About skiing

We usually go skiing at this time of year and have just returned from a week in Verbier during which we never saw a single cloud - wonderful conditions. I learned to ski in my early twenties. I started with cross-country (ski de fond) before moving onto downhill (ski de descente) and finally ski-touring (ski de randonnée). Since I started in France the vocabulary of skiing comes to me most easily in French. Last week I did five days of downhill and two of touring. I last did some cross-country in December, for the first time in a while. Last season I skied a total of 16 days.
Cross-country skiing is best regarded as an efficient way of getting around flattish snow country on foot. I took it up before the invention of skating so do an old fashioned alternative step, sliding one ski in front of another using a gait not unlike that of Groucho Marx. Cross-country skis seem incredibly light and flimsy after downhill skis. Indeed on my last outing, my first in many years, I snapped a ski while doing nothing outrageous and had to get a new pair. I think it had gone brittle from years of disuse.
Cross-country skis work by being flexible (downhill skis are flexible too, but less obviously). They arch slightly off the ground in the middle, so when the skier places his weight evenly they don’t come into full contact with the snow allowing the skier to slide smoothly downhill, but when he places his weight on one foot when walking the centre of the ski base comes firmly into contact with the snow. On this centre there is placed a sticky substance (fart - believe it or not in French) or less messily the sole is ridged like fishscales that in both cases grip the snow and allow traction so the skier can propel himself forwards without slipping backwards as he moves along the flat or uphill. This only works up to a certain gradient, steeper than which extra effort and other techniques are required. Likewise, coming down, as cross-country skis don’t fix your heel (otherwise you couldn’t walk with them) and tend to have no metal edges to bite into the snow to help you brake (as do downhill skis) once the slope gets steeper than a certain gradient the skis get very difficult to control and an ungraceful sitting down on your bum to one side maybe the only effective way of stopping before further damage is incurred. Most cross-country skiing takes place on prepared runs called “loipe” which have two parallel grooves you ski along in with enough flat at the side if you prefer to skate (which I don’t) and as such have usually been laid out in terrain which is not too steep. Of course striking out on your own, making your own tracks can be much more adventurous. Years ago, when I first lived in Belgium and we had hard winters where the snow stayed on the ground in the Ardennes for several weeks, I used to like catching the train and skiing from one station to another following routes I knew from summer walking. I’ve not been skiing in Belgium for a long time though as the winters are much milder and the conditions too erratic. The great thing about following a good cross-country skiing route is the feeling of being away from it all in a chilly white winter landscape, knowing that you’ve got there by your own efforts. It’s a very healthy sport using both arms and legs at a steady pace, good for the old cardio-vascular system. I feel I’ve had a good work out after it.
Downhill skiing is technically a much more difficult proposition than cross-country, though it requires less physical effort. You need to be taught properly and unfortunately I wasn’t, as I started as an impoverished student being shown one or two basics by friends and then left to get on with it. Although later I took lessons from instructors, the combination of being a late starter and a badly taught beginner has left me with some bad habits that are difficult to eradicate and will always limit my ability. Having said that, although my technique is limited and style inelegant, I am a competent downhill skier capable of getting down any piste in one piece and enjoying myself while doing it. I prefer to stay in control, so will slow down where prudent and avoid unnecessary risks. I also don’t jump.
The main principle behind any ski is that of spreading the body-weight over a larger area so that you don’t sink too far into the snow. That extra area is best shaped long and thin so it’s easy to direct from the foot and can be made to slide forward easily. The problems that then have to be solved are how to make them go uphill without sliding backwards, how to go round corners and how to stop when you want to when going downhill.
For downhill skiing the first problem is solved by building a vast amount of infrastructure to take you uphill mechanically so you only ever have to ski down, or at worst briefly on the flat. This is obviously not very natural or indeed environmentally friendly. To the uniniated there is something profoundly inane about being repeatedly transported to the top of a mountain to slide back down it. However, once the skill is mastered, the pleasure of sliding down, often seemingly fast, and the satisfaction of remaining in control are immense and thrilling. The skis turn because they are wider at the two ends than in the middle, in other words their edge is part of the circumference of a turning circle (this is more obvious on modern skis that are shorter and more shaped than older ones). It’s just a question of putting your weight in the right place so the skis guide you round the bend. To stop you must bring your skis perpendicular to the line of the slope and if need be let their metal edges dig in. All that is easier said than done to begin with of course. Downhill skiing takes place mainly on prepared pistes where the snow has been packed down eliminating a lot of difficulty that comes from different qualities of snow. Pistes can easily get busy with the danger of being hit by people who are not in control of their skis or snowboards and lift queues can get long and too reminiscent of city-life. In short although the mountain scenery is present and often spectacular, the real natural charm of being on the mountain can soon be lost.
