The importance of last chair
For Steamboat PIlot & Today

John Camponeschi/The Steamboat Pilot and Today
Lackluster snowfall in the Yampa Valley has led to fond recollections of the record-breaking winter two years ago when by December, snowbanks obscured the views at intersections and children fully immersed themselves in the snow. The people of the area, and the ecosystem, had been waiting for such a winter. It countered a drought that placed a strain on almost every aspect of life throughout the Yampa Valley.
That winter, the snow that fell wasn’t just for the enjoyment of winter enthusiasts, it was for the future.
And, the future is unpredictable.
One moment can alter the course of a lifetime, as well as a winter sports season, as your’s truly realized when a calf muscle was severely torn on an amazing powder day in December of 2022. As I went down and felt the distinctive pop in my calf, many questions flashed through my mind. Was this the end of my season? How would the ski patrol be able to access me on the fringe of the ski area? What would the cost of treatments be like on a teacher’s salary?
As I delicately skied to the base area on one leg, my thoughts drifted to another realm — my role as a father and the bonding that had occurred earlier that season with my son.
I have never considered myself to be an excellent father, as much as it pains me to say. My son and I have often struggled to find something that we could bond over, especially outdoors. He likes video games. I like skiing and biking. The differences, coupled with those (overly) high parental expectations, created friction. As I taught him to ski in his younger years, we struggled. I couldn’t understand why he couldn’t form his skis into a wedge. He couldn’t understand why I got frustrated trying to teach him.
Parenting is an art, and moreover, it is not easily learned nor mastered.
The 2022 season was different. When I purchased my son’s pass, I was leery due to the previous seasons not going well. The decision to buy it was a last ditch effort to try and bond with my son over skiing. That season I dedicated myself to being patient, empathetic and understanding as I recalled the learning curve that I went through as a skier 32 years prior. I reminded myself constantly that it was not about creating a young “shredder”, it was about the experience. It was about my son’s experience.
On our first day out that year, I simply asked that we do three runs together.

To my surprise, the offering of the “magic carpet” would not do. He wanted to ride the lift. We walked to the Christie Peak Express and loaded. At the top I put the leashes on his boots and we did our first run, which he seemed to enjoy. Three runs later he asked me to take the “baby leash” off. Three runs after that, he turned to me and said, “I got this dad! I can ski on my own now! I don’t need you to ski with me if you don’t want to!”
His surprising progression didn’t go unnoticed, as lifties asked me “who is this kid?” When I told them he was my son, and that this was his first real day on a mountain, they were floored.
As the day went on the “greens” weren’t good enough anymore. He wanted park laps, and I taught him how to announce “dropping” as he hurled himself at boxes and the halfpipe. I was amazed and it was hard for me not to cry. Three runs came and went quickly but the enthusiasm in his eyes and body was evident.
He liked it. He actually liked it.
As the sun set we attempted to get the last chair. We sped down and arrived to find the lift barely closed. The young lift attendant who had noted my son’s progress saw his defeated body language and gestured for us to duck around the turnstile and load the lift. As we rode up, cold and tired, my son turned to me and said, “Dad, this has been one of the best days I have ever had with you.”
I cried, the tears being obscured by my goggles.
As skiers and riders, we often strive for first chair. We leave a lot behind in our lives to track untouched powder. We speed through runs, sometimes recklessly, in an attempt to get as much of that weightless feeling as possible. Far too seldom do we focus on the longevity of the day and, more importantly, nurturing those relationships that are absolutely essential in order for us to sustain ourselves off the slopes when the day is done.
As I slowly egressed back to the base area after tearing my calf two years ago, my mind drifted to my son and the joyful ski days that followed the one described above. I again began to cry, but this time because I knew that my injury would impact the incredible bond we felt that day. Those shared moments were pivotal to both of us, and though I knew my season was over, I also knew that I could take what I had learned that day and apply it to all aspects of my life as a father.
That last chair on my son’s first day of the season became the focal point of my recovery. It was the driving motivator for my return so that he and I could, once again, enjoy the incredible bonding power of skiing, as well as the joy that can come with being the day’s last chair.

Support Local Journalism

Support Local Journalism
Readers around Steamboat and Routt County make the Steamboat Pilot & Today’s work possible. Your financial contribution supports our efforts to deliver quality, locally relevant journalism.
Now more than ever, your support is critical to help us keep our community informed about the evolving coronavirus pandemic and the impact it is having locally. Every contribution, however large or small, will make a difference.
Each donation will be used exclusively for the development and creation of increased news coverage.