Not on demo day!

Demo Day is something of an impromptu holiday for ski nerds and Joeys alike, and probly everyone else, too.  It's like National Doughnut Day, National Taco Day, and National Burrito Day in that you can definitely partake in demoing skis at other times, but it feels special when there's a bit of ceremony.  One doesn't just get up and go skiing.  There's planning to be done.  Depending on one's mood, there needs to be time to choose a good outfit, like Bridget Jones and Arwen Undómiel on Rex Manning Day.  Some folks pretend to not care, just like the lady from The Mentalist.  (I know the show cos my landlord in Greenwater was like reeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaalllllyyyy into it.)  Robin Tunney.  Anyway, it's important.  Talk Like a Pirate Day important.

Last week, on a Wednesday--see below if you don't believe me--our local mildly confusing purveyor of seemingly unrelated outdoor goods (or seemingly related, if you are so inclined) had one of these National Holidays all by themselves.  They used to share the pitch with their neighbour, Greenwood's, who is literally walking distance away at the bottom of Bogus Basin Road, just across from Hawkins Pac Out and The Holler.  And not CityNerd walking distance, mind you. American Walking Distance.  I'll be honest that while waiting for a burrito at Hawkins on a powder panic morning, I've witnessed people driving the 13 feet, but that's neither here nor there.  I mean, there's a car wash Reed Cycle in between and going the fast way requires walking on a dirt driveway, and maybe that's too hard when there's snow in them thar hills.

Anyway, I donned my best chamois shirt and puffy vest so people knew I grew up in the 80s and 90s on a Dynastar Course GS, and Amy wore her Magnet Designs Tahoma Hoodie under her Patagucci shell to cover both nano-and macro-manufacturing bases.  I'm sure the cats hawking their wares were suitably impressed.  I mean, I was.  After a fashion, we tried a handful of skis apiece, and like Ray Delahanty, we have thoughts.  We'll share some herewith.

There's a chance they might not know how to count.  Either that or they possess a vortex and can experience multiple times simultaneously.

It starts with expectations.  Jim Steenburgh, the oft-mentioned PhD of Utah Powder, says the key to happiness is keeping them low.  With K2, I like go a little further, and keep them at zero.  I've been disappointed with skis from Blizzard, Nordica, Volķł, Atomic, Nordica, Sțocklǐ, Elan, Fischer, Nordica, Icelantic, Lib Tech, Salomon, Nordica, and probly many more.  Strangely, I cannot think of a disappointment endured while skiing K2.  Sometimes, like the Pinnacle from almost a decade ago, the ski didn't bend my mind so much as give it a gentle and kindhearted surprise, like when you taste the cardamom in an Ocean Roll from Sparrow Bakery.  Last year, during a particularly drawn out (like, seriously, days long) discussion about bindings, Ryan (The Owner) found a pair of Recons from '08 at St Vinnie's on Broadway.  They had the aubergine S914 binding I've been searching for since I sold my last pair back in around '010.  I had always hated that ski without ever having skied that ski.  LB and I tuned upwards of 80leven hundos of em, and we just spat and made fun of em.  Over, and over.  And yet, aside from a lower ceiling than I want from a daily driver, the Recon is actually really nice.  Very easy to ease into, clean, mid-radius sidecut, dense without really deadening, and real smooth in the more smooshier of snows.  Don't even try to ski the good cheesy pow on it, cos it'll be at the bottom dragging like an anchor, but that's not why you by a 76mm all mountain board from almost 20 years ago.

Here, of course, is the thing:  the Mindbender 99 Ti from K2 is really fun.  I didn't know what to expect, so I didn't, I just made a hard right around the top terminal of 1 and pretended the snow was actually good, and wouldn't you know it, the ski did exactly what you want a big, stout, metal all-mountain ski to do.  Broke through the meringue, carved up the carveable, held an edge on the groomers, and most importantly made me want to ski more, and faster, and at high edge angles, and drive the cuff, and turn left into the chop instead of right onto the groomer even though it was awesome on the groomers.  It's stiff enough without being overpowering.  Dense enough while still maintaining some rebound.  Ugly enough to remember what brand of ski you're on.  (I was in shops for the worst of their topsheet sins.  If I never see another deathclown graphic, it'll be too soon.)  For a ski this big, I doubt it'd float much, and I didn't get a chance to test my hypothesis anyway.  That, too, is part of keeping expectations low.  If it floats at all, it's a win.

