New Year’s eve, 1974...

Just fifty years ago, I happened to spend New Year’s eve with friends at “Neige et Roc” a popular and perfectly situated restaurant next to the bottom station of the old Avoriaz cable car. The food there wasn't particularly fine, but I had eaten there frequently because of its convenient location. 

My table buddies were Avoriaz ski instructors with their wives and girlfriends and as I was at the end of my first 4 months away from the ski school and into my new Racing Director job with Look bindings I was happy to see my former colleagues again and reminiscing about the olden days with them. 

Present at this dinner in the quality of a buddy of mine’s sister-in-law, was Evelyne, a young lady that would become my wife the following year, and today, we’re on the path of our fiftieth year together. 

That’s right, nearing our "Golden Anniversary," a truly remarkable achievement in this day and age, the testimony of a deep and enduring bond built on love, respect, resilience and commitment. 

A timeline that shows our ability to have navigated life's ups and downs together, to have forgiven, compromised, and continued to nurture the relationship through thick and thin. It will also be a lifetime of shared experiences, memories, and growth. 

It represents a rich tapestry of joys, sorrows, triumphs, and challenges that have shaped our lives together from France to New York and then to Park City. 

The legacy of our 50-year marriage will extend beyond just our couple as we hope that it inspires our children, grandson, and future generations with the hope and possibility of enduring love...

Michel Lascar, 1938-2024

The first time I met Michel was in October 1969 when I showed up at the Avoriaz ski school in the hope of getting a job there.

Since I wasn’t certified teaching skiing I was told to attend a week long clinic alongside him, in Chamrousse, near Grenoble, prior to the ski season. Michel wasn't certified either, as he had been hired initially to just be a ski-bike instructor. We then taught skiing together in Avoriaz through 1974 when I left. 

In fact, Michel Lascar was an important figure in French mountaineering in the 1960s. He distinguished himself with his daring and technical climbs, helping to push the boundaries of the discipline. He opened many routes in the Alps, particularly on north faces. 

He also took part in several expeditions outside of the Alps. One of his most famous climbs was the north face of the Eiger in 1966, with Patrice Bodin. 

This route, premiered a few years earlier, remained a mountaineering myth and the duo added their names to the list of mountaineers who have achieved this technical and physical feat. 

Michel Lascar was always calm, nice and easy. A mountain lover, his quiet demeanor embodied Lao-Tzu’s words: “He who knows, does not speak. He who speaks, does not know.” 

Heartfelt condolences to Michel’s entire family.

Pierrot Meugnier, 1946-2024

I met Pierrot the first season I taught skiing in Avoriaz, that was over 54 years ago. I remember that he was different, fun and had a fabulous sense of humor. I liked him a lot and he left cascading rays of sunshine in his wake. 

He was one of a kind. More than 2 years ago, I learned that Pierre was paralyzed from the waist down, the result from a cancerous vertebrae. He remembered me because I had then taken his defense when he was bullied by a ski instructor from Morzine. 

I began calling Pierrot regularly, and was always impressed by his positive attitude, his ever fun spirit, and his steely determination to progressively regain his mobility until his cancer would unfortunately return and get the best of him. I’m sad to see him go and will miss him a lot! 

My heartfelt condolences to his entire family.

Fired from the Ski School!

The concise letter illustrating this blog was written just 50 years ago and mailed to me the following day. Bad luck, though, I didn’t get a chance to open it up as I had already left for Tübingen, Germany, south of Stuttgart, where I had traveled to take an intensive German course from November 5 to December 14, 1973. 

It was an official announcement that I was fired from the Avoriaz Ski School, along with two friends and colleagues, Henri Marullaz and Xavier Guiot. I don’t recall who reach me in Germany to gave me the bad news as phone contact wasn't easy at the school where I was studying. I don’t remember either how I took this rather bad piece of news. 

