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That April he reached another goal: become the world’s oldest heli skier. The next year he was even more ambitious. He wanted to ski as many days as he was old—96. But he one-upped himself. Junior ended the 2021/2022 season with 101 days under his belt.
It’s a beautiful day at Alta Ski Area in December 2020. Pine trees filter sunlight through their boughs, creating puzzled patterns of light and shadow on the crystalline snow. I’m sitting on the Sunnyside chairlift beside my father, Steve Bounous, and my grandfather, Junior Bounous. At 95 years old, my grandpa is learning how to ski powder—again.
The crowds are minimal, and the sky is a rich shade of azure. A weak storm deposited a few inches of fresh snowfall overnight. Most Utahns are grumbling about the meager storm total, hoping for more powder to sink their skis into.
But these few inches are perfect for the task at hand.
It feels strange, helping my grandfather powder ski. For most of my life, it was the other way around. He’s considered one of the pioneers of powder skiing. He helped develop a powder skiing technique called the “double dipsy” back in the 1940s and 1950s. He dedicated his life to skiing early on, becoming one of Utah’s first Forest Service-certified ski instructors in 1948 and teaching for over 70 years before finally retiring at the ripe age of 90. Many in the Utah ski community (and beyond) think of Junior Bounous when they consider who taught them how to ski powder. Including me.
But the last few years took a toll. Prostate cancer, two bouts of staph infection that nearly killed him, sciatic pain, and carpal tunnel surgery are among the physical ailments that have plagued him in the last two decades.
Then, six short months ago, Junior watched his wife, Maxine, take her last breath.
“Ready to ski some powder, dad?” My father asks.
Junior chuckles. “Oh, I don’t think I should. I don’t know if my legs will remember how.”
We knew that Junior still had the physical ability to keep skiing and that he had so much more life to live—he just needed to break through this crux of grief, the most frightening time of his life.
Steve and I share a look. Junior Bounous’s legs not remembering how to ski powder is like a fish not remembering how to swim. We have no doubt that Junior will be able to ski the few inches of powder we’re about to go hunting for. The trick will be making him believe that, too.
The shock of losing his partner of 70 years nearly killed him. After her passing, my family watched as Junior struggled through his grief. His doctor told us he was in danger of dying of a broken heart. We knew that Junior still had the physical ability to keep skiing and that he had so much more life to live—he just needed to break through this crux of grief, the most frightening time of his life. The best solution was right there in his his storied past.
Get him moving.
After Maxine passed away at the end of June, Junior could barely walk up the slight incline in his neighborhood before tiring out. My family made it our number one priority to get him walking every day. By his 95th birthday in August, he was hiking four miles daily at 10,000 feet in the Uinta Mountains. (And still had energy in the evening to drink margaritas.) So, when the ski season rolled around, we knew that Junior had it in him to ski powder again—he just had to remember how.
When Junior began his ski career, skiing at Alta in the 1940s and ‘50s was a little like skiing in the “Wild Wild West.” Receiving an average snowfall of more than 500 inches a year, Alta quickly gained its reputation as one of the snowiest ski areas in the US.
Back then, that much snow wasn’t necessarily a good thing. There was no cat grooming, and the long and heavy wooden skis were not conducive to turning in powder. More often than not, a two-foot snowfall meant no skiing. But there were some who would brave the challenging conditions and experiment with both technique and gear and pave the way for modern-day powder skiing.
Among other techniques, Junior and his colleagues experimented with sanding the tails of skis to make them softer. They bumped bindings back by an inch or two to prevent ski tips from diving beneath the snow. They discovered that keeping legs and skis locked tightly together created more surface area to help skis float. Thus, the modern-day powder technique was born. Alta instructors had crafted a new way of skiing powder and, as a result, could now ski in any conditions and on any terrain. As a ski instructor, Junior then had to figure out a way of teaching this technique to others.
I once asked Junior what made him such a successful powder teacher. Learning how to ski powder is not always that much fun. A ski tip that dives under the snow often results in a faceplant, perhaps the next 10 minutes spent trying to dig that ski out. I often dreaded powder days when I was still learning. Junior told me that he used movement to help his students overcome their fears and by setting small, attainable goals for them. With each goal accomplished, their confidence would grow. Simply moving through a landscape of powder and becoming comfortable with the feeling of their skis cutting through it helped settle their fears. In 1996, Junior was named to the U.S. Ski & Snowboard Hall of Fame for his innovative approach to ski teaching, especially when it came to teaching a powder technique. Now, my father and I are about to use Junior’s techniques on him.
