It was at Heavenly's World Cup Run on Sunday, February 10, 1991. Those in attendance saw something they would never forget.

Bill Johnson: "Nosepicker"
Open, raw, with a troubled past and defiant streak that offered no apologies, Bill Johnson's outrageous egotism throughout his career had brought wildly diverse reviews from peers, coaches, and fans. Austria's venerable champion, Franz Klammer, once called the upstart a "nasenbohrer," or nosepicker.

Klammer, whose whale of a career included 25 World Cup downhill wins as well as the 1976 Olympic Gold, had meant it as a kidding phrase, but it had turned around on him in a sour grapes sort of way.

Johnson's scary, brilliant gold-medal winning run down the Bjelesnica course in Yugoslavia was something out of a Hollywood script writer's dream. Having skiing's most hallowed prize stolen by any American would have been hard enough for the Europeans to take, but this particular Yankee (Johnson) made the loss almost too much to bear.

The limelight hadn't lasted long for Johnson. Snubbed by teammates, his quick temper nearly got him tossed off the U.S. team in 1985 after a near fight with a coach. He fell at Val Gardena and underwent an operation to repair his left knee. A recurring back problem resulted in more surgery. More importantly, his skiing results didn't repeat, and he was left off the 1988 Olympic Team, unable to defend his medal. By the end of the '80s he was through with amateur competition. During the following years a series of unsuccessful jobs within the ski industry had left him with the label of being an outsider and incorrigible.

In 1991, watching Johnson shunned by his peers during the week of festivities leading up to the races at Heavenly Valley, I thought of him as a lonely Ahab, rehearsing to beat Herman Melville (Franz Klammer) and the betting odds. I didn't think that Johnson could bring it off, but I wanted to be there when he tried. After all, what would Melville's haunting tale of mankind become if Ahab had succeeded in his quest and killed the whale? It would have been just another fish story.


In one of Heavenly's most historic moments of competition, with prize money totaling $50,000, sponsors could not have wished for a better men's final between the enigmatic Johnson and the mighty leviathan, Franz Klammer of Austria.

To reach the finals of the event's Giant Slalom, both antagonists had to make it through a school of notables that included Gold medalist Max Julen; Norwegian great, Otto Tschudi; Canadian, Todd Brooker; pro racing champion Hank Kashiwa; former World Cup Giant Slalom winner, Hans Hinterseer; and speed skiing's Franz Weber.

$ and Bragging Rights
Although competing at Heavenly in the richest senior pro race ever held was great, deep down these races were for bragging rights in front of a national TV audience. The money was beside the point. All the racers had been doing well financially since their racing days--whether as a securities broker like Tschudi, Director of Skiing at Vail like Cindy Nelson, or pitching Chapstick like Suzy Chaffee.

Would Ahab (Johnson), who had been coaxed from retirement, have been content to merely go the distance with the white whale? Or was he there to win? Anyone who knew Johnson during his competitive years knew that he orchestrated everything for a reason. His motions were as certain as Arthur Rubenstein's. He was there to win. It was his competitive nature, a thing that always burned like dark coals inside. He was probably delighted to be a burr once more under the saddle of his larger-than-life opponent, Klammer, who had taken a backseat to the American upstart throughout the 1984 World Cup season, the year Johnson won five races.

Klammer himself didn't need any interior motives. Post career had been good to the Austrian. He had parlayed his sensational career into successful business enterprises that included Director of Skiing at Telluride, juicy financial ties with ski manufacturer, Tyrolia, and his own sports-clothing line. In fact he'd been so busy hobnobbing around the United States he'd only skied five times all that infamous winter. But once in the gates, Klammer had always been as nasty as a rutting elk. Mention "podium" to him and he could still resemble a Great Dane who had heard the word "bone."

It came down to little protocol in the end. Johnson honed his harpoon for the white whale by scoop-netting a couple of minnows in Todd Brooker and Max Julen, who he just nipped each run. Frustrated, Julen flapped his poles around the finish corral until he broke both. Julen's small demonstration reflected the nature of the competition and more, namely, that the Euros still couldn't stand Johnson. Julen, mumbled something in German towards Johnson, caused silvery peals of laughter from Austrian pals Franz Weber and Hans Hinterseer.

The Last Race
No matter how much disliked in the final to come, Johnson still had a snap in his racing. Indeed, Ahab put his harpoon in the whale, with classic brevity. He forced Klammer to lose one run on a barge; this resulted in one more head-to-head race. (In all, through an unconventional series of judgments, the two competitors raced six times that day, against each other).

In the end Ahab couldn't even stagger the great one. Like Ahab when he saw the whale down--Fedallah, harpoon, and all--so, too, did Johnson watch his own ship, Pequod, go down. Klammer finished the last run standing nicely in a picture of a powerful, decisive winner, unfiltered by preconceptions.

"I feel great," Klammer said on top of the victory scaffold, before swimming away. "It's always been fun to ski against Bill. I forgot how much fun it is to beat him and win money doing it."

Spoken like a modern day champion. Herman Melville could not have written a better fable.