Because it's what we do

By Dick Dorworth

It is a deep dive into the mind to remember things of more than 50 years ago. But the heart best retains the past and most strongly connects it to the present and, sometimes, the future. At least so it is for me. Things of the heart do not fade away like old soldiers; they maintain and nourish and are always there to be called upon, learned from, cherished and loved, even when removed by time and distance.

I was a ski racer from Reno in the 1950s and ’60s, and the mountain and people and experiences of Mammoth were a huge part of my formative years and beyond. Mammoth is part of my heart and life experience, a guide to the mind. Only the inaccuracy of nostalgia allows people to claim that the ’50s were a “better” time for American skiers, but both my heart and mind tell me it was a simpler era. Today’s Mammoth Mountain skier gets miles more skiing on better and more varied terrain than the skier of 50 years ago. But it does not seem to me that the personal satisfaction, well-being and joy of the day’s skiing endeavors are any better.

There are reasons besides economic ones that backcountry skiing around Mammoth and elsewhere is growing in popularity among skiers seeking simplicity, a return to basics and a sense of how it was in the beginning.

In the early years we only came to Mammoth for races, always among the best and best-run in the West. For the first few years (1952-54), two rope tows got skiers to near where Broadway Express exists today.
Holding on to the rope clear to the top was an arduous task that strengthened arms and hands and destroyed gloves, and was sometimes as exciting as the ski down. From age 13 to 15, ski trips out of town were as much a life quest as a ski racing adventure, and Mammoth was always and easily our favorite place on the Western tour.

In retrospect, it is clear that trips to Mammoth were so satisfying and enjoyable to our young, developing beings not so much because of the excellent skiing and the excitement that marked every ski race but because of the people of Mammoth and Bishop.

There was hominess, friendliness and inclusiveness to the Mammoth skiing community that did not exist so readily in other places, and we always felt welcome, worthy and rewarded and thereby inspired to be our better selves. Why this was so I can only speculate, but I remember it well.

Among people who stand out in those early years were Bill Kinmont and his family, who often invited us to stay at their Rocking K Ranch outside Bishop during ski races. Jill and Bob Kinmont were two of the best young ski racers in America, and theirhospitality and generosity to young ski racers made many trips to Mammoth a warm pleasure rather than a motel ordeal. One spring I learned to do a back flip off the Kinmont diving board into the swimming pool.

And there was (and is) Dave. Nothing about Mammoth Mountain as a ski resort, a community, a state of mind or a life experience exists without the imprint of Dave McCoy. Dave was never perfect or a saint, as some (not Dave) would have you believe. But it was my great good fortune to be associated with Dave, his family, the Mammoth Mountain race team, friends in the community and, of course, the mountain itself.

Others have written sufficiently of Dave’s energy, intelligence, enthusiasm and vision that have so formed the Mammoth area. It need not be repeated here. In my opinion, the reason he has affected the lives of so many people in such a beneficial way is that he always thought of the greatest good for the greatest number when he made decisions. He is a model for many people I know.

During the late 1960s and through the ’70s and, in some cases, beyond, many of my generation and mind-set (including my closest friend among the McCoy clan, Carl “P-Nut” McCoy) were living a turn on/tune in/drop out lifestyle that was a calculated affront to mainstream American culture. But Dave never once held back his mainstream, square-jawed, open smile, curiosity, friendliness and insight. Nor was he stingy with his honest, practical opinion about matters that were neither easy nor comfortable for him. In heart as well as mind Dave holds the generous position.

Last spring I was in northern California and talking to Dave in Bishop by cell phone on an imperfect connection. We were speaking of the vagaries of life and of its rewards and pleasures and endeavors and sorrows and pains, and of what we (Dave, then 89, me at 66) have learned and seen and experienced and look forward to in Mammoth and skiing and life.

I said, “Well, sometimes in life all we can do is cope.”

Faster than lightning came Dave’s reply: “No, no, we must never coast.”

“No, Dave,” I said, “sometimes all we can do is cope.”

“Dick,” he said with seriousness that I pictured as all square jaw and no smile, “I don’t want to ever hear of you coasting.”

I laughed at the miscommunication, at the swiftness and perfect assurance with which Dave corrected what he thought was a lapse and defect in my thinking. My life has been warmed and informed by the knowledge that coasting is unacceptable behavior. We soon straightened out that I had said ‘cope,’ not ‘coast.’ And he agreed, “Sometimes in life all we can do is cope.”

We must never coast.