My father leads the way and Junior, heeding the same advice he’s given to countless clients over the years, follows directly in Steve’s tracks. Waiting until the terrain is gentle, Steve begins weaving in and out of the few inches of powder lining the divide where the cat groomed overnight. Junior doesn’t immediately follow him off-piste, but after watching my dad repeat this process a few times Junior finally directs his skis into the powder. It doesn’t take long before Junior is executing what is called wedeln, or wiggle turns, a quick succession of small turns that create a wiggle pattern in the snow.
It only takes another run or two of this before it’s clear Junior’s feeling much more confident, and Steve leads us to a steeper hill. It has a long run out, and once a skier pushes off into the fresh snow, there’s no opportunity to bail.
To no one’s surprise except his own, Junior skis it beautifully.
That April he reached another goal: become the world’s oldest heli skier. The next year he was even more ambitious. He wanted to ski as many days as he was old—96. But he one-upped himself. Junior ended the 2021/2022 season with 101 days under his belt.
That December, Junior’s first goal was skiing in a few inches of powder. Once he accomplished that, he continued hitting small goals he’d set for himself. Ski four days in a row. Ski in six inches of powder. Ski 100 turns down this pitch without stopping. Pretty soon, Junior was skiing more days than he wasn’t.
He ended the 2020/2021 season with 72 days, just three days short of his goal of 75 (the resort closed one weekend early due to poor snow conditions). More important than the number, however, was that he had both the confidence and the physical capability to ski in bottomless powder by February. That April he reached another goal: become the world’s oldest heli skier.
The next year he was even more ambitious. He wanted to ski as many days as he was old—96. But he one-upped himself. Junior ended the 2021/2022 season with 101 days under his belt.
Isaac Newton’s First Law of Motion states that an object at rest will stay at rest unless acted on by some outside force. Sometimes it can seem much easier to just stay at rest, but finding that outside force necessary to ignite change is how one prevents fear from compounding into stagnance. It takes courage. But once that object is in motion it will stay there.
It’s a beautiful day at Alta Ski Area in December 2020. Pine trees filter sunlight through their boughs, creating puzzled patterns of light and shadow on the crystalline snow. I’m sitting on the Sunnyside chairlift beside my father, Steve Bounous, and my grandfather, Junior Bounous. At 95 years old, my grandpa is learning how to ski powder—again.
The crowds are minimal, and the sky is a rich shade of azure. A weak storm deposited a few inches of fresh snowfall overnight. Most Utahns are grumbling about the meager storm total, hoping for more powder to sink their skis into.
But these few inches are perfect for the task at hand.
It feels strange, helping my grandfather powder ski. For most of my life, it was the other way around. He’s considered one of the pioneers of powder skiing. He helped develop a powder skiing technique called the “double dipsy” back in the 1940s and 1950s. He dedicated his life to skiing early on, becoming one of Utah’s first Forest Service-certified ski instructors in 1948 and teaching for over 70 years before finally retiring at the ripe age of 90. Many in the Utah ski community (and beyond) think of Junior Bounous when they consider who taught them how to ski powder. Including me.
But the last few years took a toll. Prostate cancer, two bouts of staph infection that nearly killed him, sciatic pain, and carpal tunnel surgery are among the physical ailments that have plagued him in the last two decades.
Then, six short months ago, Junior watched his wife, Maxine, take her last breath.
“Ready to ski some powder, dad?” My father asks.
Junior chuckles. “Oh, I don’t think I should. I don’t know if my legs will remember how.”
We knew that Junior still had the physical ability to keep skiing and that he had so much more life to live—he just needed to break through this crux of grief, the most frightening time of his life.
Steve and I share a look. Junior Bounous’s legs not remembering how to ski powder is like a fish not remembering how to swim. We have no doubt that Junior will be able to ski the few inches of powder we’re about to go hunting for. The trick will be making him believe that, too.
The shock of losing his partner of 70 years nearly killed him. After her passing, my family watched as Junior struggled through his grief. His doctor told us he was in danger of dying of a broken heart. We knew that Junior still had the physical ability to keep skiing and that he had so much more life to live—he just needed to break through this crux of grief, the most frightening time of his life. The best solution was right there in his his storied past.
Get him moving.
After Maxine passed away at the end of June, Junior could barely walk up the slight incline in his neighborhood before tiring out. My family made it our number one priority to get him walking every day. By his 95th birthday in August, he was hiking four miles daily at 10,000 feet in the Uinta Mountains. (And still had energy in the evening to drink margaritas.) So, when the ski season rolled around, we knew that Junior had it in him to ski powder again—he just had to remember how.