To this day, I don’t know what went into Pernet’s head to make that dumb decision. Perhaps his machismo got the best of him; his off-season job was to drive a huge bulldozer to cut the ski runs, so he must have preferred forceful action to negotiation. His tastes were a bit Teutonic too, as his favorite cars were BMW's, his skis Fischer and his boots Humanic. 

Was I angry at Claude Pernet for firing us without due process? I can’t seem to remember. What is sure is that, for a few years, I remained pretty pissed off at the man, but since then, I have forgiven, but not forgotten his brutal behavior. This said, Pernet’s decision was reversed by a vote of the ski school’s general assembly shortly before I returned from Germany. That episode was the first blow in my ski instructing career. 

My activism wasn’t worth the discomfort it brought me, and I began to consider an alternative to my “selling turns”. In retrospect, this firing might have been for the very best!

Remembering a former colleague

While I was in France, I went to visit the Montriond cemetery where my parents are buried and also the special section where the ashes of my brother ans sister in law have been placed. 

A few days later we stopped by the Morzine cemetery where I wanted to see the spot where my former colleague, Dominique Mollaret, had been buried following his tragic death on the Mont-Blanc mountain. 

I remember that along with the late Henri Marullaz we drove on his jeep to nearby Taninges in order to retrieve the pieces of rock that would constitute the stone work built to honor Dominique. 

That was around October of 1972, some 51 years ago…

Precious times, half a century ago!

This picture was taken at the “Pas du Lac” restaurant in March 1973 with some of my best buddies. Just fifty years ago, this was the place where we’d get a boosting morning espresso before our class lessons would start. 

An alternative place would have been the “Café de la Gare”, but we weren’t too eager to give our hard-earned Franc to that establishment! 

We would shoot the breeze, catch up with the latest news, and share our plans for the futures that didn’t go much further than the end of the week. At that moment, I wasn’t sure I’d return to Australia the following summer as I was consumed by the major crisis that was splitting our ski school in two.

From left to right: Jean-Claude, Denys, Blandine, me and Francois. Well we were young, still carefree and life felt good.

Rehearsing my Christiana ski turns for Sweden

After my season in Australia, I had been named on the French ski demo team to travel and perform all the way to northern Sweden. 

Members of that small team were Michel Fabre, Alain Morand and myself. I probably was picked because of my fluency in English, but that’s all I can remember. 

I don’t know who was briefing and coaching us before we left for Stockholm, but suffice to say that we traveled 280 miles from my home, to Isola 2000 a two-years old brand new ski resort near Nice and rehearsed our ski Christiana turns that, at that time, were the holy grail of the French ski technique. 

I will need to ask both Michel and Alain what was the program of the few days spent on the slopes overlooking the French Riviera as I would love to remember, so check that blog for a possible update. 

At any rate after a half a century time keeps on flying! 

Isola 2000 in the early 70s...

Very, very last turns at Mt. Buller

This grainy and blurry photograph that I took on the dwindling Australian snow, shows Gérard Bouvier, Roland Raphoz, Nicolas Bauer and Philippe Couttaz basking in the late September sun (was it the 20th?) and not worried about what kind of reality would fall upon our respective heads 50 years later. 

We didn’t know either whether or not we’d ever return to Australia. We had no clue how we’d make a living, where we’d end up living and all the things we’d be learning along the way and the experiences we’d end up having. 

There’s a lot of truth in the fact that ignorance is bliss! I would end up my stay by traveling with Gerard via Hong-Kong to Japan, and then return home via the then Soviet Union… 

I’m sure Roland made the trip between France and Australia many time as he married an Aussie, but for me, I’d have to wait till 1994 to return to Kangaroo land! While I have lost track of Roland after seeing in France around 1977 and talking to him some 10 years ago, I’ve never ever seen Nicolas Bauer again. 

Nicolas, where are you hiding?

Fifty years ago at Mt. Buller

Another enjoyable spring afternoon, relaxing and waiting for the start of the afternoon group lessons by the Blue Lift chairlift. 

Lazy day for sure, half-a-century ago, no rush to get to work, when ignorance was certainly bliss and when we were about ready to wrap the season up. 

