The Magic of Jebbie Browne — And Why Vail Still Feels Her Influence

Jebbie Browne: The Woman Who Saved Us From Ourselves at Golden Peak

A Vail Valley Insider Stammtisch Story

(Jean‑Claude Moritz with a beer in his hand)

Growing up in Vail in the ’70s, ’80s, and ’90s, the Golden Peak Ski School wasn't some serene, picture-postcard experience. It was mostly us suffocating in puffy neon one-pieces, getting stuck upside down like overturned turtles in deep powder, and trying not to get caught bumper-skitching off the Town of Vail buses after hours. We were basically feral mountain kids fueled by Mid-Vail hot chocolate and a burning desire to throw snowballs at each other's heads. Keeping that level of chaos from collapsing into complete anarchy took a saint, and that saint was Jebbie Browne in her bright ski-school-blue jacket.

Jebbie somehow survived teaching my brothers, Sasha and Misha, and me. My friends called me "Dirt Claude" back then, and to this day, I’m still debating the exact origin of the title. Did I refuse to take showers? Were my ski pants permanently soiled? If so, how about Sponge Bob Poopy Pants? What the heck! Anyway, or was it because I was flying down the beginner hill in a hyper-aggressive, panic-induced Pizza position at top speed, roosting dirt, slush, and pine needles all over myself? Honestly, it was probably a chaotic combination of all three. I mean is there anything better than straight french fries on the slopes?

Decades later, when Jebbie agreed to teach my three sons, I realized she possessed either superhuman patience or a complete lack of self-preservation. Two generations of Moritz kids—spanning thirty-plus years—all had the exact same calm instructor in that iconic blue jacket untangling our poles, adjusting our frozen boot buckles, and convincing us that rolling down the slope wasn't a valid turning technique.

Mornings at Golden Peak were pure bedlam: lifts humming overhead, parents dropping off hyperactive kids, and boys named Dirt Claude attempting yard-sale crashes on purpose. Amidst all that noise, Jebbie would just kneel down in the slush, draw a little arc in the snow with her pole, and instantly de-escalate the whole circus. She had an uncanny ability to turn a terrified, face-planting kid into someone who actually wanted to be on the mountain.

She was so ridiculously good at managing small maniacs on skis that she wrote A Small Ski Lesson for Small Skiers, which got featured in Skiing Magazine back in 1980. Her secret was treating the whole sport like play rather than a drill sergeant boot camp. While the rest of us were dreaming about catching reckless air or launching snowballs at unsuspecting lifties, Jebbie was quietly teaching us how to actually ride.

Looking back, the real soul of early Vail wasn't just the big powder days—it was people like Jebbie at Golden Peak who took generations of loud, dirty, falling-down kids, dusted the snow off our goggles, and made us fall in love with the mountain. Ski school wouldn't have been the same without her, and honestly, none of us Moritzes would have made it to adulthood on skis without her around.

So here’s to Jebbie Browne—the woman in the bright blue jacket who somehow kept three generations of Moritz kids upright, smiling, and pointed downhill.

We’ll forever be thankful she wasn’t watching when we were launching ourselves off the Hawaiian Tropic Pro Jumps, trying to get 300 feet of air to get a Humphrey, and landing dead on our tails in a total keister-breaker. Ouch!

Thanks for untangling our poles, putting up with Dirt Claude and our chaos at Golden Peak, and making sure we all grew up loving this mountain. Cheers to Jebbie, and cheers to the valley she helped raise.

Make it a Great Day!

- Dirt Claude