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My Kiefer T-bar Story
I came to Jasper in 1959 looking for an area with lots of snow to ski in. Joe Weiss recommended that I go up into Marmot Basin to find those conditions.
It was very suitable and in 1961 I found an opportunity to acquire a License of Occupation from Parks Canada and began operating a business taking skiers into Marmot with a 15 passenger Bombardier snowmobile. I built a little cabin so my guests had a place to rest and get warm and I installed a 700 foot rope-tow that was powered with a gas engine from a dodge military vehicle that I brought from Edmonton. The tow was located near the cabin and adjacent to the bottom of the T-bar.
Then Parks Canada put out a tender for the commercial development of the Marmot Basin Ski Area and I put together a bid for development. I had architectural plans drawn up for a nice chalet and a T-bar lift. Walter Parren who was a mountain rescue specialist for Banff Park came up to Jasper and contacted me regarding the placement of the lift. I took him up to Marmot in my snowmobile and the two of us ski-toured around the area looking for potential lift sites. We found ourselves at the top of where the Kiefer T now sits and determined that that was the best placement for my future T-bar ski lift. Then Walter and I skied down the back side into Whistler Creek.
I wasn’t the successful candidate of the tender but I have enjoyed many memorable rides on the Kiefer T and believe that I may have had something to do with where it is located.
By Toby Rayner
My story begins in 1964 when I can imagine the boys were looking for a place to ski via lift
Assisted access in the stellar vista of the cirque they called Marmot Basin. The Kiefer boys as I
Imagine stood atop what I call the meat and potatoes of our fair little ski hill; from Kiefer’s dream
all the way over to S-Turns. From this ridge I imagine them rolling a rock down the hill, following
its path and saying there is fall line put the lift there and it is there that I found the Kiefer T-bar
when I arrived in Jasper in 1976.
Since the first season I have learned to love this T-bar in a multitude of ways. It was easy to
see how it demanded the run to its immediate right to be named Show Off, as the only lift in the
Basin it afforded a primier view of any skier plying their skills down it incline. In my eyes it has
always been a pragmatic lift, it gets me to the top of the face I call the meat and potatoes quickly,
almost twice as fast as the Paradise chair and helps relieve some of the congestion at that chair.
I find the T-bar warmer as you follow it’s terrain on the ground out of the wind and continually
Moving with the added bonus of not needing a zip line to get off it when it ceases to function.
Aesthetically the Kiefer runs much quieter and with less vibration than any chair lift and on powder
days I can crank 1000 feet of vertical every six minutes without my ass getting soaked while sitting
on a wet chair lift.
There is a serious fun aspect to this lift as it requires some cooperation to ride it with a
partner bringing a more anthropic aspect to the ride. The younger generation (this is a relative
term) like to jib on the ride up and those individuals start this journey with the ever popular
“sling shot”. One of the many stellar lifties that have worked this T-bar over the years once told
me that after a winter of pulling down this Kiefer T-bar her bosoms pointed to heaven, not long
after that winter her future husband proposed to her. To add a little fun to the day she would
take a piece of white chalk and on the ass of the boys ski pants would grade said piece of anatomy
from one to ten, such was the light heartedness of the Kiefer T-bar.
My story ends 45 years later with many a ride and experience having past and the vast majority
of them being very positive. The powers that be have decided to remove this my favorite lift, I
would prefer not to be writing her obituary but I must acquiesce passionately her demise. She was
struck by lightning this past summer and has presented electrical problems ever since; or she has
learned of her proposed removal and is just being obstinate in defiance only Ular knows for sure.
Farewell Trusty Ride!
Charlie Finlay
Keifer and Me
By John Janzen
After riding the rib-rattling yellow school bus up the long and winding road to Marmot Basin, I nervously checked my current situation. My father had outfitted me in third-hand Gresvig Jets-- wood skis with screw-on edges, some missing-- and a pair of corduroy pants to protect me from the elements. I had been skiing a couple times in Edmonton, and after a few trips up the rope-tow I felt I had a firm grasp on what skiing was all about.