That would be my second and last ski season, teaching down-under at Mt. Buller. I would consider coming a third one, but didn’t have the motivation to, as I had to deal with a bunch of unsavory issues after I returned to the Avoriaz ski school. 

Ski instructors from left to right: Serge †, Roland, Peewee, Heather, me, Coucou... 

 

More about words used in teaching skiing…

Many teaching jobs are not learned in a school setting, but the process begins when the teacher is facing the students. At first it can be very awkward, difficult and horrible, but eventually one finds their groove and a teaching routine begins to take shape. 

I’m not saying it’s necessarily a great one, but through repetition, feedback and measurements, as crude and ineffective as it may be, a teaching style emerge. Then, depending on the degree of passion for the subject taught, huge differences in quality can develop. 

Obviously, the teacher must realize that he or she has to step into their student shoes, both physically and mentally. That dimension will vary vastly with individuals and their capacity for empathy as well as the depth and diversity of their personal experience. 

This, at the end of a teacher’s formative process will unavoidably lead to huge differences in outcome. Then there’s the routine phase, where teaching quality may get enhanced (through “aha moments”, student or supervisory feedback) or deteriorate as time goes on (laziness, lack of motivation and passion for the work). 

This obviously begs for frequent assessment and evaluations that are both time consuming as well as costly and rarely happen in ideal conditions if at all. In the end, the result is a crap-shoot, with a select few outstanding teachers, many fair to mediocre and about the same many that are unhelpful or terrible. 

Good luck in picking the right one!

The words we use to teach skiing…

On August 16, 2022, Bernard “Dadou” Mayer, the other Taos ski legend, passed away at age 82. He was preceded in his death by his other brother Jean aged 85, on October 16, 2020. Both were iconic characters at Taos Ski Valley, known as the New Mexico ski resort’s legendary instructors and innkeepers.

As I was searching about them, I stumbled upon a couple of videos featuring the brothers and highlighting their teaching technique. This is when I realized that what we say as we teach skiing isn’t always as clear as it should be and, worse, can’t often be understood by those who are taught how to ski. Teaching skiing isn’t like sharing a simple kitchen recipe. 

It’s mostly intangible and it deals with intensity, speed, pressure and feelings that often are uncommon, very difficult to precisely translate into words, and even more to be understood by the recipient. If the teacher doesn’t put him or herself inside their students ski boots, and won’t experiment with analogies, metaphors or other forms of simple, easy-to-relate examples, the instruction simply won’t go through. 

The big challenge is that ski teaching technique is written and transmitted in cryptic, technical jargon that sounds often meaningless to the instructor and even more so to the student. 

At the same time, the person learning how to ski has to deal with fear, a sensation of total lack of control and of finding themselves in a harsh, unfriendly environment, where it’s cold, other skiers are zooming from all directions, sometime looking as they will collide into them, while they’re prisoner of clumsy, hard to maneuver and heavy gear. 

I would also suggest that ski instructors get their entire “spiel” or curriculum video-recorded, then sit down with potential students, communication experts and highly experienced instructors that can differentiate poor communication from excellent and develop a communication protocol from there that’s comfortable for the teacher to use. 

What’s your take on using words that work for skiing? 

Remembering a mountain guide

Just 50 years ago, on Friday, August 11, 1972, as I was teaching skiing in Australia for a second season, I received a telegram from France advising me of Dominique Mollaret’s death. 

I will always remember that on this day, a mix of rain and snow was falling on a usually foggy day at Mt. Buller. There, it was already Saturday, the day after. Still, I was stunned by the news after all we had gone through with Dominique, our short-lived Avoriaz ski school director… 

Dominique, then twenty-seven years old, originally from Grenoble but living in my hometown of Morzine, France, died while as he was soloing Mont Blanc via l’Aiguille Noire de Peuterey (aka the Super Integral de Peuterey, or Frêney trilogy). 

