Generational Skiing
Why do I like skiing? Is it hereditary? Clearly…maybe?
Max Schorsch (far right) skiing in Switzerland late 1930s or early 1940s. Nice “early rise” tips on those presumably wooden skis.
I consider myself to be someone who has many interests. “Renaissance” man might be going a bit far, but I have always enjoyed learning new things. I would rather spread my energies out rather than focus them. However, there are a few things that absorb my time and energy more than most. Family. Food. And Skiing.
People I ski (or snowboard) with often ask me where I grew up. I spend the first 12 years of my life living in New Hampshire and Vermont, so people assume that I got my skiing background there. However, neither of my parents downhill skied, and the local ski hill was two towns away, which excluded us from cheaper lift tickets (if my memory serves me). While I did some great sledding, and a fair amount of cross-country skiing, the first time I strapped on downhill skis was when I was 19 years old, visiting a friend in the Dolomites of Italy during my freshman-year spring break. I distinctly remember how restrictive those downhill skis felt compared to the freedom of free-heeled cross country skis. It felt like my heels were locked in an iron jaw, and I felt uncoordinated, and shackled. I showed moments of competency that first ski excursion, but I was, for the most part, a classic beginner. I do remember I loved jumping on skis, and was fairly good at it, at least if you are willing to separate “jumping” from “landing.”
I was a classic beginner; wobbling like a newborn fawn, constantly trying to find my balance. Once I jumped however, I felt graceful…until I landed. Author is on right. Andy is working out in his head how not to land that same way again.
The next time I would ski was after college when I landed a job teaching English in France. I chose the “Académie de Grenoble” in the Eastern part of France as it included the Alps and I had an affinity for mountains. Virtually all the other “assistants de langue” that I met, from various countries, had chosen the Académie de Grenoble because they were skiers (or snowboarders).
“When in Rome go skiing” is the old saying, or something to that effect. So it wasn’t long before I had rented a snowboard (I use the term “skiing” to also include snowboarding) and borrowed some boots from Tom, a generous Englishman from Newcastle with a quick smile. I quickly learned how many different ways there are to fall on a snowboard. I loved it. I can remember the drive home after the first day snowboarding, descending from the Alps back to Lac Léman (Lake Geneva) and from the back seat imagining the car and the curves in the road as turns on the snowboard. My mind reeled with the sensation.
Max Schorsch, my paternal grandfather, (on left) skiing in Switzerland. Perhaps my skiing genes come from him? The baldness appears to be a coincidence (it comes from the mother’s side…).
Now while neither of my parents had any particular interest in downhill skiing, there was some skiing in my genes somewhere (for the record I have never skied in jeans, a common beginner gaffe). I knew that my paternal grandmother, Ruth Schorsch, who was born in Switzerland, had at one time been a skier, both cross country and downhill (she even used to occasionally sneak onto a nearby gated golf course in Queens, NY across from her condo to do surreptitious cross-country ski sessions when the conditions were good). One of my aunts, also on my father’s side, is an avid cross-country skier. I recently saw some pictures of my paternal grandfather, who unfortunately passed away before I ever got to meet him, on skis. The pictures are from Switzerland, Wengen and Murren to be exact, and they are from before World War II. My grandfather was from Germany, and evidentially enjoyed skiing, at least in Switzerland. In the pictures he looks happy and confident; his long wooden skis and poles held easily. A background of impressive alpine terrain and snow shows that he is not in New York. According to my grandmother, he was an avid skier, and participated in several ski races, where he was quite successful and accomplished. However, the mountains of New England did not hold the same appeal for him, and apparently he did not pursue skiing in America. My grandmother Ruth also found New England skiing to be less desirable than in her native Switzerland.
Ruth told me:
“In Switzerland, in February, when you often go skiing, you are at high altitude, the weather is sunny, it is warm. You don’t have these “machines” (ski lifts) that take you up the mountain (this was 80 years ago). In New England, you skied at low altitude and the weather was often very cold. You waited in line to get on these “machines” and then you sat on a cold chair while it took you up the mountain. When it was time for the descent, you were stiff and cold. In Switzerland, we hiked up the mountains with “skins” on our skis, so we were warm and limber and the downhill was more fun. Also in Switzerland after skiing you can get a good “fondue au fromage,” which is another advantage.”
