A sketched rendering of the original Meany Lodge before its series of additions in the late 1930s. Photo: Washington State Ski & Snowboard Museum Hidden in the Washington woods, a dream that was built to bring people to the mountains and keep them there is still very much alive, and has found footing not only within generational returnees, but newcomers as well. That isn’t to say that the hill is empty. In fact, even on a wet and foggy February morning, over 100 people are find-ing their way through Meany’s ungroomed terrain. Most of the skiers and snowboarders have stayed overnight, but a fresh batch has come in via Tomcat that morning. At $25 for a day pass (and $600 for a season pass including food and lodging), it’s a hard ticket to pass up, especially for those just catching their ski legs. “Our mission has always been about outreach,” explains Dave Maitz, a Meany dad and one of the area’s ski school instructors. “We excel with the never-evers and kids.” Deyerle-Smith is a product of that mission, as are most of the families with generational ties. The late Patty Polinsky, creator of Meany’s PSIA-certified ski school and its director for 25 years, was Deyerle-Smith’s neighbor in Seattle and convinced her family to give skiing a try. Over two decades later, Deyerle-Smith wrangles new skiers and snowboarders as they work their way down from the upper tow. By the time the lunch bell rings, we are smoked. I’ve lost track of the runs, but my arms say around 500, give or take. Back inside, Richard Botts commands the kitchen. A former chef at a Seattle seafood restaurant, he comes up every other weekend to cook, conducting a group of volunteers from his culinary podium. Food is part of the program at Meany, with adult Mountaineers paying $110 for Saturday and Sunday ski tickets, two lunches, dinner, breakfast and one night of accommodations (non-members pay $135). The kitchen crew whips up pizzas for 107 by Wilder’s count, and long communal benches overflow. With no Wi-fi at the hut, the morning’s on-hill trials spin into lunchroom legend. “It’s a Norman Rockwell-type place with a MacGyver twist,” chuckles Jim Fahey, another long-term instructor up at Meany. Just then, Botts’ wife, Sheridan, announces it is her turn to run the rope tow that afternoon, but that the bull wheel won’t be turning until everyone has washed a plate and piece of cookware. Eager to click-in again, kids line the wash basin, then run to throw on ski boots. “Meany provides a great counterpoint to what we think of as skiing today,” Skoog says. “The very commercial, very mechanized, very organized, massive grooming, high speed lifts and big corporations running networks of skiing, Meany is a completely different look. It’s a different manifestation of the love of skiing that we all have.” There in the lodge, still nursing sore quads over a cup of tea, I have to agree. It’s easy to call Meany a time warp, but there’s more to it than the low hanging fruit. Hidden in the Washington woods, a dream that was built to bring people to the mountains and keep them there is still very much alive, and has found footing not only within generational returnees, but newcomers as well. In many ways, Meany’s survival is proof that 3,000 feet of vertical and modern amenities aren’t the only things keeping people on snow. “Unless you’ve been to Meany and experienced it, you don’t even realize that it’s there,” adds Skoog. “It’s good to have that connection to the old ways, to know that there’s more than one way to do this sport.” Meany Lodge 065
The Ski Journal Volume 17, Issue 3: Page 65