While no one knows for sure the cause of his death (he could have been hit by a falling rock, exhausted or victim of equipment dysfunction), while repelling the Aiguille, some believe that his abseil got stuck and he reportedly died of exhaustion trying to retrieve it. 

The so-called Super Integrale de Peutèrey, would finally premiered in 1982 by the Italian mountaineer Renato Casarotto. This tragic accident brought Dominique’s career as a guide to a brutal stop.

My second Australian ski season

Fifty years ago, I left the French Alps on June 27 for a short ski instructing season in Australia that would last until the end of the third week in September. 

In these days, the trip meant 27 hours sitting uncomfortably inside many airplanes of various airlines, from Geneva, to Vienna, Bahrain, Colombo, Kuala Lumpur, Sidney and finally Melbourne. I was so beat up and exhausted when I arrived that I never was able recover until about mid-October of that year!

The ski school was the same and so was its director, Alexis Saudan. Once there, I’d also rejoin Gérard Bouvier, Christophe Saudan, Philippe Coutaz and meet the two cousins Leon and Serge Empereur, Monique Boyelle, Nicolas Bauer, the Canadian John Peters and Roland Raphoz who joined us later. 

The season was a good one, snow was pretty decent, but the job had become more of a routine and the process of discovery was over, so in the end it wasn’t nearly as fun. We sure drank our share and left the rest for the thirsty visitors and the French instructors who would follow us into our fun, slaloming path...

Returning to Australia

Back in May of 1972, about 50 years ago, I don’t clearly remember how I decided to rejoin Alexis Saudan and his French ski school at Mt. Buller for another ski season. 

Initially, I was supposed to join JP Chatellard at the Orange lifts / Austrian ski school under Walter Frois leadership, but must have gotten cold feet along the way. 

It’s true that my ski season in Avoriaz was a rough, contentious one, and that left me little time to plan ahead for what I would do during the following summer season, but suffice to say that I defaulted to the easy, routine choice of the known element that was Alexis and his team. 

That year, only Gérard Bouvier, Philippe Coutaz and Christophe’s, Saudan’s son would be returning.

Reconnecting with an old friend…

Fifty-two years ago I began teaching skiing at the Avoriaz ski school. Not only was I thrilled to work there, but I met a bunch of different and outstanding co-workers. 

Some I knew a little bit, most I didn’t. Among those was a guy by the name of Pierre Meugnier. If I remember correctly, he came from Paris by the way of Leysin, Switzerland where he was a ski instructor at Club Med. I guess that’s where he met, Lisette, his wife to be. 

He was also a mountain guide and was always singing “Mellow Yellow”, Donavan’s hit song at the time. To complete the picture, so to speak, he had lost an eye and wore a glass one instead. 

A few days ago, my friend Anselme told me that Pierre was paralyzed from the waist down, the result of several bouts with cancer. He had also told me that once, I stood for him when he was harassed by a red-neck ski instructor from Morzine (episode I can’t remember). 

So, yesterday I called Pierre who currently moved from his Swiss home at Châtellard, in Switzerland, to a more convenient place in Vallorcine, near Chamonix. We chatted for have been 10 minutes and we both feel great again. 

Yes, as it felt more than half a century ago!

Xavier Guiot, 1947-2022

This past Saturday, I learned that my friend and brother-in-law Xavier had passed away a week earlier from what seemed to be Covid-19. From what I was able to gather, he was vaccinated. 

I came to know Xavier during the winter of 1967 in Morzine, France. Almost every weekend, we saw each other on the slalom course at that base of the Pleney tram where we both attempting to get the so important “Chamois d’Argent” that would enable us to take the entry exam into French ski instruction certification. 

Two years later, I found him as a ski instructor member of the Avoriaz ski school where he had just begun teaching the year before. Since we already know each other, we became good friends. 

Xavier had just married Paule, my future wife’s sister and they both had settled in an old multi-family house near the Morzine suspended pedestrian bridge. 

Xavier was a bit aloof, perhaps self-centered or may be both, but still I liked the guy. 

