I am back on the mountain again. It just had to be done. I couldn’t stay away all the winter now, could I? Just because I cannot put on my best pair of ski boots and risk popping my screws does not prevent me skiing. So I have found a way. Ordinary skiers generally take the draglifts, chairs and gondolas up the mountain and then slide down. I do it a different way: I walk or slide up the slope and take the lift back down again. This probably sounds daft but it has shown me some interesting things. For going uphill there are two options: snow shoes and skis with ‘seal skin’ bases. Snowshoes have evolved a lot since their tennis racquet beginnings (they are still called ‘raquettes in French) and are now super light, with surf board - style ratchet fastenings and quick release heels. Though still not a joy to walk in they can be used with ordinary walking boots. For steep slopes there is a step position at the back for your foot so that you lessen the angle on each stride. Mine are the latest ‘Inook’ brand, a name with decades of development behind it. So… tip your toe into the front cup, tighten the side straps, stamp down into the heel, fasten the ankle strap and go. Ok?. Take the ski poles in hand and set off away from the crowd, up the slope. It’s a bit like biking – need to find a rhythm, keep breathing and maintain a steady pace. Feels rather like being an explorer. Left, right, pole, pole, place feet carefully. On firmed snow progress is easy; just take care not to step on the other clownfoot shoe. On soft, untracked snow, away from the ‘piste’ it’s another matter. The shoe will sink in a certain amount, more or less, to the right or left depending on the snow condition. The trick is to hold the shoe on an even keel with a braced but responsive ankle. This makes traversing a slope the hardest manoeuvre as both feet are on a tilt so keep this to a minimum by ‘chevronning’ up the hill. I managed a pretty steep climb in soft snow though it certainly wasn’t quick. Hey! I couldn’t get away from a polar bear on these, I thought and laughed; out loud actually as there was no-one to hear me. From the top I felt a bit like a person in a rowing boat, out some distance from the shore, looking back at all the holidaymakers doing their noisy thing on the beach. I was on a canalboat in Yorkshire once, gliding along at 4mph next to the frenetic Skipton bypass traffic. That felt a little like this too. Very ‘lone explorer’.
The other method is known as ‘cross-country’ skiing. In the beginning genuine seal skin was found to give good grip to the smooth ski bases, stuck on with the fur stroking backwards. We must have run out of seals because nowadays strips of blue velvet, like the soft half of ‘velcro’ are stuck on and secured with clips at the ends. A wicked, reusable rubber compound is the fixative and it takes two people, leaning and straining at full stretch away from each other to unstick the folded skin in the first place. The usual idea is to remove this strip at the top of the mountain, refold it and ski down again. My method means that the strip can stay attached for days since I descend by chairlift or ‘bubble’. See? Technical advantage. With skis on though, I can mingle with the crowd at the start looking fairly unremarkable to a casual observer. But then I head off across the slope and start a sliding walk, lifting my heel on each step – only the toe of the boot is hinged to the ski - and slip slide up the hill, keeping the ski in contact with the ground, not unlike someone shuffling in slippers. I watched part of a cross-country race from the winter games in Vancouver last week, in complete admiration – for this is the most strenuous sport there is – Nordic skiing. Those guys float uphill like sprites. Sprites with enormous thighs and tiny ankles. They are using extra narrow skis, very curved at the tip and slim boots, but the motion is a bit the same. Only they are a lot faster. I could perhaps keep ahead of an irate seal on this equipment. As with all uphill effort the rhythm, therefore the breathing, is the key. I really enjoy the sensation and can become quite Zen when doing it. While undoubtedly more stable than the snow shoes and quicker on flattish terrain they are still hard going on steep new snow away from the prepared runs. No matter. I call it training for my bike so there is a real point to the exercise.
Facing the traffic, so to speak, lets me observe the faces of the people coming down. I have begun to wonder what this skiing is all about. I see the tension in many of the faces, the rigidity of their posture, as if they set a pose that seemed the right one at the top of the slope and then just hoped that by holding this fixed position they will arrive at the bottom still on their skis. For many people it seems a solitary test of endurance – even in a group which starts out as a jolly band going up on the chairlift, this splits up immediately as the various members do what they can to get down the mountain. Some visibly enjoy it less than others.
But to return to my snow shoe ascent. In a mood of exploration I decided to gain some higher ground to rejoin a ‘piste’, which entailed picking my way up through a copse of alder bushes and small fir trees, up to their waists in snow. Snow fallen between them had left drifted hollows around their bases, dips and rises which had to be negotiated somehow: anyhow, as it turned out, since half of the alder branches were lightly submerged and sprang up instantly I put weight on them. I frequently became entangled, but eventually emerged grinning at the top, having lost neither shoes, nor, importantly, face. From there I looked down upon the ‘Casserole’ café bar, scene of many friendly encounters over the past two winters. Was there anyone there who would know me today? After all, this was my first time back on the mountain. Leaving behind me, as I walked, my amusing trilobite footprints I went easily down to the entrance marked by the pile of skis, discarded to left and right. ‘’Juliiii!’’ came the cry instantly. Ahhh. I can’t tell you how good that felt. There they were, a good bunch - Denis ‘le breton’, Richard, Jacky and Seb with half their beers still to drink. Inside, the owner wished me ‘happy new year’ and gave me a free coffee which I took outside. So you see, It’s ok. I can still do the mountain this way. The sliding just has to wait awhile that’s all.
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copyright Julia Austen 2015