In the late 1800s, as gold miners moved through the Colorado Rockies, they came upon the would-be ski resort of Aspen, with Mount Sopris as its crown jewel. The land was rich, but also sacred to the indigenous Ute tribe, who cursed their visitors out of despair. Anyone who slept in the shadow of Mount Sopris would be doomed never to leave.
Today, Mount Sopris casts its shadow over a gold mine of a different kind: a tangle of 375 world-class lifts and pistes, frequented by an A-list crowd (Michelle Obama, Antonio Banderas, Paris Hilton, Mariah Carey) still unable to escape the destination’s grip. Nobody appreciates that better than Aspen Mountain’s 135 resident ski instructors—a coterie of Olympians, world-famous alpinists, and members of the National Alpine Team who comprise the Harvard of skiing.
“There’s a fair bit of Darwinism at play at Aspen Mountain,” says Andy Docken, general manager of the Aspen Mountain Ski & Snowboard School. To survive, instructors must adapt to their clients’ complicated needs, both on and off the slopes.
As I realized quickly during a stint on Docken’s team, hosting the best of the best in every field—from New York financiers to Hollywood royalty—is just as much of an expertly coordinated dance as zigzagging down a black diamond. Sure, it’s fun to slay pow at one of the world’s most elite resorts, but I was also taking clients shopping for artwork the price of a house, dodging flurries of airborne Champagne corks, and busting midmountain trysts at the end of each shift. Here’s what I learned about everyone’s favorite winter pastime.
Ski Pros Have You Sized Up Before You Reach the Top of the Mountain
At most five-star hotels around the world, porters and receptionists can learn a lot about guests based on their cars, luggage, or clothes. So how do you make an analysis when your client’s tumbling toward you in a puffy parka and ski boots? “You can tell a lot about how someone’s going to ski by the way they walk in their gear,” says Marc Fernandes, one of Aspen Mountain’s ski school pros.
A seesawing heel-to-toe motion in your boots suggests you’ve got some alpine experience; clomping or marching makes you look like a novice. The way you carry your skis is also telling—pros have nicknames for the different configurations. Hoist them in an X shape in front of your chest and you’ll be called “The Decapitator” (and not in a cool way). Sling your pole straps around alternating ski tips, and you’ll have mastered the slick “Oklahoma Suitcase” method.
Instructors get the lay of their moguls—the business, tech, and real estate variety—on the 15-minute gondola ride up the mountain. Is my neurotic Wall Street banker client looking for a taste of Colorado chill, or are they looking to take advantage of every New York minute? Some self-professed experts have egos that need stroking; others appreciate being humbled by veteran powder-shredders.
Sometimes clients don’t even want to ski. Since instructors are often willing (and eager) to introduce clients to plugged-in friends around town, they tend to do double duty as both high-altitude and high-society guides. “I’ve seen colleagues accompanying their guests on shopping sprees at the art galleries instead of heading up the mountain,” says Fernandes.
Most Clients Want a “Fun Young Guy”…
Docken estimates that the typical ski resort makes 80 percent of its business from group lessons, but Aspen Mountain only offers private instruction—at a starting rate of $820 a day. Most guests pre-request teachers based on referrals; the rest use a survey-like form to find the perfect match.
“People are awfully particular about their special requests,” says Olga Lawson, the on-snow coordinator at Aspen Mountain. Among the common asks? “Blond instructors, please,” “Olympic medalists only,” or “Someone who likes to drink.” Once, a sixtysomething skier split up with her coach midmountain, marched back down to the ski school, and asked for a new pro “who was loose.”