Blasphemy, I tell you.  Thou shalt not think a K2 is good, let alone better than the Blizzard Bonafide.  But then, the Bonafide is on my list of disappointments.

The third ski I took out was the Dynastar MPro 94.  Since no one is paying us, I can say what I think, which is, wow, um, that was like, um, something.  Nothing?  Heck, I don't know.  I couldn't tell what was going on.  It was kinda like the front was one ski, and the back was another ski.  It was like the Apex boot that is a snowboard binding in skeletal ski boot shape.  Couldn't get a feel for anything.  The front of the M 94 is soft, deflectable.  Full of tip flap.  The rear is fairly stiff, which means it overpowers the flappy tip like me on a 1999 Specialised FSR XC with an undamped coil shock.  Flynn, who is somehow both the head coach for C of I and the shop manager at McU's, was pretty googly eyed over them, and I gotta say I now worry for his sanity.  I mean, this same cat rips on 15 year old 30 metre GS boards, knows the value of a good 18 din World Cup PX Racing, and yet thinks I'd dig this ski. He did not track when I told him it was two skis.  He also said it was a perfect teaching ski, which, sure, whatever, I've never taught anyone so I wouldn't know, but dag.  I was sorely disappointed.  I never skied the ski it replaced, but I skied the ski that the ski it replaced replaced, and with that apparently super old ski in mind, this ski is up there with the TenEighty Gun and the oldest new Enforcer as far as disappointments go.  There's just no there there.

This, though, had a there.  And a here.  And just about everything else in between short of floating like a wood duck in 32" new.

I bought the original Vôlkl Kendo in '09.  Or '010.  Or '011.  Can't remember, because I'm old.  At least that's what Jake (the coworker) tells me.  I didn't know anything other than it was similar to the Mantra M2, but, like, the best width, which is 88mm.  The Mantra had surprised me with its carving prowess on a test ride with a customer who couldn't get a handle on his new pair, and I figured a centimetre less material should be even more carvier.  (Turns out his bindings had developed a Shaq-sized case of the Tyrolia Twists.)  At any rate, Lisa (the patroller with the deals) knew somebody who knew somebody, and in exhange for pro deal cash and, for some reason, an awkward hug, I had me a 177 Kendo, replete with fairly indecipherable topsheet graphics.  As I'd hoped, it absolutely ripped.  Top 5 skis.  I threw a take-off 14-din FreeFlex that itself would later develop a nasty bout of Tyrolia Twist on there and skied it until we needed the cash to escape the dungeon known as Weber County, when I sold it at the Fairgrounds Ski Swap.

The second Kendo I skied was in '016, and instead of surprising me with the goods, it disappointed me.  Those were some dark times.  Heavy rocker was on its way out, but still fouling a lot of should-have-beens like Boa is fouling the ski boot world right now.  It was damp, to the point of death.  It was solid, to the point of feeling heavy.  It had a set turn radius, to the point of feeling stuck.  And it was dark blue, boring to the point of disinterest.  I loved the confusing black paint-on-titanal topsheet of the OG, and this then-new ski was just utterly, utterly uninteresting.

This past McU's Happy Fun Time Demo Day, the first ski I grabbed was a 184 Kendo Mantra 88.  (Sorry, Volķl.  Silly name changes don't improve skis.)  In keeping with my Steenburgh-like dispassion, I expected little.  Especially in memory of that M2 ski back at The Place That Shall Not Be Named.  McU's helped my lack of interest by installing a 10-din piece of plastic I was worried would shatter at Tower 1 under the depression sheaves, but thankfully, that didn't happen and I'm still here.  Once all the pomp and circumstance and waiting was over, and I could throw it on a nice edge angle, I felt good.  Happy, even.  It's a stout ski, but alive.  Holds an edge like the original, and lets go when it should.  It reminds me of the original, though not quite as quick out of a turn.  Not as much rebound, which I guess is fine since they are aimed ever so slightly below me.  They still don't have the kick-in-the-teeth snap that the original did, and for that I am a touch dismayed.  I wish ski manufacturers were more willing to toss off a bike industry style f-bomb and say "here's a ski, and it's up to you to ski it."  No one does anymore, and we're worse off for it.