After I figured out my skis I looked around and took in my surroundings. The "yellow t-bar," the Kiefer, was in full swing and I marveled at the suntanned lifties ushering lines of advancing skiers. As it turned out, my ambition, as a brand new skier of 11 years old, to ski in Jasper landed me into increasingly difficult terrain. The thought of impending danger briefly ricocheted in my mind like a bullet, as a lifty handed me the "tee"--an odd piece of equipment for any beginner skier to behold. I caught my terrified expression reflected in the lifty's mirrored sunglasses. His disinterested, blank gaze reminded me of the tilt-o-whirl carnies at Edmonton’s Klondike Days. Perhaps this is where these dudes worked in the winter.
I inched toward the tee, uneasy on my Gresvig Jets and concluded these swarthy fellows were the captains of my next stage of ski adventuring. The temporary bravado from my heady victories at Edmonton's bunny hills retreated as I gazed up at "the bridge," an ominous-looking steep patch of snow, a few towers up from the initial take-off. Just then, the lift operator impatiently gestured me into the departure zone. As I readied myself for the jolt of the tee on the back of my legs, my attention turned to one of my fellow skiers teetering uneasily on his ride over the bridge, and I gasped as he disappeared into the deep, unpacked snow beneath the lift track. Horrified, I had hardly noticed my co-pilot slide in beside me on the lift track. Away we went, with me clutching the bar and him counseling me to relax.
"Don't sit on the Kiefer!" The lifty barked at me.
I should have listened, but mounting terror stiffened my legs; instead, I hung from the bar as it yanked me skyward, skis and all. We battled on past a couple of towers before the inevitability of dismount from the bar exploded into reality. I glanced at my co-pilot as we readied ourselves for the fight to remain upright. Surprisingly, Kiefer was kind to us and we glided over to begin our run over the bridge.
The bridge, oh no the bridge! It loomed larger than life under my off-balance 70 pound frame. Twisting and turning like a worm on a hook, the Kiefer wholly rejected me at the most deliciously dangerous point. After I regained my composure it occurred to me that I was the center of attention for a captive audience of Marmot Basin skiers. Most of them looked on at my plight with an understanding gaze on their faces. I had apparently fastened myself to an elite club. I too had survived the bridge on the Kiefer t-bar, and with a new conviction, lined up to tame the Kiefer again.
A special place in my heart will always be reserved for the Kiefer, because its challenge is like all things in life: every worthy aspiration, demands a price. A special thanks to every lifty, who had the patience to reassure a newbie skier and ultimately welcome them to a world of joy whether the Kiefer, or any other lift that has endeared itself to us with its promise of adventure.
By John Janzen
During the 70’s, the Rockies were either blessed or cursed, depending on one’s outlook or occupation, with snowfalls of mythical proportion and at times, the Holy Grail of snow consistency: Angel-Poo.
On the morning of a 53” snowfall at the Hill, chaos reigned in the townsite. Rowed O’Neil’s camera shop and the town’s generator building had burnt that night. A stalwart bus driver at the wheel and tires chained, the Marmot bus made the morning run. A white blanket engulfed everything, except for a few ski-rack dowels: the landscape pristine and inviting.
As the chairlift neared the top, skiing through this blanket would require speed and steepness. Struggling to drop over the top of the Yellow-Chair brought more emotion to our level of anticipation: frustration and a dose of high anxiety. The snow so heavy, that staying single file was the only way down. After two skiers made their way, the luge track had its way with all who followed. They individually found their own terminal velocity limit and branched off the track, like lateral lines of a leaf, coming to rest in a compact crash site.
Truly an example of “Too much of a Good Thing”.
During another memorable meteorological moment, large pressure systems waged war over the Eastern Rockies dropping knee-deep snow from the warmer low, then clearing off over night. Temperatures plummeted; the Arctic high prevailed.
The Caribou-Chair, first thing in the morning, could put you on top before the T-bar had broken trail up slope. Like a Greyhound bus route through rural areas, one never knew how many unscheduled stops the old Caribou might make. Not a breath of air was moving, but -40° sat on the hill.
