In the first place, be sure, especially if you are going far, that you
are taking everything you can possibly want--spare clothing, food, dark
glasses, wax and rag, knife, sealskin, climbing-irons, repair outfit,
map, compass, lantern, matches, &c., if you decide that any or all of
these things are necessary.
If the first part of the climb is along a beaten path, it will probably
save time to cover that on foot. You can then either drag the skis
after you by a string tied to the holes in their tips, or can carry
them. Most people eventually prefer the latter method.
The best way of carrying the skis is to place them sole to sole
(tie them so if you like), and then either to rest them almost
_horizontally_ on the shoulder, points forward, and hold them near the
bend, or to lean them nearly _upright_ against the shoulder, points up,
and, with the arm hanging almost straight, to hold them by the heel
ends (Plates LVIII. and LIX.).
They can also be carried by a sling from the shoulder, a convenient
plan if any scrambling is to be done.
If you are climbing the hill by the route that you mean to follow
during the run down, you should take every opportunity of making
observations which will be useful to you later on, and will enable you
to make the descent as quickly and easily as possible.
Try to plan out exactly how you will take the run down.
Notice all the peculiarities of the ground and snow, and fix in your
head the principal landmarks. But remember that the ground will look
very different when approached from above, and therefore keep on
looking backwards at what you have passed.
Pay particular attention to the points where the angle of the slope
changes, in order that when from above you are running towards an
invisible piece of steeper ground, you may have the clearest possible
idea of what to expect.
The actual climbing will at first give you a good deal to think of.
The ordinary procedure, when several ski-runners are climbing a hill,
is for one to lead and the rest to walk in his track in single file.
If the snow is soft and deep the leader's work may be very exhausting,
and each of the party will have to take his turn.
If you are leading, make your tacks as long as possible to avoid
wasting time in kick-turns. Remember all that has been said about
adjusting your course to the contour of the hill so that you mount at a
steady gradient which is too steep for no one in the party, about not
side-stepping unnecessarily, and so on. And never, without good reason,
attempt to hurry.
If you are not leading, and if the leader is a competent person, you
will not have much to think of. If he is not, you may find following
him a tiresome business.
If it is really difficult to do so (not merely irritating), don't dream
of suffering in silence, but complain at once, and if he is so stupid
or inconsiderate as to persist in his misdeeds, make a new track for
yourself.
Don't be at all disturbed if you find yourself being left behind, but
keep on steadily at your own pace.
If you make a halt and take your skis off, clean them thoroughly at
once, and see that their soles are neither wet nor warm when you put
them on again. If you are likely to feel cold (and you _are_ likely as
a rule), put on spare clothing as soon as you stop, not after you feel
chilly.
Wax your skis thoroughly before starting the run down if the snow is
sticky, or is likely to be so lower down; and remember to button up
your pockets, or you may find at the bottom of the hill that snow has
either taken the place of, or ruined their contents.
I have so far attempted no description of the snow itself. It varies
infinitely in consistency, but considerably less so in appearance, and
for this reason it is often impossible for the runner to be sure of the
quality of the snow in front of him until his skis actually touch it.
This latter fact adds considerably to the difficulty of ski-running
when patches of different slipperiness occur at short intervals. The
worst kind of patchy snow consists of a hard and slippery ice-crust in
the hollows of which finely powdered wind-blown snow has accumulated;
fortunately in this case the difference is generally visible, the slow
powdery snow being perfectly white and the ice-crust rather greyer. The
safest way of negotiating snow of this sort while running straight has
already been explained.
For practical purposes the ski-runner may consider the snow to be of
three distinct varieties according to the consistency of its surface:
viz. soft snow, hard snow, and breakable crust. There is no real
division between these varieties, each melting into the other by
imperceptible gradations; but, where the quality of the snow falls
clearly under one of these headings, the runner will be obliged to use
certain definite methods of turning and stopping, unless he is either
a thorough expert, or a stick-rider of the worst kind. For, as I have
already said, the former can make any kind of swing in almost any kind
of snow, while the latter has only one method of turning, viz. that
of dragging himself to one side or the other by means of his stick,
carefully preserving while he does so his normal running position,
with the knees well bent and the skis level, parallel, and a yard
or so apart, which manoeuvre he calls making a stemming curve or a
Christiania swing, according as the turn has been a downhill or an
uphill one.
