“Saddleback Patrol, dispatch.” The radio crackles to life in the patrol shack.
“Go ahead, dispatch,” our team lead responds.
“You have a report of a 10-50 on Mellow Moose — 11-year-old girl with knee pain.”
“Copy. Knee pain, Mellow Moose.”
Our team lead clicks off his radio and turns to me. “Alright, rookie, you’re up.”
My palms grow sweaty, and butterflies fill my stomach. My first solo call: An 11-year-old girl with a knee injury on a green run. Kids are your favorite, I remind myself. You know knee pain. You’ve got this.
Grabbing the sled, I ski down the run, scanning for signs of distress. I see it: crossed skis. The ski patrol’s unofficial bat signal.
A young girl lies in the snow, her dad holding her hand.
I crouch beside her and say, “My name is Sarah, and I’m with the ski patrol. Can you tell me what happened?”
“I can’t move my leg,” she says, choking back tears.
I notice a slice through her snow pants. “Okay, sweetie, I want you to take some deep breaths while I take a look at your knee.” I cut the fabric with my trauma shears. One slice reveals a deep gash on her thigh, exposing muscle, tissue and something stark white — bone. I press gauze to the wound and place my hand firmly on her knee, blocking her view. “Keep breathing, sweetie. You’re going to hear me make a radio call now. Don’t be scared,” I say, hoping to reassure her — and myself.
“Saddleback, Sarah,” I say into the radio, my voice quivering with adrenaline.
“Go ahead.”
“11-year-old female, Mellow Moose, deep knee laceration. I need extra hands and an oxygen bag with additional gauze.”
Turning back to my patient, I tighten my grip on her thigh. Part of me is holding pressure; the other part is holding back terror. “Let’s keep breathing, sweetie. Help is coming soon,” I say, silently praying it’s true.
Minutes crawl by as I bury my fear, focusing on coaching her through hers. But in the back of my mind, all I can think is: “I need a real patroller. I need an adult. I need someone with experience.”
The value of ski patrol
The value of experienced ski patrol is hard to overstate. Society often depicts patrollers as adventurous dirtbags skiing powder and triggering avalanches with dynamite. It’s a romanticized image — one that draws mountain-town kids to dream of becoming patrollers. A job where you ski all day, cut first tracks and help with the occasional torn ACL.
The reality, however, is far less glamorous.
In my three years as a ski patroller at Park City Mountain Resort, I was injured twice. I witnessed lives lost to the mountain, including those of friends and colleagues. I developed PTSD and ultimately fell out of love with the sport that drew me to the job in the first place.
Now, as a student doctor at the University of Utah School of Medicine, I better understand the depth of medical knowledge required to be an effective ski patroller. These professionals stabilize, transport and often treat on-mountain medical emergencies ranging from altitude sickness to traumatic, life-ending injuries. What emergency rooms handle with teams of physicians, nurses and medical staff, patrollers must manage alone on a freezing slope, with only the supplies on their back.
And yet, ski patrol is often dismissed as a gap-year gig or fun job for ski bums. This diminishes the critical role they play as first responders and healthcare providers in dangerous, unpredictable conditions.
The cost of experience
Like many healthcare teams, ski patrol depends on experienced professionals to train and mentor recruits. But the current compensation structures discourage career longevity.
“The economic package offered by Vail Resorts does nothing to address inflation or the wage plateau patrollers hit around their fourth or fifth year,” Kate Lips, president of the Park City Professional Ski Patrol Association, told me. “As wages rise across the country — Deer Valley starting at $23.50/hour, Powder Mountain at $26/hour and Wasatch Peaks at $24/hour — we’re struggling to keep up. We lose experienced patrollers every year. With every career professional that leaves, we lose years, even decades, of knowledge, training and experience.”
Call to action
As a former ski patroller, a future doctor and a community member, I’ve seen firsthand the quality of care delivered by career patrollers. These are healthcare providers who deserve fair wages and sustainable career paths.
I urge the community to support the ski patrol in their efforts to negotiate a reasonable contract. Here’s how you can help:
Donate to their strike fund, and leave words of encouragement.
Don’t spend another dime with Vail Resorts. Avoid Vail operated restaurants, retail stores, ski rentals and activities in favor of supporting local businesses instead.
Follow @pcskipatrolunion on Instagram to stay updated and spread awareness
By standing with ski patrol, we show them they are valued members of our community — not just for their skill on skis, but for the critical healthcare services they provide on the mountain.
Sarah Atwill Petelinsek worked in ski patrol for three years before she began studying to be a physician at the Spencer Fox Eccles School of Medicine at the University of Utah.
Sarah Atwill Petelinsek worked in ski patrol for three years before she began studying to be a physician at the Spencer Fox Eccles School of Medicine at the University of Utah. In addition to her medical education, Petelinsek is a behavioral economics and decision science researcher at the University of Utah Population Health Science Department, where she studies the intersection of backcountry skiing and healthcare decision making.
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