Gowabunga

The best perk of running a big ski resort isn’t really the skiing, but is rather the people that you meet and get to know. At Sunshine that included prime ministers, Hollywood actors, famous mountaineers, writers and singers, but the best of all was a man regarded by many as the father of Canadian skiing, Jackrabbit Johannsen.

I first met Hermann Smith-Johannsen, “Chief Jackrabbit” at a luncheon hosted by Iona Campagnollo, Minister of Fitness and Amateur Sport in honour of the Queen during one of Her Majesty’s visits to Canada. I was in Ottawa on business, and returned to my hotel one evening to find an “urgent” message to call the Minister’s office. When I called, an aide to the Minister asked if I would attend a luncheon to be held the next day, and if so, would I “be OK with being at the head table?”

Obviously some luminary had cancelled at the last moment and they were digging deep for a replacement. There was to be a reception for head table guests beforehand, and I was reminded to be punctual. “Functions for the Queen operate on a precise timetable”, said he.

Diligently heeding these instructions, I showed up at the hotel function room with time to spare, and found myself rubbing elbows with a “Who’s Who” of Canadian sports, including skiing champions Anne Heggetiveit, Lucille Wheeler and Nancy Greene. It seemed that Canada’s sports legends were all there, and safe to say I was feeling a little out of my league. I spotted a very old man leaning on a cane and learned that he the legendary Jackrabbit Johannsen. I headed over, struck up a conversation and was soon being regaled with stories of skiing in Banff back in the Thirties. Jackrabbit’s vigor and enthusiasm belied his one hundred and three years!

After a bit the Prime Minister, Pierre Trudeau, arrived and was followed soon thereafter by the Queen and Prince Phillip. A receiving line was formed, and we dutifully queued up for our introduction to royalty. This was done in order of our placement at the head table, so I was fittingly right at the end. I worked my way down the short line, first the Queen, then Prince Phillip. Having just met the greats of Canadian sport, he looked at me and with more than a touch of cynicism asked, “And why are you here?”

I stammered something relatively inane about being a skier and mountaineer, to which the Prime Minister injected, “Yes, he is, but he does all that with no feet!” emphasizing his point by stomping forcefully down on my left foot. Now the Prince likes a “man’s man” and this caught his interest, in fact his eyes widened perceptively and he started to pump me with questions. Fresh out of guests to greet and her attention caught by the foot stomping, the Queen listened with a bemused smile. I did my best to answer succinctly, but standing behind the Prince was a protocol man, glaring at me and emphatically tapping his upraised watch. I was well over my allotted three seconds!

Three or four years later I was in my office at Sunshine, brainstorming with senior managers to finalize the agenda for the grand opening of our new gondola system. Two years in the building, this lift provided state-of-the- art transportation for skiers from the parking lot to the resort centre, a distance of some three and a half kilometres. It was the largest passenger ropeway system ever built in the world, and deserved a fitting launch.

Various politicians, actors and other VIPs were suggested, but none of them quite did it. Then I thought back to my meeting with Jackrabbit and said, “I’ve got it!” All agreed so I found his telephone number in Piedmont, Quebec and dialed.

My call was answered by Jackrabbit’s son Bob, to whom I introduced myself and made my pitch. Well aware of Jackrabbit’s age, I told Bob that we would fly him along with Bob and his wife to Calgary in first class, meet them with a limo, host in the Banff Springs Hotel’s finest suite, and have a full time aide-de- camp to smooth out every and all wrinkles. All that would be required of the guest of honour would be to say a very few short words and to cut a ribbon.

Bob allowed as how that was a fine and kind invitation, but said, “John, Dad’s a 104 years old now. He’d love to do it, but he’s just too frail.” Ah well, we had tried, so it was back to our list making, but with no great enthusiasm or success.

The next morning my telephone rang. It was Bob Smith - Johannsen. “John, does your invitation still stand?” “Absolutely” “That’s great, because I told Dad about it last night, and he’s already packed!”

Six weeks later I stood on a small dais in the lobby of the Bourgeau Gondola Station, making introductions to an assembled group of some two hundred friends and supporters of Sunshine. First I thanked the many principal players without whom the gondola would not have been built, then began the introduction of the man who would “do the honours”.

“Our guest of honour,” I said, “started skiing before they commenced construction of the Canadian Pacific Railway.” A buzz went through the room. How could this be possible? In Alberta, time is in part measured by the railway, before, grasslands, buffalo and Indians; after, cities, towns and civilization. Some in the audience were seen doing the math on their fingers, but it was true, as Jackrabbit had been born in 1875, and started skiing at the age of 2. The first tracks of the CPR were laid 4 years later, in 1881.

I pointed out that Jackrabbit had had a hand in building the first mechanized ski lift in Canada, a ropetow in Shawbridge, Quebec in 1935. His idea was that it would be good for people to practice their turns before heading out on the cross country trails, later ruing the “monster” of downhill skiing that he helped unleash. I introduced him as the Father of Canadian skiing.