Assuming, then, that you belong to neither of these classes, you will
have to know how to adapt the means of turning to the quality of
the snow. It should be fairly obvious from the descriptions of the
different swings how this is to be done.
In _deep_ loose snow make all your turns, whether downhill or uphill,
by means of the Telemark swing.
On hard snow, whether quite bare or covered by a very shallow layer of
loose snow, make your downhill curves by means of the stemming turn,
and use the Christiania swing for turning uphill.
In breakable crust, if it is very thin, you may find it possible to
turn or stop with the Telemark. If this is out of the question you will
have to jump or step round.
Of course soft snow may be so dense that the ski sinks into it but
little (as in the case of watery spring snow); you will find it just
as easy to make stemming turns and Christianias in this as to make
Telemarks--perhaps even easier.
In the same way the layer of loose snow on a crust may be deep enough
to allow Telemarks to be made as steadily as the other turns.
A breakable crust, too, may be so thin as to be hardly perceptible, or
so thick that only some extra pressure (which occurs when a swing is
made) will make it give way; but, generally speaking, you will find
that you are limited to one method or the other--if you want to run
with the maximum of steadiness.
Evidently, then, the Telemark is at least as generally useful as the
other two turns to the moderately skilful runner who does not rely on
the help of his stick. Yet most English runners undoubtedly look upon
it as a pretty trick of no practical value, and never attempt it during
a run.
It is quite certain, however, that a man who can make a Telemark swing
with fair steadiness on a hard and slippery practice-ground (and the
average runner can do this) will find it far easier to do so in the
soft loose snow which is, fortunately, the variety most commonly met
with during a run.
And if he can make the swing to the left, he is certainly capable of
learning to make it to the right, and of turning downhill with it as
well as uphill.
[Illustration: FIG. 47.--S, Stemming Turn; T, Telemark; C, Christiania;
J, Jump round.]
But if the runner only learns the Telemark to the left and the
Christiania to the right, as most people are content to do, it will
be a long time before he can rely on them during a run; for only
the thorough expert can make both these swings with steadiness and
certainty in any kind of snow, especially if his speed be high or the
slope steep.
With the Christiania in particular it is exceedingly difficult, if the
snow is unsuitable, to make a downhill turn, and by no means easy to
make an uphill one.
The stemming turn, which is the only one attempted during a run by the
average runner (I say "attempted" advisedly, for an examination of his
track will seldom reveal much trace of actual stemming), is even more
difficult to make in unsuitable snow than the Christiania.
The most important thing for you to remember when you first begin to
make practical use of the swings, &c., while on a run, is that if you
wish to fall as little as possible, you should _never attempt to turn
or stop while running at all fast_.
If you run with judgment you can always avoid having to do this.
Suppose, for instance, that you find yourself approaching the edge of a
steep slope; if your course is clear and the slope has an easy outrun
on to level or nearly level ground, by all means run straight down;
for at the bottom you will either run to a standstill or will slow up
enough to be able to turn easily if necessary.
If, however, there is no clear outrun at the bottom of the slope, or if
there are obstacles in your path, don't dream of dashing straight over
the edge and trying to turn off lower down, which you will certainly
fail to do, but either stem, snow-plough, or side-slip straight down
the slope, or turn off at once and take it in zigzags, making a
downhill turn at the end of each tack by whatever method the quality
of the snow demands. And unless you run each tack at a very gentle
gradient indeed, you should take the further precaution of slowing up
by turning slightly uphill before beginning each downhill turn.
To check the pace by making an uphill swing is a much neater and easier
way of doing it than by stemming with the lower foot; the latter is a
process which, when the ground is open, you need seldom use if you have
a moderate command of the swings, though among obstacles--in dense wood
and the like--you may often find it necessary to have recourse to it.
The means you use for making this preliminary uphill turn will depend,
of course, on the quality of the snow, just as in the case of the
downhill one.