True mountain lovers inevitably aspire to ski-touring and that was always my objective in learning to ski downhill. I first had an opportunity to try ski de randonnée in 1987 and became hooked. The binding on a touring ski has two positions: heel free so it functions like a cross-country ski for walking and heel blocked so it is like a downhill ski. The ski itself is like a downhill or alpine ski. Some skiers prefer a slightly lighter model to make uphill travel less tiring, others prefer the full weight to make coming down easier. Randonnée boots also tend to be lighter than usual downhill boots and can be loosened in their upper part for ease when climbing. For climbing “skins” are stuck to the bottom of the ski. They were originally made of seal-skin but are now synthetic (good news for seals). When you stroke an animal’s fur it is smooth in one direction but if stroked the wrong way it sticks into you. This is how a skin works - it slides forwards smoothly but not backwards as its tiny hairs stick into the snow. They are incredibly efficient and can go up quite steep slopes unlike cross-country skis, not least because nearly all the surface of both skis remains in contact with the snow. As the slope gets steeper the skier must ascend in zig-zags doing a conversion to reverse direction at each corner instead of making a curve. This often happens in the last ascent to a pass; in fact, right at the end it may become necessary to remove the skis and walk up the final very steep part by kicking steps into the snow. Touring skis also come with the option of “couteaux”, essentially a kind of crampon for icy conditions that bites in deep with each step. When the highest point is reached the skins are removed and the binding put in the heel blocked position for descent. Unlike in cross-country where the terrain is undulating and you tend to go up and down all the time, ski-touring usually involves a long steep climb and then a long descent. You spend more time going up than coming down.
Ski touring is a form of mountaineering: it’s about being out on the mountain close to nature (you may see chamois, ibex and other wildlife as I did on my last outing). You discover just how varied the quality of snow is depending on which way the slope is facing, the altitude, the time of day. Some snow is a delight to ski in (spring transformed snow - neige de printemps transformée) some more challenging but fun ( powder - poudre), some an absolute nightmare (breakable crust - carton). You treat the mountain with respect. Avalanche is a real risk and everyone carries a transmitter/receiver (ARVA) that helps locate avalanche victims buried under snow. Fortunately I have never been caught in an avalanche, not least becaue I have always been out accompanied by a guide who can recognize and avoid risks I might not see. For safety reasons ski-touring is a group activity which brings with it a very special dynamic of shared experience that will be familiar to mountaineers. You have the satisfaction of climbing the mountain by your own means and then the technical challenge of skiing back down it in all kinds of snow over all kinds of terrain. The experience is in a totally different league to skiing on the pistes in a resort. It’s hard work though and you need to start early to get the best of the snow and minimize avalanche risk as things warm up out there. In the spring it can get surprisingly warm as you climb and the layers may have to come off and into your rucksack. If you’re ready to carry and ski with a heavier rucksack, containing what you need for overnight and extra food, you can really tour, travelling from hut to hut, which can be great fun but even harder.
Ski-touring is the most physical and technical sport I engage in. Before the first outing of the season I always have the butterflies - am I fit enough to complete the climb to the top? will the snow be kind enough to allow me to ski back down relatively easily? I’ve also had my share of bad weather moments (where fortunately the guide is there to get us off the mountain) thinking “what the hell am I doing here?” But usually it goes well and the satisfaction and sense of achievement keep me wanting to come back for more. I don’t know how long I’ll keep it up as I get older. I guess the secret will be not to pick anything too difficult. Last year my son and I skied the Dôme des Ecrins which is over 4000 metres. I suspect that may have been the high point of my randonnée career but there is still plenty to enjoy at a less challenging level. In fact some of the most enjoyable outings are not on the highest peaks but in attractive untouched terrain with good weather and in good company, which was precisely the case last week.