Centre of mass over base of support, 'bout 18 colours represented, half-assed racer roll on the pant cuff, not a single repeated brand, rack-find GS poles. . .this much steez takes years of work. Oh, and a Peregrine 80 doing what it's told.

The hand-offs on demo day are always a little awkward.  Usually shops send up their mechanic types so that they don't have to indemnify any sales kids who can't be trusted to actually know what forward pressure is, and we mechanic types don't always got that good customer service.  One guy told me I was stepping into the binding too fast, as though bindings care how quickly they open and close.  He took the Võlkļ Peregrine 80 I skied second with a rote and dispassionate "how was it," that wasn't even really a question, and then got really weird when I said it was super easy to ski.  I think he wanted me to say it ripped like a gelada baboon on MDMA or sliced like a dull ginsu through luke-warm camembert or something.  I don't know.  All I know is it was a ski that did skiing.  If I had never skied a race ski, or an old-timey Head Monster, maybe it woulda been interesting, but it just wasn't.  It held the edge like you'd want a frontside ski to do, released that edge quickly, and transitioned well, but that's like saying I turned the key in my Forester and it started up, and that when I pushed the gas pedal it went forward as long as I'd released the clutch while also in gear.  It is supposed to do those things.  

Record scratch.

I just gooooooooogled for retail (a cool grand, if you must know, and without choice in binding cos Marker Dalbello Vołķľ group) and realised that it was designed to be "approachable".  I did what Rob Christensen  back in '94 said I would when I assumed something.  This is a herky-jerky way of bringing it all back around, then.  Expectations.  I knew of the ski because one of the most relaxing things to do when I'm all tense or whatever is watch Ski Essentials product videos.  Jeff and Bob have that podcast chemistry, and they keep the sales goop to a minimum while still showing excitement for the product.  Apparently I sat too far in the back of the class during the Peregrine episode.  I figured that if it's named after the fastest bird in the world, it'd be the fastest ski on the hill.  I guess ze Chermans don't think like that.

Not being an aspiring intermediate on the ski like I very much am on the mountain bike, I can't say how precisely they nailed it, but Ima give em a solid A-.  As an expert skier--like, seriously, I'm the best skier on the mountain, hash tag G.N.A.R. points--I didn't have to think at all to roll out some nice full-width carves on LuLu My Favourite Run At Bogus.  It held on, more than I'd expect from something mainline publications would call "agreeable", all the way until I told it to let go.

So there you go.  Hopefully that's as clear as mud.

Elyse Saugstad, certified Blizzard ripper, definitely not on the Black Pearl.

Speaking of disappointing skis, women's ski reviews usually be like JUST BUY A BLACK PEARL 88, it's Got A Furry Cuff.  Don't ask questions, don't demand other things.  Never mind if you're as average as an American woman gets, you're somehow too big and too small and too strong (but not tall enough), so we just don't think you're our target market.  Just say yes and hand over swipe put your card in the slot tap your card wave your watch and make sure you buy an approved Marker binding cos marketing.  You only need a 9 din binding, I can tell.   Pretty sure they make pink 9 din bindings.

We don't do that here.  We turn our noses up at pink-it & shrink-it and gape open-mouthed at the Atomic rep who enthusiastically tells us they "took all the metal out," so it's better now.  Here, we use our gear until it's threadbare because the retail experience is so horrendous that we avoid it as long as possible (and if we're honest, can't afford retail prices anyway).  And when we do go to the shop, we try really hard not to make eye contact with anybody while striking a balance between not looking too interested in anything in particular and not looking too lost, because I don't want to be mansplained at and...

Not trying to be rude, I promise.  Just facts.