Fig. 47 shows what turns to use in order to run in zigzags through snow
of the three different qualities. The downhill turns should be made
as shortly and sharply as possible, in order to prevent the pace from
becoming unmanageable in the middle of them.
If on account of the nature of the ground you decide to run straight
down a steep slope instead of taking it in zigzags, you must, of
course, be ready to drop into Telemark position for any sudden
undulations or difficult snow.
Remember that the quality of the snow depends to a great extent on the
direction in which the slope faces.
On slopes with a north aspect, especially if they are steep, the snow
gets little or no sun, and is generally soft and easy, though even here
it may sometimes get crusted by very strong winds or by frost after a
warm wind or rain.
On slopes which face south the snow is exposed to the rays of the
sun--more or less directly according to the steepness of the slope and
the time of year. During the day, therefore, the surface of the snow
melts, freezing at night into a crust, and when the sun goes off these
south slopes they are, as a rule, perfectly hard and icy, though when
the sun is full on them they may become so soft that you will find it
difficult to use any turn except the Telemark.
The most difficult snow occurs on slopes which face a little south of
east or west, and on due south slopes when the sun is just beginning to
strike them, or is going off them; for then the hard crust generally
becomes more or less breakable.
If you get these facts about the snow well into your head, it will be a
great help to you during a run.
You will very likely find that one kind of turn comes easier than
another, and at first, when your principal object is to run steadily
and avoid falls as far as you can, your safest plan will be to shape
your course so as to make most of your turns by the method that you
find easiest. If you thoroughly understand the conditions which affect
the quality of the snow, you will know where to look for that kind of
snow which suits your favourite method of turning, and what places to
avoid for the probable unsuitability of their surface.
Do not forget that what is true of the main slopes is also true of
their minor features. On slopes facing east or west, for instance, each
small undulation has its north and south side, the surface of which
is affected by sun and frost in just the same way as the main slopes
facing in that direction. If you remember this you will often, when
running across a slope whose general surface is difficult, be able to
find small patches of snow on the sides of the undulations in which you
can turn quite easily.
When beginning the run down always make up your mind before you start
how you mean to negotiate that part of the hill which is visible. If
some way ahead the ground becomes steeper, so as to be invisible, and
you do not know what it is like, don't run at a high speed to where the
slope changes, but approach it in zigzags, or at any rate slowly, in
case you should find it necessary to turn off or stop at the edge of
the steeper slope. By doing this you will preclude the possibility of
dropping over a precipice on unknown ground.
As soon as you can see what was hidden from you, plan out, without
stopping if possible, the next visible piece of your course in the
same way.
There is one difficulty about steering among obstacles which it may be
as well to mention.
Suppose you are running down or across a slope with a tree straight
ahead of you which you mean to avoid when fairly close to it, by
swinging, say, to the left.
As you already know, you must, at the beginning of any turn, lean
forwards, perhaps even a little outwards, _never_ inwards. Now,
if there were no tree in front of you, you would probably have no
difficulty whatever in making the turn, but the fear of running into
the tree will at first be almost certain to make you lean away from it
as you begin the turn--that is, backwards and to the left. You will
then, if you don't fall down at once, at any rate fail to turn sharply,
and so will probably do exactly what you were trying to avoid, viz. run
into the tree.
Àpropos of trees, let me remind you that turns are mainly for
_steering_, and that therefore, except just at first, they should be
practised _where steering is necessary_--_i.e._ among trees or other
obstacles. Unless you take every opportunity of practising them there,
they will be of little real use to you. You should soon be able to
make downhill turns on any _open_ slope with ease, and will soon
afterwards cease to find much fun in doing so, but there is no end to
the difficulty and therefore the interest of turning quickly among
obstacles, and anyone who is or wishes to be a good ski-er will not be
happy unless he gets plenty of wood-running. Nor, for much the same
reasons, will he be contented without plenty of _bad and difficult
snow_, a fact which you should lay to heart at the outset.