When Junior began his ski career, skiing at Alta in the 1940s and ‘50s was a little like skiing in the “Wild Wild West.” Receiving an average snowfall of more than 500 inches a year, Alta quickly gained its reputation as one of the snowiest ski areas in the US.
Back then, that much snow wasn’t necessarily a good thing. There was no cat grooming, and the long and heavy wooden skis were not conducive to turning in powder. More often than not, a two-foot snowfall meant no skiing. But there were some who would brave the challenging conditions and experiment with both technique and gear and pave the way for modern-day powder skiing.
Among other techniques, Junior and his colleagues experimented with sanding the tails of skis to make them softer. They bumped bindings back by an inch or two to prevent ski tips from diving beneath the snow. They discovered that keeping legs and skis locked tightly together created more surface area to help skis float. Thus, the modern-day powder technique was born. Alta instructors had crafted a new way of skiing powder and, as a result, could now ski in any conditions and on any terrain. As a ski instructor, Junior then had to figure out a way of teaching this technique to others.
I once asked Junior what made him such a successful powder teacher. Learning how to ski powder is not always that much fun. A ski tip that dives under the snow often results in a faceplant, perhaps the next 10 minutes spent trying to dig that ski out. I often dreaded powder days when I was still learning. Junior told me that he used movement to help his students overcome their fears and by setting small, attainable goals for them. With each goal accomplished, their confidence would grow. Simply moving through a landscape of powder and becoming comfortable with the feeling of their skis cutting through it helped settle their fears. In 1996, Junior was named to the U.S. Ski & Snowboard Hall of Fame for his innovative approach to ski teaching, especially when it came to teaching a powder technique. Now, my father and I are about to use Junior’s techniques on him.
My father leads the way and Junior, heeding the same advice he’s given to countless clients over the years, follows directly in Steve’s tracks. Waiting until the terrain is gentle, Steve begins weaving in and out of the few inches of powder lining the divide where the cat groomed overnight. Junior doesn’t immediately follow him off-piste, but after watching my dad repeat this process a few times Junior finally directs his skis into the powder. It doesn’t take long before Junior is executing what is called wedeln, or wiggle turns, a quick succession of small turns that create a wiggle pattern in the snow.
It only takes another run or two of this before it’s clear Junior’s feeling much more confident, and Steve leads us to a steeper hill. It has a long run out, and once a skier pushes off into the fresh snow, there’s no opportunity to bail.
To no one’s surprise except his own, Junior skis it beautifully.
That April he reached another goal: become the world’s oldest heli skier. The next year he was even more ambitious. He wanted to ski as many days as he was old—96. But he one-upped himself. Junior ended the 2021/2022 season with 101 days under his belt.
That December, Junior’s first goal was skiing in a few inches of powder. Once he accomplished that, he continued hitting small goals he’d set for himself. Ski four days in a row. Ski in six inches of powder. Ski 100 turns down this pitch without stopping. Pretty soon, Junior was skiing more days than he wasn’t.
He ended the 2020/2021 season with 72 days, just three days short of his goal of 75 (the resort closed one weekend early due to poor snow conditions). More important than the number, however, was that he had both the confidence and the physical capability to ski in bottomless powder by February. That April he reached another goal: become the world’s oldest heli skier.
The next year he was even more ambitious. He wanted to ski as many days as he was old—96. But he one-upped himself. Junior ended the 2021/2022 season with 101 days under his belt.
Isaac Newton’s First Law of Motion states that an object at rest will stay at rest unless acted on by some outside force. Sometimes it can seem much easier to just stay at rest, but finding that outside force necessary to ignite change is how one prevents fear from compounding into stagnance. It takes courage. But once that object is in motion it will stay there.
Ayja Bounous grew up at the base of Little Cottonwood Canyon in the Wasatch Mountains of Utah, where the rhythmic pulse of the seasons was as much a part of life as breathing.
Her new book, Junior Bounous and the Joys of Skiing: A Biography is about her beloved grandfather, Junior. Along with helping to invent powder skiing and being named to the U.S. Ski & Snowboard Hall of Fame, Junior recently became the oldest person to heli-ski—at 95 years old.
Ayja Bounous grew up at the base of Little Cottonwood Canyon in the Wasatch Mountains of Utah, where the rhythmic pulse of the seasons was as much a part of life as breathing.
Her new book, Junior Bounous and the Joys of Skiing: A Biography is about her beloved grandfather, Junior. Along with helping to invent powder skiing and being named to the U.S. Ski & Snowboard Hall of Fame, Junior recently became the oldest person to heli-ski—at 95 years old.
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