Mountain Resort Magazine
We began publication in 2005 with these words...
Bottom line--this magazine is your voice. It's not about writers or shooters or extreme bro-bra athletes or the thousand other kooks trying to claim a piece of the hill. It's about the people who work in ops, marketing and management--who they are, what they do, how they do it, and what they do it with. That's all.
It’s a story that began the day you got your first comp pass, and that was worth a laugh, "So, let me get this straight, I get this for FREE, and you pay me to show up?"
It’s about what it's like to have line privileges on a sweet day. Or the night your manager bought a keg and you tumbled headfirst into the GM. Hell, he turned out to be exactly like the rest of us, just a few more beers and years under his belt.
It’s about the quiet respect when you tell people you work on the hill. Backdoor access to the parties. That early morning ride up after a dump, no sound at all, just the rubbery squeak of sheaves and soft thumps of snow sliding off the trees.
And there’s more... Like a time our crew was drinking in the lodge, someone ran in yelping that Barry the base guy had just taken hostages and barricaded them all in the locker room. Three hours. Looking back, everyone should've seen it coming--he'd been grumbling for a year about never being allowed to drive the Bobcat.
Or another buddy, he liked to... joke ...with every ski-only instructor over the age of 40 to stop whining about having to teach beginners, "Because, you know, there's a revolution coming, and you don't want to end up in the mass grave."
This will be fun, along the way we’ll try to answer some tough questions, like what do you do when you find two lift operators living in the walls of the A-frame, sleeping in a cubby they've hollowed out behind the beer cooler? Marry them up on Sunday?
What's the department cost when you loan your brother one of your comp passes, then he cuts a rope and almost gets his ass blown up by a pro tossing charges? We'll tell ya: It's beer, pizza and free T-shirts for every patrol on the mountain. Ever been looking down, working on the ramp, when one of those old Riblet doubles came off the bullwheel and cold-cocked the side of your head? Yep, you probably have.Flying towers on a dreary, sleet-swept day. Turning screws all morning with the crappy flathead, that one with no bite and the narrow, blister-popping grip. The smell of a thousand cheeseburgers and thick, rich chili. Slogging out to the flats towing 27 kids, their equipment, and 54 hyper-chatty parents. The shake in a voice over the radio when it's something bad. The dead-of-night view out of your cab, from the top of the hill, when the motor just stopped dead. Pulling hose at midnight. Bumping triples for eight straight hours. Setting gates and running cable at 6am, toes as cold as the puddle on the pump room floor. These areas you’ve chosen are special places. They are permanent monuments. Their histories are thick with color, humor and triumph, and MRM is a forum. You’re invited to share some solid experience, some good information, and as much spirit about our line of work as we can get into print.
Our lives are not dry. They are not normal. This won't be, either. Have a good time with it, then pass it along. Drop it on a buddy, give it to a date. The next time someone takes hostages in your locker room, they'll have something to read while we explain the Bobcat is a privilege, not a right.
And thanks for opening this book because, in fact, it’s all your story. Help us tell it, call or shoot a line anytime.