I have already said that when running fast on ground that is covered
with hard ski-tracks, you should try to avoid crossing them at a
narrow angle. You will sometimes find that you want to run a traverse
on a slope closely covered with hard parallel tracks, leading exactly
the way you want to go and steeply enough to make running in them
extremely unsteady. Your best plan here is to run almost or quite
directly downhill across them for a short distance, and then to turn
upwards with a Christiania and make a longish traverse at a less steep
angle than the tracks; your low speed then enabling you to cross them
at a narrow angle in safety. By repeating this process you will reach
the point to which the tracks lead almost as quickly and far more
comfortably than by following them. To make alternate direct descents
and gradual traverses in this way is also convenient when you would
otherwise have to run a steep _stemming_ traverse.
By paying careful attention to all the above points you should soon
be able to run safely and steadily, and to get down any ordinary hill
with few or no falls. This also means that you will accomplish the
descent in pretty quick time, provided that you _never stop_ if you
can possibly help it, and that after a fall you get up without either
hurrying or dawdling.
This kind of running makes no great demands on your skill, and still
less on your nerve. Its main object is the avoidance of falls, and
_at first this should certainly be your sole aim_. But if you wish to
become a really good runner you should not allow it to remain so for
long.
The first-rate runner has absolute command of the various swings, &c.,
and can stop suddenly or dodge among obstacles at a pretty high speed
with perfect steadiness (at very high speeds it is impossible to turn
or stop _suddenly_; the curve of the swing is then bound to be more
or less long and gradual). He never turns or stops if he can help it,
however, but runs everything _as straight as he can_, and _at the
highest possible speed_.
There is not the least doubt that to take a hill in this way not
only demands the utmost skill, but gives the greatest pleasure that
ski-running, pure and simple, can afford.
It is not unusual to hear a man who never takes the easiest slope
without constant zigzagging, say that he does so because he _prefers_
going slowly and spinning out the run to dashing down in a quarter of
the time. He infers, if he does not actually say, that the fear of
speed has nothing to do with his choice.
You may be nearly sure that the man who talks in this way is inferring,
if not telling, a lie, though very likely unconsciously. I used to
say the same myself, and did not realise for some time that every
ski-runner, whatever he may say or think, runs just as fast as he dares.
I don't for a moment mean to say that there is anything to be ashamed
of in being afraid of going fast. Indeed, the man who realises and
openly admits that he is afraid, and who refuses to attempt anything
which puts a great strain on his nerve, is very likely a more
reasonable and admirable person than the one who gradually becomes a
better runner simply through being ashamed of admitting his cowardice
even to himself. I only want to impress upon you that the _sine qua
non_ of fine ski-running is _speed_, and that if you want to become
a fine runner, you must be always trying to take things faster and
faster. One reason why jumping is such an excellent training for the
ski-runner is that it accustoms him to running at the greatest possible
speed, and to falling occasionally while doing so.
To pay no particular attention to anything but straight running and
speed from the first is of course absurd, for if you do this you will
fall about hopelessly when any steering is necessary, and the most
miserable stick-riding zigzagger will be down a hill long before you.
First of all, practise all the turns until you can make them with
steadiness, for the special purposes and on the particular snow to
which they are best adapted.
If you are weak in any turn, practise that one especially, _not only on
the practice-ground, but during a run_.
To do the latter will, of course, add considerably to the number of
your falls during a run, but it is the only way to improve, and you
should never, except at the very outset, or for some special reason, be
too anxious not to fall.
The boast of having accomplished a run without a single fall is usually
sufficient to stamp the utterer of it as either a novice or a nervous
person, who has negotiated his whole run in the easiest possible way.
A very moderate runner, if he chooses, can thus avoid falling easily
enough; but if he wishes to become a better one, he is bound to take
chances, where an unambitious or timid one would play for safety.
Do not forget, however, that if to boast of not falling lays you open
to suspicion in one way, to boast of _falling_ stamps you infallibly in
another.
After you can make all the turns pretty well in the snow which is
easiest for each, begin to practise them in difficult snow. When you
can make them while running at a moderate speed, try to do so at higher
and higher speeds.
You can then practise running with the same foot leading the whole
time, and make only Telemarks one way and Christianias the other; if
you find this easier with the right foot leading, run always with the
left foot leading until that comes just as easy.
