By Angelo Ross, PSIA-AASI Education Development Manager

As snowsports instructors, most of us live cyclical lives. Seasonal change affects our experience, from our wardrobes and the tires we run on our cars to the activities we enjoy. Winter rituals of maintaining gear, getting to the mountains, enjoying the company of our snowsports families, and teaching people to enjoy sliding on snow as much as we do give way to other pursuits—perhaps swapping skis or a snowboard for a kayak or bike, spending days on the hiking trail, rock climbing, or playing and relaxing by the water.

Lessons from the Biology Classroom

The cyclical nature of my life was front of mind last week when, rather than prepping skis and planning clothing layers, I found myself on hands and knees, literally face-to-face with a summertime ritual: weeding our flagstone patio. Just as snowsports instructors live by the rhythms of the seasons, plants in the temperate zone experience cyclical change. As I wind down from winter, these plants are kicking into high gear. 

A period of dormancy is a chance to replenish depleted energy reserves, to heal and repair, and to prepare for the next wave of hustle and bustle. Apparently, from November through April, while I scrambled through my winter calendar, my patio plants—completely out of my mind—had been busy too, securing their grip in the earth.

As I crawled, pulled, dug, and cursed a little, lessons from the biology classroom came to mind. Plant root systems are often categorized into two structural types: taproot and fibrous. Taproots are characterized by a single thick root that grows deep into the soil—think carrot. Fibrous root systems, by contrast, form broad, shallow networks of many smaller roots, like those found in grasses. Different architectures, different strengths, and different ways to thrive. Both resilient. 

In my role with PSIA-AASI, I often discuss professional development with snowsports instructors and school and regional leaders—the continuous process of building knowledge and skills that enriches our lives and expands our professional mindset and capabilities. Those conversations often include the value that PSIA-AASI credentials bring to individual members and to the schools where they work. An example of a common point of discussion is the value provided by a certified Level III instructor compared with an instructor who is certified Level II in one discipline, Level I in another, and who holds a children’s or freestyle specialist credential. Which is “better”?

When it comes to this topic, I think we can learn a lot from my patio plants.

Celebrating the Generalists

Society reveres specialists—even the moniker denotes exceptionality. In academia, these are people with terminal degrees; in our world of snowsports instruction, these are the certified Level IIIs. In no way do I intend to disparage those among us who have dedicated themselves to the pursuit of truth in a specific area of study. What I do intend to do is celebrate the generalists: the jacks and jills of multiple trades who, in many cases, have dedicated the same amount of time, energy, and effort as the specialists but by engaging with and understanding a broader range of topics.

In biology, specialists describe species that occupy narrow ecological niches. They tend to have a limited diet and inhabit a particular range—and they are very good at what they do. Think wolves and koalas. Generalists by contrast have a diverse diet and inhabit a wide range—and they are also very good at what they do. Think coyotes and dandelions. Both strategies are successful, and both contribute to healthy ecosystems.

Consider some examples. Wolves help regulate elk populations, reducing pressure on vegetation and allowing plant communities to flourish. Koalas eat eucalyptus, pruning the forest canopy and making light available to plants on the ground. Coyotes consume carrion and help recycle nutrients. Dandelions, often dismissed as weeds, provide one of the earliest and most reliable food sources for pollinators each spring. Different organisms. Different roles. Different contributions. All important.

I occasionally hear members describe themselves as “just a Level II and CS1” or “only a Level I in alpine and snowboard.” I find this deprecating self-assessment erroneous. Dandelions would not call themselves weeds—nor would the bees that gather their nectar for energy and pollen for protein while pollinating countless other plants. Likewise, white clover—a “weed”—and other legumes enrich the soil by fixing atmospheric nitrogen, making it available to non-legumes—like humans—who need it but cannot access it in its gaseous form. Moles—a “pest”—aerate the soil and improve water infiltration, benefitting myriad organisms. Value depends on perspective.

It is common to view terminal degrees and Level III certification as pinnacles of achievement and ultimate authorities, but I think that perspective is incomplete. In education, PhDs provide evidence to support theories and teachers bring theories to life. Researchers and practitioners serve different yet essential roles within the same ecosystem.

The same is true in snowsports education. A Level III instructor may be the obvious choice for a demanding bump lesson on steep terrain. An instructor with Level I alpine, Level I snowboard, CS1, and FS1 credentials may be uniquely suited for a multidiscipline family lesson involving students of different ages and interests. Different credentials. Different strengths. Different contributions. The same ecosystem.

Consider Your Development Path

Like weeding, professional development is most effective when it is ongoing. This summer, during our period of snowsports dormancy, as we replenish depleted energy reserves, heal and repair, and prepare for the next winter season, I encourage you to think about your own development path.

What are your intentions for next season? Consider your personal interests and how they overlap with the needs of your snowsports school. Are you more of a taproot, drilling down to achieve mastery and offer expertise in a single discipline? Or are you more like a fibrous root system, spreading broadly to find connections among a wide range of experiences, disciplines, and students? Different credentials. Different strengths. Different contributions. The same ecosystem.

Whether our professional growth resembles a taproot or a fibrous root system, the lesson is the same: resilience comes from continued growth, and healthy ecosystems depend on variety in development.