A tragedy at Discovery Ski Area
Anaconda Pintlers viewed from Claim Jumper at Discovery Ski Area.
In a red ski coat patched with a white cross on the shoulder, Hud Venard sprints out to prep a landing zone for a rescue helicopter. He clears out the area, but there’s no sign of an incoming chopper.
It’s silent. The light snow falling makes an eerie ambiance. Days like this are usually peaceful, but today is different.
He gets word over the radio. It’s too stormy for the ship to land, an ambulance is on the way instead. He dashes back up to the patrol shack and re-enters the chaos. Jess Riddle, second in command on Discovery Ski Patrol, is frantically firing off instructions to everyone in the room. It’s Venard’s turn for CPR. He hurries over to the lifeless, young man on the backboard. Crouching, he interlaces the fingers of his hands, one on top of the other, and places them in the center of the bloodied patient’s chest.
Discovery Ski Area is a “ma and pop” type of hill. Located ten miles out of Philipsburg, MT, it operates under loose standards. Most of the employees have long, greased hair and unshaved faces. They throw snowballs and hang-loose signs when skiing by. Co-workers call each other family.
The hill breeds characters. Venard, like many employees, cultivate mountain man beards and the musky scent of a man who hasn’t showered in weeks. Then there are the young, eccentric ski instructors like James Adie, whose ‘yeah buddy!’ attitude ran himself into a ski rack at the bottom of the bunny hill on his first day of work. He took out the entire stand while in a lesson.
It’s a tight-knit community, if someone in the lift department makes a mistake in the morning, you can count on all the instructors knowing about it by the afternoon. So on December 28, 2010, when the lives of five employees fatally crossed, the shock waves were felt throughout the entire mountain.
A series of early storms had the entire town of Philipsburg foaming at the mouth for powder turns. When it snowed seven inches three days after Christmas the locals were all up early, hooting and hollering, eager to get runs in before work. Instructors were frenzied, hurrying around the ski shack, gathering gear and getting ready.
Instructors, James Adie and Bo Helm were one of the first ones out the door and on the lift. Lesson check in was at 10:15 a.m. It was only 9:40; they definitely had time for a run, maybe two.
Snowboard patroller John Amtmann had the same idea. He knew first tracks were a rarity, if given the chance he wouldn’t pass them up.
“Hey Hud! C’mon let’s grab a quick lap!”
Venard and Amtmann skated quickly over to the Anaconda lift and jumped on shortly after opening.
When they reached the top they shot for main runs on the front side. While traversing over they saw Helm and Adie strapping in, wide-grinned and whooping it up. The energy was electric—winter had arrived.
“Yahoo! Hey you guys have a great day!”
Amtmann took Gold Rush, Venard went for Southern Cross, Adie and Helm split for Claim Jumper. The snow was light and playful, skiing fast and soft.
The patrollers met at the bottom and immediately got back on the lift. Just after hopping on, their radios crackled simultaneously.
“This is dispatch…someone just smoked a tree.”
After five minutes of waiting they were alerted to come down and help.
The ski patrol shack looked like a scene from a war movie. Whoever this was had massive head trauma, his nose was pressed on top of his forehead.
Jess Riddle was huddled over the patient, inserting an adjunct known as the oropharyngeal airway into the man’s mouth and throat, trying to clear an airline. He pulled it up. It was completely clogged with blood, useless. He grabbed another, dropped it down and back up, the same.
Again.
Again.
Venard tried for a pulse in the wrist, cold and lifeless.
He straddled the man and started his CPR rotation, Amtmann situated himself for reading vital signs in the neck, Riddle continued his attempts.
Venard surged on the man’s heart. Looking down he saw a colorful glass-blown piece tied to the center of a hemp necklace, moving with each throb he heaved.
He’d seen it before.
He recognized it because for four years the man who wore it skied past him everyday with a big smile.
While trying to maintain focus on CPR he realized it was his friend and colleague, James Adie.
The Georgetown Quick Response Unit busted through the door.
“I’m dropping king airway!” Riddle hollered.
Multiple efforts finally cleared an airline. Amtmann read a pulse of over 140 beats per minute in the neck, but still nothing in the wrist.
Adie was rushed to Anaconda, then immediately flown to St. Patrick’s Hospital in Missoula.
An Unexpected Impact
Six-year-old Brody Foland was waiting for James at the Discovery ski school sign when he was informed that his favorite instructor wouldn’t be making it for lessons. The rest of the instructors were as confused as Brody.