Later on, I met my wife thanks to that relationship, and we were closely involved during the strife that opposed half of the ski school to each others. 

We both had a hard time finding a counter-seasonal job, and eventually, just like me, Xavier threw the towel and took a job as big-box retail store manager in the Champagne region of France. 

In the early 90s some family arguments about heritage harmed the relationship and we stopped having a normal relationship...

Revolt at the ski school

As I explained eight years ago under the “Avoriaz ski school saga”, an ugly conflict developed over the summer when I was in Australia. 

It eventually came to a head, at the annual pre-season gathering of my instructor colleagues, and I was chosen as the spokesperson to voice half of the ski school grivances to our director Edmond Denis. While 

I was able to speak in front of a group, my communication style could have been much, much better, and once I had said my piece, my fate was set for the remainder of my career in Avoriaz. 

From there, I'd learn a bunch of things from my new vantage point, including the fact that I had been instrumentalized by Francois Baud, an honorary member of the ski school who couldn’t stand Edmond Denis.

Also, I learned right here and there that it’s not just WHAT we say in life, but rather HOW we say it and while some modicum of IQ helps, the most important gift in life is Emotional Intelligence, a domain I had yet to discover... https://go-11.blogspot.com/2013/11/the-avoriaz-ski-school-saga.html

A quiet early fall of 1971

Just fifty years ago, I had returned from Australia and was busy building my new home with the help of my brother Gaston and my Dad. I wasn’t quite sure I wanted a house and wanted to grow roots in my hometown, just next door to my folks. 

I had bigger plans, but they were so fuzzy I couldn’t even see them. The six previous months, my travels around the world had opened up my eyes and I couldn’t see myself growing older in Montriond, even though it was a wonderful place promised to a prosperous future. 

I was now hooked on seeing even more of the world and just couldn’t settle forever in that one place. On weekends we celebrated my return in the company of my friends, all instructors at Avoriaz and our lives were light, easy and without large responsibilities. 

I had a lot of stories to tell and was proud of each one of them. One night, we went out in JF Rosset’s parents car, a Simca 1500 station wagon, along with Anselme Baud, JC Page and François Chauplannaz, had quite a few drinks and Rosset crashed the car in a curve, but we all survived, laughing.

JF Rosset was the only one who didn’t has he had to face his father’s fury. This mishap was just a precautionary warning. In a few weeks darker clouds would come over my head and suddenly change my blissful experience for a much more challenging one…

A first trip ‘round the world, part 76

Arriving at the brand new Paris Charles de Gaulle airport was the rude awakening signaling that the grand adventure was now over. 

I think I took a bus to reach Gare de Lyon, jumped in a slow train to Thonon-Les-Bains (it was long before TGV high-speed trains roamed the land) and arrived late afternoon in the capital of Chablais where my brother Gaston was waiting for me. 

I had not seen him for four and a half month. 

I sure was as glad to see him as I assumed he was. 

We caught up with the news and quickly talked about my house that was under construction. I had not thought much about it since last May. Tomorrow we’d go and work on the roof that we would cover with asphalt shingles. 

The dream was now over. I had finally landed on some harsh reality!

A first trip ‘round the world, part 75

When I got off the bus in Montreal, early that morning and after I placed my belongings into one of the station lockers, I felt pretty good. It was one of these awesome October fall days that are the hallmark of the east coast of America. 

In addition the Greyhound Station was steps away from the Park of Mt. Royal which provided me with a stunning first impression of that city. I spent most of my day there, walking around, watching people enjoying the warm autumnal sun and feeling good. 

In the middle of the afternoon, it was time to get on a bus to Dorval airport to catch my flight back to Paris. I still remember that moment quite vividly. For the first time in my life I boarded that cavernous Air France 747, and had not enough eyes to be impressed by the massive flying machine. 

I think I slept most of the time it took to cross the Atlantic. As I woke up, I felt conflicting feelings as I know realized that my trip was coming to an end and that real-life reality was lurking around the corner.