Chairlift rescue results in good-natured ribbing

Skiing instruction didn't include details on how to be rescued from the chair lift.

By 

By TAMMY MALGESINI

Inside my shoes

Published on January 26, 2016 1:28PM

Watching all the snow falling on the East Coast this past weekend made me long for the ski slopes. While I have only skied once since having a knee replacement in 2005, I still dream about powder days.

I got into skiing while running residential programs for adults with developmental disabilities. Several clients had expressed an interest in Special Olympics skiing, so I became a coach.

I met Buzz Fulton, a longtime ski instructor who died two years ago at the age of 93, at Spout Springs Ski Area. Receiving a 50-year membership pin from the National Professional Ski Instructors of America, he was a wealth of knowledge when it came to skiing.

Over the years, I often ran into Buzz at Spout Springs and Anthony Lakes Mountain Resort — picking his brain on everything from techniques to proper attire. And then it happened. No amount of discussions could have prepared me for the time I had to be rescued from the chairlift.

Not only was I cold, I also was up pretty high. And, I suffer from anxiety-induced bronchospasm. Oh, and did I mention, I would be the first one rescued, so my behavior would set the example for the Special Olympics athletes stuck on chairs behind me.

I understand mechanical failures sometimes happen. However, this sudden malfunction occurred courtesy of Matt DeLong. Matt came up to see how his daughter, Bailey, was doing on the slopes.

A little hesitant to get on the chairlift, Matt, who wasn’t wearing skis, offered to ride with her. Seated in the chair behind them, I was to ski down the trail with Bailey while Matt continued down on the chairlift. In theory, it was a seamless plan.

In theory.

Bailey disembarked perfectly from the chairlift. Gliding on the snow, she swooshed forward and to the side to wait for me.

Matt, however, got caught up in the moment. Failing to follow the lift operator’s instructions regarding lifting his legs, the emergency brake engaged and the lift came to a screeching halt.

When the lift wouldn’t re-start, the lift operators and ski patrol set the rescue plan into action. After kicking off my skis and dropping my poles, I waited for them to shoot a rope up over the cable.

After the rope gun jammed, one of the rescuers finally threw it up. Attached to the rope was what they called a “seat.” In actuality, it resembled the old paddleball toy from my youth, sans the attached rubber ball.

After directing me to place the paddleball seat between the chairlift and my bum, they said to slide off the chairlift. I was getting pretty cold, which probably contributed to my lack of hesitation. (It was nothing for me to stand on the cliffs at Warehouse Beach for 30 minutes or more before taking the plunge).

I sucked on my asthma inhaler and pushed off the chairlift. Dangling in the air, they slowly lowered me to the ground to a waiting snowmobile.

The athletes followed rescue instructions like champs. And, they particularly enjoyed the snowmobile ride back to the lodge for hot chocolate.

I wanted to catch up with Matt and rib him about the whole ordeal. However, he had already taken off.

Sometimes when I run into Matt, I still give him a bad time. But I haven’t seen him for awhile. So do me a favor, if you happen to see Matt, ask him about the time he stranded the Special Olympics ski team on the chairlift at Spout Springs.

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Tammy Malgesini is the community editor. Her column, Inside my Shoes, includes general musings about life. Contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

Still looking for fresh powder

2/7/2009

Still looking for fresh powder
Tammy Malgesini
Inside My Shoes

Last month I headed up to Spout Springs Ski Area and hit the slopes for the first time in three seasons.

The night before I was scheduled to do a story on a couple of local Special Olympics athletes training for the 2009 World Winter Games, I was like a giddy school girl waiting for her first date to show up.

For anyone who's a skier, the time between seasons seems like an eternity - so after missing three winters on the white stuff, I was philosophically opposed to missing another.

As I trudged up the hill to get my lift ticket I watched a small group of people huddling with a ski instructor. I laughed to myself as I thought about my first experience on skis.

I was employed as the residential manager of group homes for adults with developmental disabilities. Several of the clients had expressed interest in participating is Special Olympics skiing. The only problem was one of the clients required 24-hour supervision and we were short staffed.

Suzy Tosten, one of the group home managers, and I decided we'd go to Spout for the coaches' training the week before training started for the athletes. I arrogantly figured if I took a lesson and spent a day on the slopes, I'd be one step up on my clients and would be just fine.

As I tried to remain upright with these two long boards strapped beneath me, I wanted to watch my feet. Buzz Fulton, our ski instructor, kept a watchful eye on me.

"Look up, a picture's worth a thousand words," he kept saying to me.

Then he told us to fall down, so we could learn how to get up on our own. At the time I thought it was ridiculous that I should purposely splay myself all over the mountain - something I was desperately trying to avoid.

After we ventured up on the chair lift for the first time and began to slide down a real slope, I suddenly realized I needed more instruction in stopping. As I was headed straight for a tree, Buzz and my classmates were all directing me to wedge my skis. However, above the dull roar of instructions, I heard Suzy say, "Fall down."

Suzy wasn't only a co-worker, she was a trusted friend. I didn't know at the time Buzz was a long-time ski instructor - I just figured he did his duties at instructing as a way to get a free ski pass. I listened to Suzy and gracefully shifted my weight and toppled in a heap.

As I laid there in the snow, I suddenly realized Buzz probably knew what he was doing when he had us purposely falling earlier in the lesson so we could learn to get up. I still have the ski pole, which bears a distinct bend from being used to pull myself up more than once during my bunny slope days.

After my close friends Mark and Teri Briley moved to Denver, I finally experienced ski nirvana during my yearly birthday trips to Winter Park. The ski resort actually sent me a T-shirt and other goodies the first season I missed after having my left knee replaced.

Last year I was set to return to the slopes, but then I did something to my right knee. Although some people might give up, not me. I'm addicted to snow. Although my joints are creaking, I've always said, "Age is a state of mind. Someone just forgot to tell my body that."
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Tammy Malgesini is the community editor for the East Oregonian. Contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com