After my year-long stint in France, I returned to the US and continued to improve my snowboarding. Living in North Carolina and Chicago did not afford me great local skiing, but I joined my wife’s family for week-long ski vacations to Steamboat Springs, Mt. Hood, Whistler, and Lake Tahoe. My wife and I eventually moved to Oregon, where the Cascades were a mere hour-and-half drive away. Even closer was an unassuming, four-thousand-foot mountain just outside of town, called Mary’s Peak. Mary’s Peak was not a ski resort, but that didn’t prevent it from getting snow. There was a road all the way to the top of the mountain, which was unmaintained in winter. You could drive as far as your car would make it into the snow drifts, and then hike or “skin” your way to the top. I scored a pair of used, but functional, telemark skis and skins off of craigslist, and began ascending Mary’s Peak. There were a few different meadows on the top that offered fun, low angle turns, and a few shorter, steeper drops. One route up wound its way through huge, beautiful Douglas Firs. While I didn’t really know what I was doing, I learned quickly. Since I didn’t really know how to ski, it made sense to try to learn to Telemark (that is the style of downhill skiing where your heel is free and you drop into a lunge each time you initiate a turn). It was flawed thinking, but I think it actually did help. Telemark skiing is quite difficult to learn and requires lots of balance, core strength, leg muscles and a willingness to look ridiculous for half your life, while you learn.
“Telemark” or “Tele” skiing was developed in Norway in the 1860s and continues to be difficult to this day. Here the author shows off quite poor technique (and wool pants).
I skied exclusively telemark style for about 3 years and then a friend let me borrow his Alpine touring (AT) skis and boots. This type of binding also allows you ascend the mountain using “skins” (like my Swiss grandmother) with a free heel, which can then be locked down when you reach the top to give you the security of a traditional alpine binding. I realized I could get away with almost anything on skis with a fixed heel. Since I love jumping and being in the air, that seemed like an advantage. Being able to escape the ski resorts and venture into the backcountry on skis is amazing, though it does come with its own set of risks.
Good snow can certainly aid the illusion that you are a good skier. In this instance it was the “JaPow” of Hokkaido, Japan doing most of the work. Photo credit Juan Barros.
Now skiing is something that takes up an oversized portion of my energies. I am not completely sure why I enjoy skiing so much, but I once read about a theory that as humans we are not particularly fleet of foot, can’t fly, and generally are much clumsier than other animals. Skiing might allow us to feel the speed, agility, and strength that other animals do for a moment while we swoop gracefully (hopefully) down a slope.
I am envious of people who started skiing as young children, as they often have good technique. However, I feel that I have made up considerable ground, and I am sure that some of those people who started at age 3 don’t actually ski much anymore. Perhaps for me, not starting to ski until my early 20s has made me more passionate about skiing. I am sure that many children are turned off to skiing as they had to endure cold, rain, and overbearing parents. This observation however, has not prevented me from starting my children with skiing as early as possible, though I grease the wheels of success with copious amounts of chocolate.
In any event I have been proactive in teaching my daughter(s) to ski. Aila, who is eight now has a couple of seasons under her belt. Plied with a constant supply of snacks and hot chocolate on the slopes, she seems to be sporadically quite fond of skiing, so far. I have a picture of my other daughter, Linnea on skis at 15 months (I will pull that one out if she becomes a famous skier one day), though for the record she just stood on the skis and didn’t really move around much. At two years old (24 months for you math wizards), Linnea did click into downhill skis and absolutely shredded one of the gnarliest bunny hills East of the Mississippi. She seems to be unafraid (or unaware) of speed. Once, after a morning of skiing and a nap, she awoke with the statement “I ski.” Which I believe meant, “I skied, I can ski, and I am a skier.” Maybe the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree…or maybe it does?
Now I lead skiing/snowboarding and food themed trips to the French, Swiss, and Italian Alps where I learned, as well as to the powder (and food) mecca of Hokkaido Japan, the Wallowa Mountains of Eastern Oregon, and the Andes of Patagonia (Argentina). Despite skiing in some of the best locations in the world, I am no snow snob, and happily skied laps on ice dusted with a few inches of snow at our home in Eastern Kentucky.