On reaching the top, the white duvet sparkled like diamonds. Extreme cold had sucked the moisture from the warmer snowfall and iced the cake, so to speak. The T-bar pack had just broken into the open and much to their chagrin, saw us. Dave, Wilf and I slid from the chair trying to limber up for the task at hand, the snow feather light, shimmering and fast. A chorus of cat-calls and cries of dismay met us as we entered, skiers left of the T-bar. Super-cooled snow crystals raised high into the air behind us intertwining like jet-trails from the Snowbirds.
The cries turned to hoots and hollers; there was enough for everyone that morning. As we rounded cat-track corner for the T-bar, we broke trail for those that would follow, much as they done had that morning from the Yellow-Chair to the Kiefer. Frostbitten, our trail led to the lodge and mocha-coffee; Mother Nature again having her way.
I was fortunate to have worked the T-bar three seasons and skied it many more and can truly say it sealed my love affair with ground lifts.
To all those whom the Kiefer T-bar helped spark their love affair with gravity:
Slide Us a Mountain
Deep Powder Us Sunshine
Snow Crystal us Gently
Heaven is Down
Sincerely,
Tres Hombres by Terry Penno
MEMORIES OF THE TRANQUILIZER CHAIR
We were married on Valentine's Day in 1987and went to Jasper for our honeymoon and downhill skiing. Love conquers all, because the fact that I was scared of heights and speed never entered my mind.
We got our skis and I stumbled up to the Tranquilizer Chair! It was very open and seemed made of very flimsy metal.!! As we went further and further up the mountain I became more and more nervous and frightened. I was hyperventilating and trying not to look down at the ground that seemed so FAR away. I began to panic - telling Mike that I couldn't do this and I wanted to get off. (Where was I thinking I would get off?) As we got closer to the top of the lift, Mike took both sets of poles in one hand, and put his arm around my waist. I had my arms around his neck, my head buried in his shoulder while moaning "we're gonna' die" over and over again. Mike managed to get us off the chair standing up. We went about a foot or two before gravity and me wrapped around his neck brought us tumbling to the ground.
We were back on terra firma but now the problem was how to get back down the mountain. Mike got me over to the bunny run. I started off, but the minute I picked up any speed I would turn so I was literally going parallel across the mountain face. I inched my way down in a switchback pattern. Mike skiied backwards - making little kissing sounds. He lovingly ignored my hissing declaration "I am never marrying you again - this is crazy!" After about a half-hour we were at the bottom. We went into the chalet to recover and have hot chocolate.
I don't know if it was the "spiked" hot chocolate, or that three-year-olds were whizzing down with ease, but somehow my new husband convinced me to try skiing one more time. I hyperventilated the whole ride, still convinced I was going to meet my end on the mountain, but we got off with a tiny bit more grace. As I became more comfortable, Mike would get me up and off the chair lift, start with me on the bunny hill, then leave me, ski down himself (so he could actually ski and not just "hold my hand"). He would then get on the chair lift, return to the top of the hill, ski down and find me somewhere on the bunny hill - give me a kiss and words of encouragement ("you're way farther down than I thought you'd be") and ski off again to repeat the circuit. When I finally made it down the hill, I would wait for him at the bottom until he swooshed up, and after consuming another hot chocolate "for courage", we would begin all over again.
Driving into Jasper at the end of the day, we gave a woman a ride. She asked if we had been skiing and I said “sort of “and began to relate the experience of my first run. She started laughing and said "I was the lift operator at the top - I felt so sorry for you - you looked so scared". She was thrilled to hear that the rest of my day had gone well.
Donna Lockhart-Bishop
The Kiefer T-Bar
We have decades of wonderful, full colour Kodak memories of the best placed, most reliable lift a ski area could ever hope to have. It is not so much about the actual tangible lift; but where that lift takes you, both mentally and physically, the fun and the experiences along the icy track up and the ski down.
The Kiefer T has seen it all from leather to plastic, 215’s to 160’s, racing suits to neon a-framed wide stance, k-way to soft shell, 30 runs before lunch to straight lining, bikinis and baby oil to SPF 35, tight to baggy and Dave Feniak’s daffy’s to Jennifer Heil’s back flips.
So! What makes the sputtering, creaking, groaning grease gobbing, rickety, temper mental, leg straining hanging on for dear life, slalom course around the yard sale ahead of you, yet faster than the triple, ancient lift so appealing?