I asked Jackrabbit if he would like to say a few words, to which he stepped to the microphone, drew himself up to full height and spoke in a husky but strong and compelling voice. What followed was a masterful performance by a great orator. Jackrabbit spoke for twenty minutes in English, French and Cree. He spoke of Canada, its people, its wilderness, of fitness and skiing. He enumerated, uncoached and unprompted, virtually every reason that we had given Parks Canada in justifying the installation of the gondola. He hailed it a wonderful way of getting people into the mountains and participating in sport.

Once he had completed the “bread and butter” part of his address Jackrabbit turned to me and asked if he might speak a little about cross country skiing. “Of course.” I responded.

Jackrabbit dove immediately into his real topic. “When you have mastered your turns at Sunshine” he said, “then get out and try the real skiing. Ride up this gondola, but then put on a pair of cross country skis, ski across the Sunshine Meadows, ski down Citadel Pass to the Simpson River. Follow that river to the Columbia. Ski up to the Bugaboos. See the mountains. Get fit and live.” Jackrabbit punctuated his words by shaking his cane in the air. His enthusiasm for skiing was electrifying, completely undiminished by his great years. The audience cheered.

We had a wonderful time with Jackrabbit during his visit. One day, accompanied by his old friend Lizzie Rommel, he flew with legendary helicopter pilot Jim Davies from Banff into Mount Assiniboine and on to Sunshine. Although Jackrabbit hadn’t been through those mountains for some 55 years, he amazed Jim by pointing out by name almost every mountain, pass and creek on the route.

After that I made a point of heading up to Piedmont every time I was in the east, my last visit being on a crisp and clear fall day. His daughter Ruth met me at the door and said, “Dad’s in the yard waiting for you.” I went around the house and there, looking tiny and frail, bundled up in a big down jacket and a sleeping bag, was Jackrabbit. I believe that he was in his one hundred and thirteenth year.

He was holding two ski poles in his hands, points facing out and paddling as if he were in a kayak. “I’m very old now,” he said. “I am almost blind and cannot hear. But when I sit here in the sun and close my eyes, I am paddling my kayak through the fiords of Greenland.” He described the whales, the seals, and the ice. He was 111 years old, with the spirit of an active person in his twenties.

Jackson and Jordan, two puppies we recently rescued and re-homed. Hopefully we can do the same for Jazz and Nina!

When we arrived in Phuket 10 years ago, stray dogs were an ever present fact of life. Many were on the verge of starvation and suffering horribly from mange and other debilitating ailments. Then along came Soi Dog. John and Gill Dally retired from the UK to lead a life of leisure in a lovely golf course home near Laguna. Like the rest of us, they saw the terrible dog problem on the island, but unlike all others, they did something about it. The organization they founded, Soi Dog, through care and hard, hard work, has reduced the problem to a tenth of what it was. More about John and Gill later!

To date, 34,500 stray dogs have been sterilized by Soi Dog, dramatically reducing unwanted puppy production and thus the sheer volume of unwanted, uncared for dogs. The sighting of dogs in great distress has become a relative rarity, but it still does happen. I was on my way to the store yesterday when not far from our house I saw probably the most pitiful pup you can imagine.

He was thin as a rake, covered in great open sores, and missing large clumps of fur. I had a sandwich in the car and tried to lure him to me. The harder I tried, the further he retreated. I couldn’t get near him. With a flash of inspiration, I called daughter Michelle and in a few minutes she was on the scene. As I watched from a distance, she approached the poor guy, only to have him retreat down the road. Mich worked her way along the other side of the road, and threw him a piece of ham. Cautiously he sniffed it, then ate it up. Crouching down and speaking to him in soothing tones, Mich held out more food. It worked! Ever so slowly he walked up to her and ate from her hand. She had the magic touch!

Once he saw that we were not going to hurt him, he relaxed and let us gently lift him into the car. Even then, it was painful for him to lay down as every part of him was raw and sore. Half an hour later we were at the Soi Dog rescue centre at the north end of the island. Little Jazz (as we named him) was gently moved into their treatment room in the care of one of their 3 staff veterinarians, on an IV drip, and having swabs and blood samples taken for analysis.

As I write this, poor Jazz is suffering from septicemia as well as acute malnutrition. It is going to be touch and go, but all fingers are crossed. He’s a lovely little guy that deserves a chance. Mich and I drove home, pleased that we could in a small way be of help. We rounded the last corner to our house, and there, in the middle of the road, was a very sorry-looking dog. Virtually all her fur was gone to mange, and every rib and hip bone was sticking out. We went back into action, but that’s another story!in the

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

JACKRABBIT

A BIT OF PHUKET

Cats!

Friday, September 23, 2011

Jazz

Dog Whisperer