During the early 1980s, when Phil andSteve Mahre stood atop the ski world, I wasworking the winters in Austria amidst aplethora of Swedish ski bums. We oftenwatched races together on TV, the Swedesrooting for the immortal Ingemar Stenmarkand I cheering for either of the Mahre twins.It is only natural that the Mahre brotherswere heroes for me, and to this day, PhilMahre is still the most prodigious skier inAmerican racing history. He is the proudowner of two Olympic gold medals, one silvermedal and three consecutive World Cup titlesfrom 1981 through 1983.It was therefore a great pleasure andhonor that I had the opportunity to ski withPhil last spring on his home mountain ofWhite Pass, Washington. Phil and Steve hadgrown up skiing this little resort from the ageof nine, when their father took over the positionof mountain manager.I was working on a sequel to my book<strong>Ski</strong>ing Around the World for which I would includea chapter about Phil and White Pass. Imet Phil at breakfast on the morning of April21, 2012. He looked little different from hisracing days. A few weeks shy of his 55thbirthday, he had a bit less hair then in his heydayand he was now on Head skis instead ofhis trademark K2s, but his body was still fitand his skiing pace was fast.PHIL MAHRE,WHITE PASS,AND A MATTEROF LUCKby Jimmy PettersonABOVE: Phil Mahre and Jimmy Pettersonbegin their ski day on White Passin Washington. LOWER: Phil still inmasterful form. photos / Jimmy Petterson23 <strong>Far</strong> <strong>West</strong> <strong>Ski</strong>er’s Guide / Digital Edition Insert 2O12 - 2O13For the next four hours, Phil guided mearound his childhood playground. First, wecruised around Paradise Basin, a territoryopened two seasons earlier that doubledWhite Pass’s terrain. Phil had appeared beforethe U.S. Congress way back in 1985 to speakon behalf of this project, and now, after manyyears in limbo as a result of pressure from environmentalistgroups, Paradise Basin had becomea reality.“When I was in training on the team, I usedto run up to this mountain from the main areaevery day,” Phil reminisced as we rode back upthe new Couloir Express, one of the two newlifts.Mt. Rainer (4392 m) provided a picturesquebackdrop as I tried to keep pace withPhil amidst an array of blue cruisers thatwound their way through the glades of thenew section of the ski resort. Then, we movedover to the older part of the resort. Phil led theway under the old Chair 2, the same lift thathas hung there since 1958. “This is the lift thatI grew up riding. I’ll take you down Execution. It’sone of our few double diamond runs, and I was ina bad avalanche here when I was young.”It had rained the night before, and thesnow was sloppy. We skied through a mix oftough terrain. First, we descended a steep eastface that had already received much too muchsun and was like heavy porridge. That wasfollowed by some steep moguls which were amix of hard and soft snow and impossible topredict what kind of landing to expect at theunderside of each bump. Phil treated it all likea corduroy groomer.We skied another double diamond calledHourglass and then chatted for a short whileon the steps of Phil’s childhood home, the onlyhouse on the mountain. Phil had been aslalom specialist, same as Ingemar, but he alsoskied the more dangerous downhill courses,something that Stenmark refused to do. Thatfact, along with the rules change governingWorld Cup points, is what allowed Phil to winhis three consecutive championships.“It really wasn’t fair to him (Stenmark)when they changed the rules after the ’78 WorldCup season. If they hadn’t changed the rules, Iwould have only won one title instead of three andIngemar would have taken the other two,” explainedPhil.“The Hanhenkamm was the toughest downhillI ever skied,” continued Phil. “Wengen wasalso difficult, but most of the downhills are reallyjust a case of gutting it out. There is not as muchskill involved in a downhill.”Soon, we were skiing our last run together,as Phil had promised to ski with his
granddaughter at one o’clock. He headeddown quickly on a blue cruiser called Cascadewith me in pursuit. We were skiing in theshade of the trees, where the snow was stillfast, cruising along at about 40 mph. Then, Ifollowed Phil back out of the shade, where thesun had been cooking the snow all morning.The snow was like wet cement, and it grabbedmy skis and yanked them to a complete standstill.Both heels released and I went flying.In ski racing, one becomes accustomed todealing with luck—both good and bad. Youhave to take it in stride. While the races aredetermined largely on skill, a sport that can seethe difference between a podium finish and aho-hum also-ran finish decided by 1/10th ofa second has to also have some luck involved.One day, you have completed your second runout of the money and sit back and watch asthe leaders fall on their second run, puttingyou on the podium. The next day, the weatherchanges and the light turns flat for your secondrun, and that is more than enough to takeyou out of the top three.My luck in life has generally been good,and my luck in skiing has been the same. Ihave skied for 60 years—more than 4,000days—and never sustained a major injury. Butnow my luck had apparently run out.I remained conscious during my fall, butI couldn’t move my neck very well after Icame to a halt, and thought it better to havethe ski patrol take me down in a toboggan. Itwas my first such ride.In the patrol room, a broad smile gazeddown on me and wished me a quick recovery.