Skiing Days

Memoirs - Skiing Days
(preliminary)

I started skiing when the Youth Hostel Association in New York began running skiing day trips. I was probably only 18. We went to a small ski area which wasn't too bad for a beginner. I picked it up right away, taking just one or two lessons given by our trip leaders. Of course I learned how to stop (snow plow) and maybe how to turn, but I found my legs were strong from the cycling and I could lift one ski and coordinate a turn with the other. Before long I was skiing down the beginners slope all afternoon. Of course we also rented the equipment.

After that I continued either with those people or by myself. Eventually we started going to more serious ski areas in Vermont (and staying at youth hostels overnight). Very soon I gave up "snowplowing" and became a fair parallel skier. It was much easier for me to stop that way and the "snowplow" was useless on the narrow woodland trails I soon came to like.

Eventually I bought a pair of skis and the associated equipment. I remember how primitive it all was compared to my final set (still here in my closet). I don't expect to ski again (not because of age but because, even if I get my hip fixed I don't think it would be wise). Also the price of lift tickets was already starting to get "out of sight" when I lived in Boston (and frequented the New England ski areas). I can't imagine what a full day ticket would cost today - but a quick check of Tahoe seems to indicate tickets have gone down! Maybe they got so high people stopped coming!

One of my favorite places was called Mad River Glen in Vermont. It is well know to Easterners. It claims to be the most difficult skiing in New England and that is the case. I loved it. The so-called "novice" run starts out serenely and all of a sudden turns into a mogul run of significant proportions. In fact they run the "grand slalom" here. From the precipice you are looking down almost directly on the roof of the ski lodge below. I have seen any number of uninformed beginners clinging to the edge yelling for help. While I was not a great skier, I loved moguls and managed a few short jumps off one of them. The "novice run" was a favorite of mine, although if I was not in good shape I too, slid down most of the way.

Like with my good bicycle, I soon decided it was worth the investment for some very good equipment, especially the ski boots, which if they did not fit perfectly were a painful ordeal. So I bought the best boots (and quick release bindings) and compromised somewhat on the skis. This worked out fine although I probably would have appreciated better skis. I was actually pretty good by the end - not to say I didn't make errors in judgment and go down slopes beyond my ability.

One time it was particularly empty (a weekday - no doubt). I came across a slope marked difficult but not expert. You eventually learn that the definition of those terms varies with the ski area and you should always check first.

Anyway this run (probably a 45 degree slope) was full of moguls - no novice run, but I figured my experience at the Mad River "novice run" would make it possible for me to ski down. This was a mistake - although if I had not lost a ski when I fell I might have recovered. But for some reason the ski became unclipped and went to the bottom all by itself. There I was, 1/2 way down with just one ski. Now it is possible to ski on one ski - but not on this slope. Just then three intrepid young men came down and stopped asking me if they could help. I certainly accepted and really appreciated that one of them walked back up with my stray ski. I finished the run - slowly.

While I never skied in California I did ski one of the famous areas in Utah. At the time I worked for a company whose headquarters were based in Salt Lake City. On only one trip I had the foresight to bring my equipment. Although I choose the lesser of the two famous ski areas near Salt Lake, Alta, it was still around 11,000 feet at the top of the "easy run." Since there were no signs or warnings I just went up there and started down. Like it indicated the slope was wide open and gentle enough so I saw no problem till I was going for about one minute, when I realized I was huffing and puffing.

Then I realized that there is a lot less oxygen at this altitude and you have to acclimatized yourself to high mountain skiing. After that I took it slow, stopping for breathing sessions often. I also noticed that helicopters were ferrying the intrepid up to the un-skied snow bowls high up above us. This is professional level skiing, definitely not my bag.

However in a truly funny incident I noticed that off to the side of the groomed ski trail lay an untouched field of what appeared to be powder snow. Skiing powder is a delight as you plow through several feet of soft powder snow sometimes up to your hips, with snow flying off behind you like the wake of a fast boat. Again - always ask before you try - the unusual. I wondered why there were no tracks in it, but as intrepid as I was I turned off the trail into this "powder."

It turned out that a thaw after the snow had fallen had turned the surface "powder" into a thin layer of ice. The result was that my skis went under the ice into the powder which did not give way and just acted like a big brake, stopping my feet right there. Of course the rest of me kept going and I ended up head down in the "powder" with only my skis poking out. No harm, the ice was thin and not hard so nothing but my ego was injured.

In addition to downhill skiing I did get a pair of cross-country skis, but this was mainly so I could ski into the White's lakeside home in the winter. I never enjoyed this kind of skiing. It seemed like a lot of hard work with no thrills to pay off all the effort! However they came in handy during the great snowstorm of '72 when Boston was completely shut down for a week. Using my cross-country skis I could get around on the otherwise snow covered streets which were officially closed to vehicular traffic and sidewalks were non-existent. Skis were perfect and even my friend from Chile rented a pair so he could join me.

All those "good old days."

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