My last run of 2021 was on Park City Mountain’s Lost Prospector. They say legends are born under the chairlift. So there I was, ripping turns on the Hollywood line, right under Silver Lode. It was not the papparazzi shot I’d intended. Catching an edge on a bump, I dropped my left ski. But my other ski refused to eject, even with the force of my right leg hyperextending as I pirouetted ass over Icelantic. My achilles snapped like a vintage Voile strap that had been left too long in the sun.
Next thing I knew, there was a young guy in a red jacket standing over me in the snow. I glanced at the ski patrol badge on his coat. Max from Chicago. He radioed for a toboggan and assessed the damage. When the sled finally arrived, he carefully loaded me on, wrapped me up like a taco and strapped me in.
And then the flatlander from the Midwestern plains slowly and steadily skied me all the way down into Thaynes Canyon. Sliding through what felt like a steep mogul field, the sled finally came to a stop, and another patroller appeared on a snowmobile. They hitched the toboggan to the back of the snowmobile towed me farther down the mountain.
The snowmobile stopped and there was a large, white cargo van waiting. Two more patrollers appeared and loaded me and the sled into the back of the van. I felt like I was in on some kind of Thomas Crown Affair heist. Only, in this case, I was the Monet.
It’s hard not to think about this experience as I walk my dog at City Park and notice a bright, red AirMed helicopter circling for a landing across the street at Park City Mountain.
Or as I drive by the ski patrollers and their practice picket lines on the corner of my block at 15th and Park Avenue. Respect is a Livable Wage; Patrollers Protect you! Who Protects Us?; Burgers $25, Patrollers $21; Vail’s 2023 Profit = 1.22 billion; Striving to live where we work; Park City Cost of Living is 258% Greater Than National Average, are a few of the messages on their handlettered signs.
At Thanksgiving, the daughter of a friend who works at Deer Valley talks about making $30 an hour — as a server. The Park City Ski Patrol is asking for a modest hourly wage increase of two measly dollars—from $21 to $23.
I shared a Park City Ski Patrol Union post on my social media recently, and one of my friends commented, “I would love to do the math. They should ask for $30 an hour — they deserve it. I wonder how that would affect Vail’s bottom line. Wait a minute,” he writes, “I’ll ask ChatGPT.”
The AI assistant’s reply: To assess how increasing ski patrol wages from $21 to $30 per hour would impact Vail Resorts’ bottom line, the following must be considered: ski patrol hours worked; cost increase per hour; number of resorts and scale; impact on total expenses and revenue.
I’m no mathlete, but if you ask me, ChatGPT’s conclusion seems pretty reasonable: The wage increase would likely have a minor impact on the overall bottom line as it represents a small percentage of overall revenue. However, the increase could improve staff morale and customer satisfaction, potentially leading to higher retention, better guest experiences and indirect financial benefits.
See? Even a robot gets it.
So why doesn’t Park City Mountain owner Vail Resorts seem to get it? The corporation’s own CEO Kirsten Lynch reportedly received a compensation package worth over $6.2 million in 2024. I’ll have to ask ChatGPT how many ski patrollers that salary could compensate.
Honestly, I don’t think most resort guests have any idea what patrollers actually do on a daily basis. I mean, duh — they save lives and they sometimes get to hit pow lines long before most of us roll out of bed. But there is so much more.
I asked my friend Mike Reilly to elaborate. Mike’s been a ski patroller at Park City Mountain since 2018. Originally from Ohio, he moved to Park City to be a ski bum. After a stint as a barrista at Atticus, Mike was bored. He decided to apply to the ski patrol program.
Prospective patrollers have to complete and pay for their own medical training. Mike completed a Wilderness First Responder certification. He did it for the challenge, not so much the money.
“My starting base wage as a rookie was $13.25 per hour,” Mike said. “Atticus paid me $14 plus tips.” It wasn’t much, but it was enough to live in Park City at the time — in a 700-square-foot apartment with three roommates.
“What I remember most from that first year was being exhausted, all the time,” Mike said. “I totally underestimated the work. Ten-hour days, five days a week, not counting avalanche control days during storm cycles — which would be 12-hour days for three days in a row and then two 10-hour days on top of that. I wasn’t used to skiing that much or even just being outside in ski boots all day.”
And on top of the hours of physical exhaustion, Mike said the mental part was exhausting, too.
“Just because there’s so much to learn, like how to drive the sled, putting up boundary ropes, setting up tower pads, tying lift evac knots, sweeping the trails after the resort closes.”
Now imagine doing all of the above while standing on a steep ridgeline in the dark, with the wind whipping all around you, and it’s 10 degrees and nuking.
And then there’s the avalanche mitigation.
“I was scared shitless as a rookie, thinking what the hell am I doing? I’m standing here with a bomb in my hand.”
If you’ve never gotten swept away on resort by an avalanche, thank a ski patroller like Mike.
“Being a patroller got me curious about what happens to patients after they leave the mountain,” he said.
So, these days, Mike is juggling his duties as a ski patrol route leader with finishing up a nursing degree. He graduates this month. Mike hopes to continue as a patroller along with his nursing job “even if I can only patrol one day a week.”
What keeps him in it?
“There’s a lot of opportunity to learn and grow and it’s a very friendly, teaching place. I haven’t plateaued and I never will,” Mike said. “I love the community, the people, the job itself.”
He says when patrollers leave, it’s not because they hate the job. It’s because they can’t afford to stay.
“Look, we’re not asking to be millionnaires,” Mike said. “We just want to pay rent. Or maybe have a family.”
I don’t think that’s asking too much. Hey Vail Resorts, the avy bomb’s in your court.