Do your utmost, in short, to improve your steering in every possible
way, and then try to run everything as straight and fast as ever you
can.
I don't, of course, mean that you are to become a past master at
swinging and turning before you try to run straight and fast, for the
two things can be practised together. But steering must come first, and
until you can steer as well with your long grooved ski and without the
help of the stick as the most redoubtable Lilienfeld stick-rider with
his short smooth skis, you must give much more attention to that than
to speed.
Your ultimate aim must, as I have already said, be to run in the utmost
safety, with the utmost skill (_i.e._ with the least effort) and at
the utmost speed; but if ever, as in a race, speed is almost your sole
object, remember the following facts:--
Apart from the question of obstacles, the quickest way to get down a
hill is of course to run _freely_ straight down it.
The _second_ quickest way is a _free_ direct descent checked at
intervals by uphill swings, so that the speed never becomes high enough
to be difficult.
The _third_ quickest way is a direct _stemming_ (Telemark, snow-plough,
or side-slip) descent, and not, as most people imagine, a _free_
descent by tacks and downhill turns. The latter method takes more skill
and less effort, but is a great deal slower.
To sum up, let me advise you to take in succession each of the
following series of "Don'ts" as your guiding maxim when learning
cross-country running:--
(1) _Don't fall_ (but stem, kick-turn, and stop _ad lib._).
(2) _Don't stop_ (_i.e._ stem _ad lib._, but make no kick-turns).
(3) _Don't stem_ (but make as gradual tacks as you like, and check the
pace when necessary by uphill swings).
(4) _Don't slow up before turning downhill._
(5) _Don't_--if you can safely avoid it--_turn at all_.
When you can accomplish a run without _falling_ or _stopping_, you may
consider yourself a third-rate cross-country runner, being quite safe
and not too slow.
When you can do so without _falling_, _stopping_, or _stemming_,
your running will be sufficiently safe, fast, and in particular
_effortless_, to be called second-rate.
When you can manage most of your run without either _falling_,
_stopping_, _stemming_, or _turning_, you may be quite pleased with
yourself.
The last sentence suggests a further word of advice.
It is seldom reasonable to feel very proud of one's running, but it is
often the greatest help to _pretend_ to do so.
If after taking all possible pains to learn any manoeuvre you still
find a difficulty in doing it, try the effect of imagining yourself
rather a desperate fellow--a careless, skilful, dashing person who has
done this sort of thing all his life and thinks nothing of it. You will
very likely find that this acts like a charm, and that it was only
the stiffness that comes from over-carefulness which prevented you
from succeeding before. A certain amount of "side," in fact--whether
natural or assumed--is really an excellent thing. Most good performers
_talk_ of their running--perhaps sincerely--with becoming modesty, but
they seldom show much sign of this modesty in their _actions_ when
ski-ing--evincing, as a rule, a healthy self-confidence which might
almost be mistaken for a desire to show off.
In the above series of "Don'ts" I have not included "_Don't use the
stick_," because I trust it would never enter your head to do so. I
might however have said, "Don't be afraid of leaving your sticks at
home," for unless you want to race uphill or on the level you can
easily dispense with them, and to do so occasionally will prevent you
from getting into the slovenly habit of prodding with the inner stick
at the end of every swing. Not that this prodding need be considered
a very serious crime, for as long as a stick is used with one hand
for _pushing_ and not with both for _pulling_, no great harm will be
done to the style. But this prodding is a slight waste of energy,
and therefore the tendency to do it should be checked. To go without
a stick at all occasionally is the best possible way to cultivate a
perfectly free and effortless style, not only of running _down_ a hill,
but of climbing _up_ it.
One sometimes hears the absurd statement that to tour without a
stick is "unnatural," and therefore not permissible. All ski-ing
is "unnatural." If it is "natural" to carry a stick, it is still
more "natural" to lean on it hard the whole time. The only real and
searching test of the _skill_ and _ease_ of a man's running is to take
away his stick altogether and see if he can run fast and steadily
across any sort of country without it; and I strongly advise you to
test your own running in this way from time to time.
