January 15, 2009 E-MAIL PRINT

The hill that hooked him

by Marty Basch/

The thing about a mountain is that is not only a place to ski, but also a home away from home. (photo: Gunstock Mountain)

The thing about a mountain is that is not only a place to ski, but also a home away from home. (photo: Gunstock Mountain)

The mountain that hooked me on skiing is in New Hampshire.

This Granite State mountain wasn't the first I skied. Skiing was initially an afterthought on the flats of a long island east of Manhattan. First turns were next to a fast-moving rope tow on a pimple of a hill followed by infrequent road trips to upstate New York and even New Jersey.

This was more survival than skiing.

The transformation to real skier took place innocently during my radio days in New Hampshire during the winter of 1984. Then, as a cub news broadcaster, I would chase ambulances at even the hint of carnage over the scanner. Morning radio meant up in the dark, and most days I'd be done by 1 p.m. or so and would look for things to do in the brutality of a long, desolate, frigid winter with lackluster bagels.

There was no one to play with indoors. I found myself enticed to the outdoors by skiing colleagues. It was there on the hill I developed relationships that ebbed and flowed over time. There was the dispatcher from the local police department who I called every morning sniffing for news. She and her husband were skiers. We became friends.

There was a colleague turned friend, the first one to get married, have a child and buy a home. We've skied together all over New Hampshire. Even though he and his family have left for the warmth of the real South, we still share turns when he's back east.

That's the thing about a mountain. It is not only a place to ski, but also a home away from home, a venue to foster relationships, make memories and watch a new generation come into its own while another gracefully fades away. And there's the people. David Buckman was one of them. Sailor by summer, he was an ace communications man who came through with the answers to many questions over the years.

But it's the skiing that brings you back. There's nothing like taking the summit quad and looking down on a frozen and beautiful Lake Winnipesaukee on the horizon.

Then take off down Upper Ramrod, tower guns on the side, and accelerate into glory. Bend down a steep pitch, maybe catch air, on Middle Trigger. Cross under the chair with a smile and start to ease on the brakes on wide Smith before venturing up again. Get out the digital camera for those vistas from Upper Gunsmoke. Cruise down Recoil. Keep up the speed from scenic Flintlock to The Flats before rolling down the thrilling pitches of Redhat or Tiger. Stick to the Tiger Triple for short and fast turns or enjoy the out-of-the-way Pistol chair.

The trails are lit at night. Campers are found there year-round while cross-country skiers wind through the woods. It was the place I first tried mountain boarding, and took my first — and second — mountain boarding spill. There's now tubing and terrain parks, and it's grown up a bit.

Gunstock, in Gilford, N.H., is a place I never forget. Though my radio days are long behind me, I'm always comfortable when I return to Gunstock to grab morning corduroy with the AARP crowd, ski with a friend at night or share the chair with all those wonderful ghosts from my skiing past.

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