The Ski Journal • Volume 13, Issue 2 • ONE FOR YOU, ONE FOR ME

A few winters ago in Squaw Valley, my wife Megs and I rode the lift with Sherry McConkey and her daughter Ayla. Sherry is a lifelong snowboarder. Ayla is a skier like her dad.

“We’re playing ‘one for you, one for me,’” Ayla said. The game is simple enough—one run for you, one run for me, a back-and-forth, follow-the-leader downhill.

As our chair reached the top, we wished them a great day and away we went. Megs and I practiced the technique of “I ski fast, Meghan skis behind me, I feel bad because I’m skiing faster, and she feels bad because she isn’t keeping up.” Nobody is happy. I’m perhaps at fault. Like a lot of the troubled parts of marriage, we worked on it. And today, we mostly employ the Lady McConkey Method of one for you, one for me.

In February, Dad visited. Though he’s skied the mountains around Tahoe a few times, he’s by no means a tour guide. On the lift, I explained the rules of one for you, one for me. He was up first and I promised not to lead him to his death via cliff huck when it was my turn. Dad went left off the Summit Chair. I followed his tracks from a healthy distance, watching him scope the terrain, find his line and dive in. The old man carved his airplane turns down a big, wide bowl. He hollered, because that’s what he likes to do when he skis. I don’t usually ski that way, but for a few runs the slow and steady pace was a nice reprieve from the go-all-out hill bangin’ for which Squaw Valley and Alpine Meadows are known. I hollered, too.

As the days stretched out, I followed friends down the west face of KT-22 in similar style—one for you, one for me. I stuck to my usual routes with my turns. Tried and true, they’re my go-tos for surfy turns and cat-track airs. It was Hunter who showed us lines hiding in plain sight. Tyler demonstrated an uncanny ability to pop and find tranny anywhere. Billy rode the mountain like a gripped mountain biker, full effing speed ahead. We found new rhythms. We found the mountain to be bigger than it was before. Hill bangin’ was for the birds. One for you, one for me was the way. It made skiing in a group actually fun.

Late in the season I followed Dan and his mother Roz down a steep groomer off of Siberia. Once on the Headwall lift, it was my turn and I wanted to end the day down the Slot.

Roz didn’t follow. That was OK. But Dan did. He’s my most reliable ski partner. I felt bad for his mom, but Dan knew my lungs were still burnt from the quick hoof we had taken three runs before. That bastard loves to hike. I had to follow him. Now he had to follow me. We peeked over the edge and dropped into lovely, steep, late-day corn. I knew it would be good because Hunter had shown it to me during an earlier game.

Good skiing has to do with timing. I used to think that meant getting up early, ditching work, and scoring on a powder day. Thanks to Ayla and Sherry, I now know it’s giving someone the space to show you the way.

Photo Caption: Todd and Kai Jones hitching a ride in the back of Tim Durtschi’s truck after a session on Wyoming’s Teton Pass Road Gap. Photo: Jasper Gibson

The Ski Journal - Volume 13, Issue 2

ONE FOR YOU, ONE FOR ME

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