, we were skiing. Grooming runs, marking hazards, skiing with lumpy radios and fanny packs of first aid supplies, negotiating toboggans with injured victims down icey slopes, rotating coverage about the mountain and tending to people in the patrol building were all part of a normal day.
My biggest surprise turned out to be winning a national award. At seventeen, I was named the Outstanding Jr. Patroller in North America. It was an honor I had no idea existed. It started when an enterprising fellow patroller, Herm Pfahl, approached the Hyak Patrol executive committee with a suggestion they nominate me. First were regional and divisional awards and, finally, consideration for the national award. I found out later they took quite a bit of time to construct their campaign and application. I remain very flattered by the time and effort these people took to honor me. And it all took place completely without me knowing.
Although I had no idea any of these awards existed, once in awhile my young comrades and I would consider how cool it would be to be recognized like that. It was much like the imaginings of any 12-year old dreaming of becoming a major league baseball player, and we really thought nothing more of it. When someone else realizes a dream like that for you, it’s a debt that’s hard to repay.
The recognition helped give me the confidence to become a professional ski patroller. My cousin, Rich, had done the same for several years at Sun Valley. I absolutely loved skiing ever since my Uncle Neil had taught us when I was 12. To pro patrol, I ended up taking winter quarters off from college and patrolled where I learned to ski, at Hyak. During the week there were three of us to patrol both sides of the mountain. We skied 14 hours a day. Weekends were taken over by volunteer patrollers.
Looking back I am also struck by the number of notable, accomplished people who worked or volunteered at that little 3 chairlift ski area on Snoqualmie Pass. There are people who were already doing great things and those who went on to do great things. Gary Burke, who ran Sportcaster for his father, Marvin. Along with White Stag in Portland, they were the premier suppliers of U.S.-made skiwear; Pat Dineen, area manager, who went on to Washington wine country fame with Dineen Vineyards; his son, Pat, Jr., who became a World Cup moguls champion; Chris Chandler, doctor and world-renowned mountain climber; Ray Pedrizetti, electrical engineer and early Microsoft employee. I’m sure the list goes on; these are the people I immediately recall.
The biggest impression all these people made upon me was proving an old axiom: you never know when someone is watching. It was strong validation for understanding I should always do my best. It also taught me being the best person you can be is always recognized, even if it is rarely expressed. Having the confidence and the self-discipline to ingrain effort into your psyche is a great tool for growing your abilities. In one way or another, it always pays off; maybe not in the way you first envision, but in the end it always pays.