Old lifts are a kind of treasure and like the time machines they have the ability to slow us down and take us back and forth thru the decades, temporal shifting and blurring with a snowstorm of vivid stories, songs and thoughts. They become a part of our existence, our memories, our history.
For many of us the Kiefer T has been a faithful, dependable and yes, an unpredictable old friend. Soon that steady hum of her motor will fall silent and that familiar lonely silhouette on the horizon will disappear. We salute, we’ll miss you and to quote the tenacious Charlie Finlay “Loved by all who knew her, R.I.P.”
By Loni Klettl
I’m sure this won’t be the only story about Charlie, he who dressed as the Kiefer T for Halloween (and won best costume for it). A couple of winters ago, I was waiting in line at the Kiefer on a beautiful March day. It was an unusually long line-up, but was still moving pretty quickly. It was sunny, people were relaxed, and some kid was getting on the t-bar by himself. No big deal, it was a nice day, nobody was in a hurry. Suddenly, zipping up the outside of the line was a maroon flash with a wild ‘stache. As the t-bar was taking off ahead of him, he reached out, snagged the bar, and pulled himself around to the spare seat. The line erupted in cheering, but best of all was these two baggy-pantsed snowboard kids who started yelling “YEAHHHHHHH CHARLIEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!” and high-fiving each other. “That was so dope!!!” They even took time at the top of the lift to catch him up and congratulate him. Truly, the Kiefer T could reach across the divide to unite generations in joy and happiness.
Lucas Habib
How The Kiefer T-bar got its ramp!
Back in the early seventies there was a bridge over a deep hollow before the steep incline. It was just wide enough for two people riding on skis holding their poles and there was a fence to prevent people falling into the hole beneath it.
One day I was riding the lift with Hans Schwarz, head of the Ski Patrol, when a rider about three T’s above the bridge on the steepest part of the line fell off. He was wearing one of the newest ski suits designed to offer as little resistance to the wind as possible. Unfortunately they offered no resistance to snow on a warm spring day either, and he came sliding straight down the line, gaining speed and knocking people off as he came. He did not appear to be trying to stop himself and he slid right onto the bridge, whence there was no escape due to the fence. Hans and I were trapped between the fences as he came like an express train towards us. Hans said “Jump” and managed to get high enough in the air to avoid most of the impact. I tried to jump but did not get high enough and received the full force of the weight of this fairly heavy man. We cart-wheeled, with skis flaying the air like the swords on Boadicea’s chariot, to the bottom, where the pair of us lay stunned on the snow, awaiting the arrival of the ski patrol, summoned by Hans, who was unscathed. I watched as my thick Bognor pants ballooned with blood, before Hans was able to apply a tourniquet. We were taken down to the ski patrol hut, near the lower parking lot, where we had to wait until the sweep was over, as there was no ambulance service in those days and everyone had to be taken down in a Marmot Van. I asked the Ski Patrol to call John, who was Manager of Marmot Basin at that time, so that I could get to the hospital sooner, but he was not on the mountain; he was in Parks Canada’s office with the Superintendent, and as it was after four thirty, the switch board was closed.
Once in the old Seton Hospital and already admitted and lying in bed waiting to be seen by a doctor, my children started arriving, wanting to know how they could get into the house. Where was the key? Unfortunately it was in the car which was still on the hill – strange days when you dared to leave your keys in the car! Well, If I didn’t have the keys, where was Dad? They had to get changed and go to ski exercises! I sent them off to bang on the door of the Parks Office but nobody paid any attention to the banging, and the kids just had to wait till the meeting was over and Dad came home, hoping for supper, and learned that I was in the hospital.
In the meantime, Dr Plimley arrived, took one look at my leg and turned pale! There was a 90 degree cut two and a half inches and three inches long and it had just missed the main artery and nerve by a fraction; but it had missed. He then went off to look at the other guy, who was the cause of the accident. When he came back to me he said “ Sorry Ann, the other chap is in a worse state than you, so we will have to operate on him first. His patella was smashed, but he was skiing again the following year. I trust in a new ski suit.
