The Ski Journal • Volume 14, Issue 3 • RAISED IN RISK

John Bouchard posing for the 1988 Wild Things catalog. The motorcycle was a means for John to test himself, not only against the laws of physics, but also sometimes local law enforcement. Several of these exploits are the stuff of legend. Photo: Mark Twight

I always thought my three daughters would grow up to be climbers. It’s in their blood. My husband, John Bouchard, is one of the great alpinists of his generation, known for bold solo first ascents (there’s a Bouchard route on Mont Blanc). I started climbing at 16 years old. By my late 20s I had rung up a solid collection of ascents and podiums. Rock and Ice once listed me as one of the top three female climbers in the United States (obviously not a scientific statement, but one that helped fuel my climbing ambitions). John and I met while competing in ice climbing at the first Winter X Games. By then, I’d spent years as a climbing magazine editor, had competed in World Cup and national competitions and had put up a few first ascents. Climbing—and, with that, risk taking—was what we did.

Even when our daughters were born—Lili, the oldest, and three years later, twins, Coco and Alice—we started as a climbing family. We hauled them to the cliffs—me toting the twins, one in a front sling, the other on my back, and John juggling ropes, hardware and Lili. But, when it came down to picking a family sport, despite our climbing pedigree, or perhaps because of it, skiing took over.

One of the main reasons we pivoted is the attrition at our level of climbing. That’s a sanitized way of saying we have friends who have died in the mountains. I’ve written more than my share of obituaries. When John talks about his climbing contemporaries, it becomes painfully obvious that many didn’t survive past their 20s or 30s. Admittedly, not all the deaths were due to climbing accidents, but risky behavior is one of the personality traits associated with great climbers.

John retired from alpinism when we decided to have children. “I don’t want to be that dad who didn’t come back,” he told me early on. Being pregnant, it was easier for me to back away from the steep stuff. The day our first daughter turned two months, we heard that our friend, Alex Lowe, had died in Tibet. Losing friends to climbing was not unusual, but Alex’s death hit especially hard. I knew his expertise, and that he cherished his three young sons. We still brought our girls climbing on a daily basis—by the time they started first grade, we figured they’d roped up close to 100 times. It wasn’t until 2006, when friend Todd Skinner was killed in Yosemite, that the we officially threw our familial lot into skiing. Todd had an older daughter and younger twins. It hit too close.

A few years later, a friend convinced me to join her on a climb up Mt. Rainier, WA. When I left for the trip, my first real expedition since the starting a family, my daughters freaked out. They clung to my legs and wept. “Mommy,” sobbed our oldest, “everyone who goes to the mountains dies.” She pointed to photos on our walls that included people we’d lost. The drama made me nervous. The girls had met at least a few of our friends who died and overheard plenty of phone calls delivering bad news. Lili had a point—there’s a lot of rockfall, avalanche, bad weather and accidents. Our commitment to ski racing was sealed.

We’d started our daughters skiing early. First in Mighty Mites at Mt. Bachelor, OR and then racing with Mt. Bachelor Sports Education Foundation. Ski racing seemed perfect; it starts as the ultimate family-friendly sport. The kids train, and parents have time together on the slopes. On Rainier, a person didn’t need any previous experience to attempt the summit, but the regimen of ski racing was different. It seemed so controlled compared to climbing. Sure, sometimes one of our girls would catch a tip on an icy course and take out multiple gates. But there’s layers of B-netting, grooming, endless course maintenance and ski patrol.

Still, ski racing is all about finding speed at any cost. Skills and drills are important, but at the end of the day, the point is to go faster than anyone else. I got the first call when Lili was 12. There were bruises, broken thumbs and concussions. Coco quit after a scary crash at 16. Lili took an academic gap year to race, suffered yet another concussion and decided to move on to college. Alice is still racing and was to compete in FIS events in Europe when COVID struck.

The truth is, as skiers get better and faster, risk increases. In 2017, Alice was training in Canada when a 17-year-old slid into the netting during a Lake Louise Nor-Am downhill and died. Our friends, US Ski Team Olympians Laurenne Ross and Tommy Ford, have had major crashes, resulting in long recoveries.

I thought a lot about Alice racing in the Alps. They weren’t World Cups, but I knew she was stepping up her competition and speed. When the races were cancelled, like everything else during the COVID spring, I was disappointed. But there was a bit of relief. I wonder: If I’d have known how fast my daughters would ski, and how driven they’d be in the pursuit of a podium, would I still have promoted ski racing over climbing? In the long run, the answer is “yes.” Given a choice, would I want a child climbing a big route without a rope or going all out on a speed event at Mammoth? Clearly, I’d prefer Mammoth, but I’m still scared to death.

It’s hard to watch Alice run speed events, but we know she’s put in a dozen years of practice. Coco has embraced surfing, so there’s a new set of metrics to deal with. Lili is at college—perhaps the biggest adventure of all. Once upon a time, John’s parents forbade motorcycles, guns and football. He became a motorcycle-riding alpinist; his brother became a Navy Seal. So it goes.

Climbing is still very dear to our family unit. We tried to both protect them from it and prepare them for it—a complicated calculus. We still climb—this summer, all five of us took on a 1,000-foot, multi-pitch trad route. Now the girls want us to teach them how to place gear and set anchors. In trying to steer our daughters away from risk, it seems we inadvertently instilled in them an aptitude for adventure. We’ve given them as many tools as we could based off our own experiences, but now the decisions lie in their hands.

The Ski Journal - Volume 14, Issue 3

RAISED IN RISK

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