Master of the Mountain

Legendary ski instructor Nic Fiore still is going strong after 55 years at Badger Pass.

by Marek Warszawski
The Fresno Bee - March 18, 2003

America's most enduring ski instructor, a title given to him more than 20 years ago on these very pages, greets a visitor with a handshake and smile.

"It's good to meet you," Nic Fiore says through a French Canadian accent that hasn't lost a drop of its thickness. "What do you want to do? Do you want to sit somewhere and talk, or do you want to ski?"

Now there's an easy one. Nearing the end of his 55th consecutive winter at Badger Pass, Fiore is as much a Yosemite monument as Half Dome or El Capitan. Except Half Dome and El Cap are made of cold, hard granite. Fiore, 82, radiates warmth.

"Good," he says with a nod. "Get your equipment, and meet me at the ski school bell."

Fiore points to an area directly in front of the lodge, and immediately we're reminded of a framed black and white photograph hanging on the wall inside. Posing next to the same bell are the seven members of the 1948-49 Yosemite ski school. Fiore, the rookie instructor, wears a white, open-neck sweater over a collared shirt and baggy wool pants.

Fifteen minutes later, we arrive at the appointed spot. Fiore, dressed in modern ski apparel, is already there, exchanging pleasantries with colleagues, many of whose careers he has molded and shaped. His smile is the same as in the picture.

After more than four decades as Badger Pass ski school director, in 2001 Fiore eased into a new role of ski ambassador. He still hits the slopes almost every day, displaying the smoothest form on the hill, and continues to give lessons. Mostly, though, Fiore is paid just to be himself. To infect others with his positive energy and interpret the rich history of California's oldest ski resort like no one else can.

It's estimated that Fiore has taught 100,000 people to ski during his career. Maybe you're one of them, or know someone who is. For 20-plus years beginning in the late 1950s, Fiore gave free "dry land" lessons to groups of up to 600 in parks around Fresno.

"The Bee was one of the biggest sponsors," he says, as if unearthing a long-forgotten fact. "And for the last lesson, the entire class came up the hill to ski at Badger Pass."

Perhaps a little apprehensive about his guest's ability to get off the lift -- the first skill that must be mastered -- Fiore suggests separate chairs. We politely refuse. What better place than a chair lift to get to know a man who has devoted his life to spreading the joys of skiing?

"Nic's a national living treasure," says John Armstrong, president of the Professional Ski Instructors of America and director of corporate training at Mammoth Mountain.

"I can't think of anyone in our profession who's been more influential. Many people credit Nic's ski school at Badger Pass and his teaching methods for being the model for others that formed later all over the West."

Nic Fiore arrived in Yosemite on the evening of Dec. 8, 1948. A snowstorm kept his majestic surroundings a secret. The next morning, while gazing at Yosemite Falls, he was struck by a feeling of equal parts awe and apprehension.

A native of Montreal, Fiore spoke little English and felt a twinge of homesickness. He planned to stay four months, learning the ski instructor's craft at the feet of Austrian maestro Luggi Foeger, then return to Canada to finish his education.

But Yosemite's towering 3,000-foot cliffs, glistening waterfalls and the bluest skies he had ever seen threw a mogul into those plans.

"I had never been in love, but the feeling hit me like a ton of bricks. Like a bolt of lightning," Fiore says. "Right then and there, down deep, in the corner of my heart, I said to myself, 'I doubt you'll ever leave this place.' And I never have."

No sooner do we reach the top of the lift, disembarking without incident, than friendly chat becomes serious lesson. The teacher needs no more than 20 seconds to size up his pupil's ability.

Soon, Fiore is demonstrating the proper way to initiate a parallel turn by bending slightly at the knee and shifting one's weight to the downhill ski. Although headed in the opposite direction, his booming voice carries back up the hill. Every 200 yards or so, he stops to watch and shout more instructions.

"Very good," he says as we pull up alongside. "We can go now to the bigger hill."

Fiore might be part of Yosemite history, but he's living very much in the present. He was quick to embrace advances in technology, particularly shaped skis that revolutionized the industry during the past decade. And unlike many purists, Fiore voices no distaste for snowboarding.

About 20 years ago, Fiore tried snowboarding, only to give it up when the sport failed to catch on. Today, young snowboarders far outnumber skiers on California slopes, leading some to predict a bleak future for alpine skiing.

As one might expect, Fiore takes a more optimistic approach.

"Snowboarding is here to stay," he says. "But if you're asking if skiers are going to be like petrified trees? I don't think so.

"People of my age are skiing better than they ever have in their lives with shaped skis. The equipment has made it possible for even senior citizens to enjoy skiing."

Fiore explains that shaped skis are not only easier to turn than their predecessors, but also require 60-70% less energy because they are typically 10-12 centimeters shorter. For many, he says, sore legs after a day on the slopes are a thing of the past.

"The real evolution of ski equipment is with shaped skis," Fiore says. "Even though boots have improved, they have not made that same step. They're good, but not as good as they should be. It's a pet peeve of mine."

Although he passed the ski school directorship to Chuck Carter, his colleague of more than 30 years, those close to Fiore wonder how much old age has really slowed him. Included in this group is his daughter, Cindy Volpa, a fifth-grade teacher at Figarden Elementary.

"He can't cut back. It's not in his nature to go late and come home early," Volpa says. "It seems like he's doing the exact same job. He doesn't know how to do less."

In 1995, Fiore missed his first day of work in 49 years after breaking his ankle in an on-hill accident. An avid cyclist, Fiore also has had numerous scrapes on his bike, including one that resulted in a broken collarbone. Another time, he was attacked by a goshawk.

Volpa can only shake her head as she describes how her father gets up at 4:30 each morning to ride the exercise bike before hitting the slopes. Or how he refuses to be around sick people, even when they're his own kids. Or how he never strays from a healthy diet.

"There's no such thing as TV dinners for him," Volpa says. "Ever."

Lunch on this day consists of poached fish and vegetables. Seated upstairs in the Snowflake Room, Fiore removes his baseball cap and oversized sunglasses. His light brown eyes are free of haze. As if all those years spent soaking up the sunshine in one of nature's greatest cathedrals bestowed a certain sense of clarity.

Fiore doesn't concede much to age. He leaves advanced lessons to younger instructors, and rarely ventures into his beloved Yosemite backcountry. Retirement? Not even in the planning stage.

"You saw me today -- I'm not floundering," Fiore says with a grin. "I still have a little kick left.

"I act my age, and I know my limitations. But as I say that, I never cease to surprise myself. I may be 82, but believe me, I'm still all there."

(Top photo by Mark Crosse; both photos courtesy of the Fresno Bee.)