This whole affair was most unfortunate, John and I and Dr Plimley had been invited to Dr Callegari’s for dinner that night, and now I was lying in hospital waiting for surgery and Roger was tied up until we were safely back in our rooms. He got his supper at 11.30 pm and I missed mine altogether. I suppose the dinner party was not as much fun as it might have been but John did get a good dinner and he didn’t have to cook it!
The gash took a long time to heal and when I went to Dr Betkowski, the surgeon, for a check up on it, he was very annoyed with me. He said the problem was, I didn’t want it to get better! He removed the sutures and said it was fine. A few days later it was throbbing and I felt it would feel better if I soaked it in hot water, so got into a bath tub and started poking around in the pus and found the end of what turned out to be a piece of a suture about 4 or five inches long. I removed it and the throbbing stopped and healing started . When I took it to Dr B he grabbed it from me - just in case I decided to sue him, I suppose. My evidence had gone!
The end of this story is, of course that the bridge was taken out over the summer and a ramp replaced it. A few years later I was riding up the ramp with my nephew when to my horror somebody fell off higher up. I could have skied off to one side and escaped. But no, I just froze and was hit again. This time, with no fence, I was just pushed over the edge of the ramp and no harm was done.
by Ann Ogilvy
The Old Yellow Chair by Fat City Fred
There is a very good reason why old timers at Marmot Basin call the Tranquilizer Chair the “Yellow Chair”. When it was built in the summer of 1968 the towers were painted a high gloss bumblebee yellow but the seats were actually red. When I arrived in the fall of 1969 and was hired as the janitor of the “lower chalet” I also infrequently helped in food service and at the bottom of the Yellow Chair. I can remember that on busy weekends the chair would be running at its’ highest speed, third gear. I would stand in the lift line with a bullhorn and exclaim in my loudest voice “Attention…this chair is running at high speed and you will have to be alert and ready to load. If you crash you will have to go back to the end of the line. This lift does not stop!! If this is your first time or need help loading let us know so we can help you jump on!” Pile-ups at the top were handled by an extra lift op. You can well imagine the chaos, but people learned to load and pay attention to the process. Bums on seats and skiers on the hill were the most important thing. Old timers sigh and remember non-stop lifts every time one of our present day softer, gentler lift ops stops the lift to retrieve a fallen ski pole or sort out a miss-load.
In the early 70’s I was a ski instructor and one day was loading with my class at the bottom of the Yellow Chair. Mike Cameron, another ski instructor, was there also and said I should ride with him. Riding a chair with Mike was always a risky proposition and this day proved no different. For some reason lost in time he didn’t have skis or poles, just Mike in his ski boots. The ride was quite uneventful until we got close to the top and Mike stood up and with all his might and hooked the footrest/safety bar under the retainer bar. I was now locked in with no way to get the footrest up over the bar. Mike, with no skis on, hopped up on the seat and as we got to the unloading area jumped out while Fred, locked in, went around the bull wheel. Of course Mike made sure all my class noticed the fool of a ski instructor who couldn’t even get off the chair.
The T-Bar By Fat City Fred
In the 70’s what is now known as the Kiefer T-bar was simply “the T-bar” and the only way to get to the top of the mountain. Every veteran of those days remembers the long uphill skate from the top of the Yellow Chair to the bottom of the T-bar. The T-bar itself had a huge brown barn that housed the bull wheel, motor and lift shack. You got loaded on to the T, left the bottom on the flat and started uphill on to “The Bridge”. The bridge was just that; a steep bridge over a big dip in the terrain. It was wooden and had railings on the side to keep you in the track. The only problem was if an accident happened up hill on the bridge there was no exit from sliding people and skis. A real feeling of helplessness came over you as you looked up to see two people fall at tower two and then pinball into one after another of the terrified lift riders until it was your turn to be picked off. One fine spring day the area managers’ wife was one of those innocent bystanders skewered by an uphill accident. Five stitches were the final result and the next summer the boys were busy removing “the bridge” and backfilling the dip so it looks as it does today.
