Marcia Storer

We skied as long as I can remember since my dad, Harlan Cory was one of the guys that got the whole thing started. When he fought in New Guinea during World War II all he could think about was getting back to Kings Hill.

I already shared that when I was about seven years old I was riding the rope tow on the Dope Slope and the bottom of my jacket wound around the rope. I was dragged right through the emergency stop rope and the machine turned off with my head almost in the wheel. The ski patrol had to come and unwind me over and over again.

My mom, Clary Cory and Betty Hasterlik had a concession of sorts in the lodge on Sundays. There was a big box on a pulley that could be lowered from the parking lot to the lodge and send the goodies down. I can’t remember what they sold other than pie and donuts. The lodge was heated by these big oil drums with fires in them. Not too effective. And using the outhouse was a real challenge with taking off your skiies at the door and getting them right back on afterwords.

Another interesting thing about skiing so young is going up the Hallo on the pomolift, at the last steep part you would be lifted into the air and turned around and really hoped that when you hit the snow again you were facing uphill. Otherwise you just had to crash.

Since our dad was a ski patrol he had to sweep the mountain before we could leave. The ski boots at that time were tie on. It would take us all the way to Great Falls before the laces thawed enough to get the boots off.

The good old days.