“I’ve already been skiing with my granddaughterfor the past hour,” said Phil. “Really sorry aboutthis. Hope you’re back on your feet real soon andthat we can make some turns again sometime.”I didn’t have a lot of pain, but merely haddifficulty moving my neck, and I surmised thatI had pulled some muscles or something ofthat ilk. It came as quite a shock some timelater at the hospital when I was told that I hada C2 fracture of my neck—sometimes knownas a hangman’s fracture and a T6 fracture ofmy back.“You are very lucky,” the doctor told me,“That you are not paralyzed or dead.”Somehow, I didn’t really feel that lucky,but that is another story.Soon, a team of orthotists introduced meto an apparatus called a halo brace. This issort of a torture instrument from the SpanishInquisition that is used to totally immobilizethe neck. It is fixed to the head by four screwsthat are screwed through the skin and firmlyAfter over 4,000 days of skiing in 60 plus years, this was the first timeJimmy ever experienced a ski patrol ride in a toboggan. His luck apparentlyran out! Or, did it?against the skull, and it is intended to protectyour spinal cord from damage until your neckheals. At the same time, the halo brace also insuresthat you cannot get a wink of sleep forthe duration of your assigned torture time, andthat you almost topple over from being topheavy, each time you try to stand up, sit down,or move in any direction.I was in shock. One moment, I had beencruising down an easy piste in spring sunshinewith Phil Mahre, and the next moment, I amlying prostrate with a broken neck and back.Still, I was hardly ready for the next hit. Thedoctors make their rounds at 6 a.m., a time ofday when even under ordinary circumstances,most people are not super alert. In my case, Iwas still in a drug-induced haze when a doctorwoke me up with the words, “Has anybody toldyou that your full-body scan yesterday uncoveredthat you have a cancerous tumor in your kidney?”Later in the day, a specialist visited me toexplain that again I was very lucky. The tumorwas quite small, as my scan had revealed itlong before it had become large enough to giveme troublesome symptoms. “It should be possible,”said the doctor, “to remove it and move on.”I now know the definition of a luckybreak—a broken neck that saves you from cancer.Still there is a lesson to be learned from allthis. Don’t try to keep pace on the slopes withan Olympic gold medalist, especially on hishome mountain.Almost four months have now passedsince my accident. After five weeks, the halobrace was replaced by a less intrusive apparatusand after another five weeks, I could walkaround with a mere neck brace. Another threeweeks after that, I was again functioning withoutany artificial aids. On July 3, the tumorwas removed from my kidney and a weeklater, I was released from the hospital and immediatelybegan going on short hikes aroundmy home in Sweden. On July 16, I headeddown to my summerhouse in Austria with myson and some of our friends. There, I convalescedduring the next three weeks by hiking,biking, swimming, and playing music in theFather & Son + 1 band that my son and I havehad together with our friend Elie Sandberg forthe past four years.My neck still has limited lateral mobilitybut that should improve with physical therapyand I still have a few months left until thesnow flies to get into optimal shape. Bring onthe powder! ▲▲About the author: Jimmy Petterson has spent most of the last 38 years as a skiwriter and photographer. - having skied over 450 ski resorts, with over 400 publishedski features. That includes many articles in the <strong>Far</strong> <strong>West</strong> <strong>Ski</strong>er’s Guide throughout thelast several years. He is also the author of <strong>Ski</strong>ing Around the World - a coffeetable book comprised of 440 pages, with over 600 photo images. A reprint is currentlyplanned along with a sequel containing many new resorts not included in the firstbook. Jimmy has been the recipient of the 2006 FWSA Bill Berry Featured NewsAward; the 2006 Harold S. Hirsch Award (a top North American Snowsports Journalists<strong>Association</strong> award) for this book; and the 2008 Warren Miller Modern MediaAward and the Hirsch Award for a film co-produced for a Finnish 6-part series for TV.<strong>Far</strong> <strong>West</strong> <strong>Ski</strong>er’s Guide / Digital Edition Insert 2O12 - 2O13 24
Change language