GOING HOME: Remembering a friend at the ‘Bird
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There’s a reason we call it the “home hill.” As a local, it’s the place you always feel comfortable. You can be gone for 10 years, and upon returning still remember the exact place to get face shots in a particular grove of pine, the way a couloir sets up after a storm, the bottlenecks to avoid during tourist season, and the scheduling of patrol routes. Indelibly left in your mind are the sounds and smells of the tram line, and the way a certain chair swings just so before you load.
But what makes it most comforting, the thing that gives a place its character no matter its natural gifts, are the people. The men and women you see in the lift line every day—during whiteouts, downpours and sunshine, and everything in between. They are family in every sense, as much a part of the mountain fabric as the very bedrock itself. Rarely are they known outside their own communities, but at the home hill they are the ones who give the mountain personality. Talk all you want about the beautiful qualities of powder, in the end it means little without these characters to share it with.
And when they are gone, they leave a deep absence. Something is amiss, as if your favorite run suddenly vanished.
Such is the case at Snowbird, Utah, which lost one of its own last year. Mike Merrill, a Salt Lake City native son, passed away in early June 2006 after succumbing to internal injuries he received after getting hit by a drunk driver while riding his bike on a spring trip to Moab. He was 29.
Merrill, known as “Lenny” to his many friends, was a skier to his very core, and the ’Bird was his home hill. He wasn’t a pro, he wasn’t in movies. He was happy just being a Utah kid, and his deep laugh resonated among his friends, brightening even the worst of days.
Because he meant so much to those around him, and out of respect for his love of Snowbird, a memorial plaque has been placed atop his favorite run there. Dedicated by his friends in a small, casual ceremony on July 14 (with plenty of PBR and Jack Daniels, the way Lenny would’ve wanted it), the plaque was bolted to a rock along the traverse out to Baldy, high above the steeps of his beloved Little Cottonwood Canyon.
Though for many people Snowbird will not be the same without Lenny smiling back in the tram line or maching down perfect Utah blower, the mountain will still hold a reminder of his personality that helped make it such a nice place to call home. And the next time you’re making the traverse out to Baldy, remember to serve one up for Lenny.
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