It is a curious coincidence, if nothing more, that in Canada it is the
regular thing for ski-ers to do their cross-country running without
sticks, and that in Canada, _and nowhere else_, an Anglo-Saxon (Barney
Reilly) has already done some first-rate jumping.
About the special dangers of ski-running a word or two may be useful.
The risk of injury from falling on snow is not very great, and there
is not much danger of any one but a lunatic dropping over a precipice
in an unknown country, or dashing at full speed into a solid obstacle,
instead of adopting the simple device of falling down before he reaches
it, if he cannot manage to turn. I have never heard of anything worse
than a broken leg (which is no doubt quite bad enough) resulting from
a fall in snow. The kind of snow most likely to lead to injury is not
hard, icy snow, as the beginner generally fancies, but deep soft snow,
especially if covered by a breakable crust; for in this the skis may
plunge beneath the surface, and, getting jammed, may throw a strain on
the foot or leg.
But even here the runner whose style is good is not very likely to hurt
himself, even when going fast, if his binding fits properly; it is
the stick-rider with his feet level and skis apart who gets the most
awkward falls. In jumping, owing to the firmness of the surface, there
is hardly any danger at all.
The real danger of injury in ski-running does not consist so much in
the nature of the injury itself as in the fact that it may leave the
runner incapable of movement in a dangerous situation.
If he is far from shelter he may be badly frost-bitten before he can be
got home--therefore the more spare clothing he carries the better.
If he is alone, he will be lucky if he gets home at all--and any one
who thoroughly realises this will think twice before he goes ski-ing by
himself without saying where he is going.
The advantage of carrying a map and compass, and of knowing how to
use them in case of losing one's way, is obvious. It is not only the
mountaineer but the ordinary tourist who is exposed to this danger,
for even the latter should remember that when once he is above the
tree-line a snow-storm or a fog may make it impossible for him to find
his way for ten yards by eye alone.
In thick snow or fog nothing is visible except a blank whiteness.
When the fog or falling snow are thin, objects which are darker than
the snow (rock, trees, &c.) may be visible for some distance, but all
light and shade disappears in the snow itself, all tracks, holes, and
irregularities in its surface become quite invisible, and it is then
impossible, in a bare tract of snow, for the runner to tell whether the
ground in front of him goes downhill, uphill, or level.
Even an overcast sky causes this curious absence of light and shade;
and then, though the main landmarks may be visible, and there may be
no danger of getting lost, running becomes exceedingly difficult and
uncomfortable, perhaps even dangerous, for the snow on the edge of a
precipice or steep drop, when seen from above, is apparently continuous
with the snow at the foot of it.
In the description of equipment I have already mentioned the necessary
safeguards against frost-bite and snow blindness.
Anything more than an allusion to the danger from avalanche is quite
beyond the scope of this book. It is an intricate subject, about which
whole books have been, and no doubt will yet be, written.
I believe that even now the conditions which produce winter avalanches
are not fully understood. On any open slope of more than certain
steepness--23° or so--an avalanche may start, especially after a thaw,
or before the snow of a recent fall has had time to settle down. An
avalanche, once started, can of course travel over a less steep slope,
or even level ground. Lose no time in collecting all the information
you can on the subject; for, although the ordinary tourist (not the
climber) can usually avoid it, the danger is a very serious one, and
you should never willingly expose yourself to the smallest risk of
it. If the risk is unavoidable, make sure that you can get your skis
off your feet in a moment, for if you are caught in an avalanche this
is the first thing to do. The next is, if possible, to keep your head
above the surface of the snow.
The ancient quip about presence of mind and absence of body is
particularly applicable in a case of this sort.
I have said something about the special discomforts and dangers of the
mountains and the snow, but nothing about their extraordinary beauty
and fascination. If I were better fitted for the task than the ordinary
guide-book writer, I might attempt a description of them; as I am not,
I will spare the reader.
To some ski-runners these beauties may be of secondary importance to
the sport itself. The ski-runner may even exist who looks upon climbing
a mountain as an altogether exasperating, but unfortunately inevitable,
preparation for a run down, and whose ideal is an artificial
jumping-hill in his garden provided with a lift. I have never met him.