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Skiing: Thrills, Beauty, Adventure |
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Over the last century skiing has evolved from a survival skill in the mountains of Europe—recall Norwegian skiers who traversed treacherous terrain to dismantle a German munitions plant during WWII—to today, when Xtreme sports heli-skiing enthusiasts are dropped off in powder bowls in Whistler, British Colombia or for heli-boarding in Bariloche, Argentina. In the last 20 years downhill skiers have shared the slopes somewhat reluctantly with the latest rage of snow sports, snowboarding. Whole new areas of mountains have been carved into terrain parks that witness daredevil aerial feats and a new language such as “high roller rail jams,” half-pipes and superpipes. It is possible to ski the entire year in the Americas from the Rockies to the Southern Cone. Beginning in Colorado skiers and snowboarders hit the slopes at Thanksgiving and continue until Easter. Then the international playground daredevils and powder hounds head to the Argentinian powder triangle. Although I lived in Quito surrounded by snowcapped mountains of Ecuador, one has to go as far south as Argentina or Chile to ski in the Andes. Anyone who skis knows the importance of determining the exact conditions before heading to the mountains. In an earlier era when wooden skis were used for cross country, waxing properly to accommodate varieties of temperatures was essential to be able to traverse the snow. A different color wax might be suggested for each ten degrees drop in temperature. BVM skier Helen Thompson (St. George) describes the quality of snow “as shifting from place to place, day to day and time of season.” The artificial snow at Chestnut Mountain near Dubuque is like graphite—hard and very fast. In contrast, California is known for its “Sierra cement”—coarse, heavy, soft, (until it freezes and then “look out”), wet snow that means you work harder making turns. And then there is “near heaven” and “heaven,” Colorado and Utah, where lumps of snow explode into powder when you hit them with a ski.”
Joy of the Slopes For Helen, “Skiing invigorates one’s whole self. Every day and every place offers a different experience yet it is always an outdoor event of being-at-one-with nature and its beauty... Your body moves with the slope of the hill, quality of the snow, the resistance of the wind. For me it is the ultimate exhilarating experience. “On a sunny day coming off the lift at Heavenly Valley, one cruises a broad slope. The azure blues of Lake Tahoe and the majestic peaks that surround it open up before you. On another day, you watch a winter storm fill the basin with swirling grey rain. In Aspen, it seemed that the lifts gently let you down facing a valley that I was sure was Michener’s ‘valley of the blue spruce.’” “Now, in my more mature years, I can say with some confidence that for me, skiing is a communion of my body with nature. I am at-one-with the elements and beauty of the natural world. I am at-one-with the Mystery within them and within me.” About the author: Sheila O’Brien, BVM (Trea) teaches Spanish at Clarke College, Dubuque, and is an avid skier.
Sheila O’Brien, BVM navigates the slopes.
Racing Downhill Helen, with her western mountain experience, introduced me and a number of Clarke faculty to skiing when the sport was just coming to the Midwest in the early ’70s. The clothing attire consisted of several layers of blue jeans. Mod, stylish ski apparel hadn’t been marketed to the mainstream yet. In fact, if someone showed up in a color coordinated outfit, we thought that person was there for the aprčs-ski (hot buttered rum) and that there was an inverse ratio of outfit to ability. In Banff, Canada, an efficient way not to get lost and to experience the many faces of anew mountain is to sign up for lessons. I picked this middle-aged woman thinking she wouldn’t be a “hot shot” racer like the younger instructors. Was I wrong. When we came off a precipice at 9,000 feet staring down at miles of mogul fields (thousands of ice bumps) through which one has to carve skis meticulously, at breakneck speed, I knew there was no other way down. I had to follow her. By the end of the day she had us jumping and all went well until the final run when I went off the wrong ramp. Skis and poles went flying in one direction and I into a powder bank. Thus when, much later, the Clarke College coach asked me to join their ski racing team. I politely declined because I knew it was only for the huge handicap I would provide. Skiing is also about relationships. Teaching my seven nieces and nephews to ski, conversing with them on ski lifts, having time to play together outdoors has created unique connections. Skiing has now become prohibitively expensive; that’s why I’m looking forward to free skiing for those 70 and older. However, if my knees don’t hold out until then, I know these past four decades will provide a unique kaleidoscope of fantastic memories.
Swoosh!
Probably in high school I acquired real bindings, boots, and poles for my surplus skis. We skied at a commercial area on Lenox Mountain, a hill similar to a Colorado mogul! It was all I could do to afford the $2.00 tow ticket so lessons were out of the question. However, our high school library had several books on ski technique. I was enamored with Andrea Mead from New Hampshire who had won an Olympic Gold Medal. Her book was my bible. As teachers in Connecticut, my apartment mates and I frequently skied a very primitive Mount Snow in Vermont. We loved the ski hostels loaded with young folks and the wonderful $1.00 church suppers on Saturday nights. On the slopes, I began in earnest to perfect getting up! I took my skis to Wisconsin where I was a graduate student. One might wonder why, after the heights of the Berkshires and Mount Snow. However, I managed to experience one of my worst falls on a small hill somewhere in central Wisconsin. Beware of small hills! While a faculty member at the University of Oregon, I skied frequently at Batchelor Butte. Central Oregon somehow managed to have Colorado powder. I even took lessons, acquired better equipment but basically became even more accomplished in getting up! One might assume that a move to Colorado would result in a huge increase in expertise. Colorado Mountains are big, steep, fast and crowded. So, I really perfected the getting up skill. I did find great peace in skiing down the various roads in the Steamboat Springs ski area which were groomed by the snowcats. Rarely did I ever encounter another skier. The quiet and beauty of the winter wonderland were spirit and body soothing. Because of the grading and switchbacks, my momentum was reasonable. I rarely had to employ my now absolutely elegant getting up technique! Downhill skiing has become terribly expensive and new safety equipment seems required every year. I also became more involved professionally and could not spare or afford an entire weekend on the slopes. So, I began to think flowers and anxiously awaited summer when I could hike. Hiking, now there’s a reasonable activity! All one needs is a good pair of boots, a daypack, sunscreen and one is free to watch eagles soar! I have been blessed to have hiked and backpacked hundreds of miles in our mountains. They don’t seem terribly steep when hiking! I know I have come close to God in the beauty of the wild flowers, rushing streams and high places. However, there is a kind of sadness in my spirit that I no longer ski and my arduously perfected getting up technique is lost to the world!!! About the author: Associate Tess Malumphy is a retired University of Northern Colorado professor who lives in Greeley. Return
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My skiing began in the Berkshires in Western Massachusetts on
army surplus skis with jar rubber bindings and broomstick poles. My brother
and I did more cross-country skiing on the bridal paths in our neighbor’s
woods than downhill.