Oldies week

When I was younger I thought that life was all downhill from roughly the age of 25. As 25 approached I decided that perhaps I’d been a bit hasty – maybe the good life would last until 30. And now, as the years steadily grind away, I’ve just experienced something that suggests that in fact, the good life may last somewhat longer than any of my calculations have suggested. That’s right folks, I’ve just been to Oldies Week.

I’ve mentioned in a previous post the tradition of having themed ski weeks at the club fields. Well one of the most sacred weeks on any club field’s calendar is Oldies Week. This is chance for the pillars of the club community to meet, revive the traditions of club field life, ski, participate in baffling novelty events and drink an awe inspiring quantity of alcohol.

I must admit to a bit of scepticism when I arrived at BR on Monday to find that it was Oldies Week. The staff, however, assured me that this was one of the best weeks of the season. I figured that the field was pretty quiet and that I could just stay out of the way of the other guests. It turned out that it wasn’t necessary to keep a low profile. The oldies were awesomely welcoming and happy to have me involved in their shenanigans.

Oldies Week has been running at Broken River for 21 years. They’re so used to the older and more traditional Broken River lodge that they stay there despite the construction of the flashier Lyndon Lodge. Upon arriving the first order of business is to determine who is entitled to a bottom bunk. Broken River lodge has 2 bunkrooms of 6 double bunks each, which makes twelve precious bottom bunks. These are allocated according to age. This year, to receive a bottom bunk you had to be older than 67. That’s right folks, of the roughly 24 oldies that came and went during the course of the week half were over 67 years old.

The first thing you notice about the oldies is that they can all ski. Some are a little tentative, but from the spring chickens in their 50s to the venerable folk in their 70s, they all ski.

The second thing you notice is that they know how to have a good time. In the last 21 years of this event, the attendees have become masters in the fine art of extracting hilarity from a ski area. On Tuesday they had Drinks on the Ridge, where they all head up to the top of the ski field and drink spirits while the sun sets over the mountain ranges to the west. Then, in varying states of intoxication, the oldies ski back down the hill to the lodges below. During the event I had visions of tipsy old people tumbling down the steep and rocky slopes off the western side of the mountain, but somehow, despite snow, ski boots and a pretty serious amount of booze, everyone got home safely.

On Wednesday they played golf. A nine hole course was set out amongst the basins in the middle of the main ski area. All shots must be played with your skis on (or on your snowboard, for the one unfortunate snowboarder in the mix). This doesn’t sound too bad, but it makes for some awkward stances and occasionally you belt the edge of your skis with the club. Our team scored a fairly uncompetitive 18 strokes on hole 3 after our ball rolled some way down the hill. Although this put us out of contention, the extra shots did give us a fair bit of practise and we were pretty sharp after that.

On Wednesday night there was in international themed dinner. As soon as I walked into the dining room I was commanded to find a suitable outfit from the dress-ups pile downstairs. Those of you who know me will realise that a dress-ups pile is a very dangerous thing for me to be around, but I managed to find something chaste and gender appropriate to wear.

Thursday morning started with a champagne breakfast, complete with freshly baked croissants. The early start to the day’s festivities carried over into dinner, which was a birthday party for Broken River, to celebrate 60 years of skiing at the field. The theme was supposedly “Retro”, but basically someone badgered me into wearing a turtleneck skivvy from the 80s that was several sizes too small. Everyone but the skivvy’s owner agreed that the skivvy was exceptionally gay. I tried to explain to one of the staff that wearing a gay skivvy was one of the least serious sartorial crimes on my record, but after I’d described the outfit I wore to a manga party several years ago she looked distressed and I decided discretion was in order. Thursday night was also the first time I’ve seen anyone drink straight vodka from a mug since high school. This person also provided me with the skivvy, making it their second lapse of judgement for the evening.

The result of all this is that you can still ski and cause trouble at 75. And, since I’ve attended my first oldies week this year, I reckon I’ve got another 50 or so to attend before I finally have to pack it in.