For patrol, it was time to put the goggles on and go back to work. Venard and Amtmann were ordered to clean out the toboggan. Of all the training and education that goes into ski patrol, there’s no preparation for that.
A woman later came in wanting to be treated for a mild finger injury. Venard was sitting down crying.
“Get the fuck out of here,” he remembers thinking. “I told her to leave and come back. I couldn’t handle it,” he said.
Back in Philipsburg the horrifying phone call woke James’ younger sister Emily, who then alerted the rest of the family. Sisters, Emily and Carolyn, with their father Jim, hurried to Missoula and were at James’ side by the afternoon.
His head was split open and signs of life were less than miniscule.
The next day when the Missoulian released an article declaring James had passed away, Emily was still in the room with him holding his hand.
He was kept on life support for three days so his organs could be preserved and donated, a wish of his that struck when his older brother Brian died of cystic fibrosis six years earlier.
“I think that really changed James’ way he looked at life,” his dad Jim said referring to Brian’s death in 2004. “For a long time he was just a really goofy kid that everybody liked. But then it was like a switch turned on. I think that’s when he started not to waste time anymore.”
Emily said James became the exact symbol of what a big brother should be.
“He once got up and punched a kid in the face in the middle of class for making fun of me.”
After Brian’s death James spearheaded a family mindset of what was truly important in life. He didn’t want money, he sought only enough to get him by. He preached a life of simplicity and personal connection. His time was devoted to skiing, adventure and family. The ‘misfit’ suit of a Discovery ski instructor was perfect for him. He had everything he needed, as he often said.
The Adies were a close family, their house didn’t have hot water, but they had each other. James and Jim shared what his father referred to as ‘a school boy buddy friendship.’ The night before he died, the two stayed up late drinking beer and listening to Devil Makes Three.
It was an abrupt loss, the shock sent many people spiraling different directions, attempting to cope in their own ways.
“I was at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey for awhile,” Venard said.
“I couldn’t sleep for two weeks,” added Amtmann.
James was a popular local: A ski buddy, an inspirational brother, a caring uncle, a beloved son, the neighborhood friend whom everyone knew. His charisma was envied.
Philipsburg mourned. The atmosphere at Discovery was thrown off: turns were half-hearted, colors were bland, a family member was gone. It affected everyone. Venard questioned if he wanted to do it anymore.
Hud Venard at a Discovery Ski Area BBQ.
The Adie family experienced their own falling out, some turning to prescription drugs, others to alcohol and marijuana. Binging hurt personal relationships but the loss was a load too heavy to carry.
“We all lost ourselves for awhile,” Jim said.
He couldn’t eat or taste anything; he didn’t even remember his dad’s wife’s name.
Bittersweet and Beautiful
As time passed, it began to no longer be the first thing on everyone’s mind. The healing process accelerated when the Adie’s met with the recipients of James’ organs. His body saved four lives.
Steven Goldberg received his heart.
Maureen Seymour got his liver.
Jess Prior received a kidney.
Andrew Holt got a kidney and pancreas.
At the time Goldberg, an avid skier and mountain climber, could barely make it to the end of the block. Seymour was basically on her deathbed. Her eyes were bleeding, her husband was checking on her every 15 minutes.
They all live normal lives now.
Emily said the organ donation process was a turning point for the entire family.
“Developing a relationship with them was a huge relief. It changed our attitude, it dissolved the bitterness and facilitated healing.”
When Jim sat down with Goldberg and plugged in the earpieces of a stethoscope he knew what was about to happen would probably be too much to comprehend. He placed the disk over Steven’s chest and listened as the drum of his only biological son’s heart, beat healthy.
Since then, the Adies have contributed to public education on organ donation. They speak at banquets and promote the potential life-saving process.
James remains a memorable icon for both the town of Philipsburg and Discovery Ski Area. His portrait is framed on the wall of the White Front Bar and a memorial rests atop the Anaconda lift.
Remember to always take your waking life where your dreams reside.
Love,
your pro bro, James.
The words on the monument come from a letter James wrote his younger sister Carolyn before he died.
For You, Our Hero.
Every year, a tribute run is taken for James. Masses of friends and family gather to ski down Claim Jumper and pay respects at the tree that took his life.
To others, like John Amtmann, the honor happens more frequently. Everyday when Amtmann flies down the front side taking turns at high speeds he remembers to check himself.
He remembers how precious each day is, how they all count, for better or worse. Each time he soars down Claim Jumper he remembers to look at the alley that James last entered and throw a salute in appreciation. Thankful for the joy and enlightenment that an energetic young man was able to pass on, he remembers to live like James Adie would.