The Town Hill
Cisco Oldani, 1995
As Wyoming’s first ski area, Snow King’s his-
tory dates back to the 1920s. And though two bigger mountain resorts have long since stolen the
spotlight, many Jackson Hole skiers remain loyal
to the King. Here are excerpts from 30 years of
the Jackson Hole Skier magazine that provide in-
sight into why.
Wade McKoy photos
Loyal To The King
the 1960s childhood memories of Leanna Scott and Paul Huser as told to the editor 2004 Jackson Hole Skier When we were kids, the now-famous Ski Swap was just a bunch of families trading used stuff around. We picked up some old wooden skis, which my dad then painted to look new, and a big, puffy down jacket two sizes too big so it would last a few years. That must be what kept us warm, because we all skied in blue jeans, which usually wound up soaking us to the bones. Our folks always knew where to find us and that we were in good hands. Neil Rafferty greeted us every day as he watched over his funky old lift––Wyoming’s first and, for the longest time, only chairlift. Bill Briggs gave us a nod while he assembled the instructors of his Great American Ski School. The ski patrol and lift operators all knew us too, so there were plenty of caring adults around. I still remember my first run and being really scared when I got off the lift at the first station halfway up the mountain. To a six-year-old, that w w w. j h s k i e r. n e t
Town Square, night skiing on Snow King
slope looked steeper than Gramp’s haystacks down in South Park. Before long, though, I was tucking it to the bottom of the hill. The King was our stomping ground, and we learned every little nook and cranny while training with Fast Eddy’s ski team, The Little Waxers. We built tiny jumps all over the place, and had hiding places and secret tree trails, sneaky little holes in the woods where you could make a couple of turns. We stormed the old gelandé next to the cemetery, a rat pack of kids in skiing’s hotdog era displaying a multitude of helicopters and flips, showing off in front of the old Ski Shelter– –the hub of our society, our hangout, our place to drink hot chocolate and watch people ski. It’s still that way today. A few modifications have taken place: the gelandé is now called
Jump Run and a new ice rink sits where the old shelter building used to be, but Snow King is still a gathering place for families and a hangout for kids. My own kids, actually. Homespun events like the Town Downhill––such a strong tradition that the years are marked by its passage––and special amenities such as the tube park bolster Snow King’s reputation as the “Town Hill.” One day last winter, when town got an eightinch dump, it felt like Old Home Day at the town hill. I skied with people I’ve known all my life, including some of the old gang. We were all acting like kids again, egging each other on, run after run. We skied some of our old secret pockets and gullies and learned each other’s favorite lines down Grizzly, Elk, Belly Roll, Exhibition, Kelly’s Alley, and Bearcat, rediscovering old friendships along the way. At the end of day, with the tired satisfaction emblematic of a great ski-day, I dug through an old box in the basement and found what I was looking for: a 1950s vintage ball cap with “I’m Loyal to the King” written across the front. That’s how I feel. Loyal to the “King.” After that day, I believe that’s how a lot of us feel. continued 2 0 1 3 J AC KS O N H O L E S K I E R
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