One year in the early 70’s we were having a post-season staff party at the upper chalet. The T-bar was running and we self loaded. I had been eyeballing the T bar all season and thought I had a pretty neat trick lined up. I got a chair from the lift shack, set it up at the loading zone and waited for a T that was broken and had no T hanging off. As it came by I grabbed the ring on the hanger and I was off uphill…fast. At the first tower I was OK but rising quickly. About half way to the second tower I realized I was twenty-five feet up (we talked feet those days) over that killer bridge, my arms were getting tired and I don’t like heights. I managed to hang on until the second tower but I never even contemplated doing hanging tricks on lifts at Marmot again, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Fred MacMillan
Losing a long time freind
I must say when I first heard of the closing of the Keifer t bar it felt like I had been told of the death of a friend.I have known and loved this friend for a very long time.My first time skiing on a mountain was in 1973 and I dont recall the first time I rode my old freind but it was around that same year.
While my old freind could be quite intimidating to some,I figured out early he was not as mean as he looked,his sidekick was always there to
explain,if you just stand up, he will take you the top, where paradise awaits! My freind, when open was always there to greet me with open arms.
One of his longtime helpers was Lucy.a Marmot allstar, and everybodys freind.Lucy would always be good for a warm greeting,and a great joke or two,and then it was up and away with my old freind,he was the only one that could touch my ass and I wouldnt be offended.
He also wasn'''t judgemental,after a ripper down showoff and tucking the catrack I ducked the siderope,only to be launched sideways across three very full liftlines,everybody was staring or laughing or both,but my good old freind just went about his buisness,actually I think he dumped a beginner or two off,just to take away some of the attention from me.
A lot of people did not like my freind,they said he was too steep,or they would would rather ride a chair, I dont think he was offended,there was a lot like me who would rather stand and be ready to go and while their freind the chair would stop, my freind would keep going(most of the time)
I have only been seriously hurt skiing once.While ripping hwy.16 half way down,between the large spruce and my old freind, I caught a rut and broke my ankle inside my boot,I stopped looked over and riding up my old freind was a patrol,Coincidence or persuasion by an old freind?
I am not sure if the mountains and in particular,marmot basin was created by god ,or mother nature,but I do know that I have had truly spiritual moments,riding with my old freind.On a snowy day,or when the sun is peeking through the trees,there are times when it feels riding my old freind is like being in heaven.
I know that progress in this world,means making things faster,bigger,and easier but it also means tearing down things,that are truly meaningful to us.I will miss my old freind its replacement will be new and shiny,but will not protect us from the wind,or place us mere steps from trees,birds,and other wildlife.My old freind did that,and although I will continue to ski at marmot for the rest of my days it will not be the same without my old freind.
By Tim Chichak
In the late fall of 1968, after completing construction of the yellow chair it came time for the official commissioning and inspection prior to opening for the public. Inspections on chairlifts back then were carried out by officials from both the Federal government and the Alberta Provincial government and the world of chairlifts was new to all of them.
At days end, on one dark November day, after load testing the lift and doing numerous running tests etc. we packed up our gear and headed home, leaving from mid mountain. When we got to the lower chalet we noticed a vehicle parked outside the lower lodge and quickly determined that it belonged to the inspectors. But how could that be? They had finished their day earlier and had long since gone home - well guess again..
It turned out that they had been at the top of the lift checking things late in the afternoon and had boarded the chairlift to ride down without telling anyone - the end result was that the lift got shut down with them still sitting in a chair on the way to the bottom!
By now it was totally dark and from their newly found vantage point they could see our vehicle lights heading down the mountain which caused them serious concern! They were more than releived to see us stop at their vehicle.
When we stopped and got out to check the vehicle, off in the distance we heard a chorus of yells from up the mountain.
Thankfully they were not far from the bottom and after a mad scramble to restart the lift we got the inspectors down safely - cold but none the worse for wear. They had been sitting up there for just under an hour.
Its never good to leave and inspector hanging in the air, but as we pointed out its never good to get on a lift and not tell anyone!
LESSON LEARNED - on both sides!
Bob Bell
Joe Couture remembers:
In the latter part of the 1970's, the Kiefer T-Bar kept stopping for no apparent reason.
The staff could restart it only to have it stop a few minutes later.
This continued until the liftie noticed a small head peaking around a tower. It was Beno Jenkins pushing the safety button and the liftie's. Beno would have been a preschooler at this time and spent lots of time at the Ski Hill.
Joe & Sheila Couture |
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