An obnoxious trend I've noticed of late is unisex skis.  It's not that the unisex skis are annoying.  No, unisex skis are a good thing.  In fact, any ski can be a unisex ski if you're a Tall Enough woman, or a Brave Enough man.  But what's obnoxious is rebranding men's skis as unisex and not making them in a full range of sizes.  IT'S NOT A UNISEX SKI IF THE SHORTEST LENGTH IS A 163.  Most women's skis come in a range of lengths, usually 4 or 5 options from 143ish cm long to 180ish cm long.  However, most "unisex" ski I've seen start at about 165 cm, with some variation for style (carvey skis go shorter, big-mountain skis go longer).  By not making the skis in shorter lengths, they're making these products inaccessible to a whole bunch of women who need a shorter ski.  It doesn't just suck to make a unisex ski that a bunch of people can't ski, but it's super gaslighty to say, "Oh, look at us, we are gender inclusive," and then exclude a bunch of of people who don't have as many options to begin with.  I get it: budgets are tight these days so you can't offer as many choices as you could in a better economy.  But, instead of actually doing diversity, we're just back to ignoring half the population.

Atomics have been so ugly for so long, it's hard to remember if THIS was the one they took the metal out of or if it was another misguided attempt at "art".

No surprise, amongst the 30-odd pairs of skis, demo day featured one ski I was excited to ski, and two others that I can say nice things about.  There were a couple (as in, two) other skis made for women that I just wasn't interested in, and my runs are limited these days, so you'll just have to look elsewhere for a review of the Rossi Rallybird and whatever Line is up to.  I would have been interested in trying the Rossi Super Blackops 98.  Technically a unisex ski, but a) I don't think they had it in my length, and b) even if they did, the two shortest lengths are sold out.  Go figure.

Volkl Secret 88 in 163 cm length

This ski is fucking great.  I would buy this ski.  That is the highest praise I can give a piece of gear.  Despite the tone of the previous four paragraphs, I'm being serious here.

It's lively and quick, springs from turn to turn.  Yet, it's also damp (metal!), holding an edge without chatter when loaded up.  I made small, medium and large turns and it liked 'em all.  This ski wants to be on edge and does not want to be ridden flat.  But it can also skid and slarve.  Other things to know: it has a little rocker, but skis more like a traditional cambered ski, and it's got those sweet, sweet sidewalls.  Ignore the 3D Radius Sidecut marketing copy that claims "Three radii in one ski for maximum TURNING & SPEED VERSATILITY IN ALL MOUNTAIN SKIING."*  The stated sidecut for the waist of the ski at 163 cm is 13 meters, which sounds about right based on its performance.  This is an all-mountain ski for advanced and expert women and it does it right.  Dang, good ski reviews are boring to write.

There we go.  Looks good on paper, and even better in person.  Functional, interesting, with just a touch of the feminine.  Eino told me he'd ski it and have you seen that guy's moustache?!

*This is an overly-complicated way to describe the shape of the ski.  In practice, you can't somehow get three different radii in one turn, which is what the marketing copy sounds like.  When you bend a ski, it creates an arc, which makes the ski travel in the shape of a turn.  When you bend it more, the arc gets smaller and the turn tighter.  Put less pressure on the ski, it straightens out and the turn radius increases.  The ski's sidecut affects how much you can bend a ski, but I'm skeptical that this technology makes a noticeable difference in how the ski skis.  I certainly didn't notice on my handful of runs on this ski.

Volk Secret 96 in 163 cm length

This ski also did it all, just in a different way than the Secret 88.  I personally don't prefer a width in the mid-90s (unlike the pop-punk bands of my youth); it's just too in-between for me.  I want a ski I can carve when I want to and it's too wide for that.  I can ski a mid-80s ski off-piste just fine, but I want something at least 100 mm underfoot for true powder.  So a 96 mm wide ski just doesn't have a lot of functionality for me.  That said, this ski edged almost as well as it skidded.  It was good and stable at speed.  The big different between the two Volkl secrets is that this one didn't like to make quick turns--which seemed to be the Secret 88's m.o.--but I also wouldn't expect that from a ski this wide.  Unlike the 88, it did like to go flat, so if you're into tucking down cat tracks, it'll do that for you.  Oh, and I just found out from looking at the Volkl website that this ski claims to have even more sidecuts: 4 in total!

I'd be remiss not to mention that "Secret" is the name of a deodorant.  How embarrassing!

Dynastar E-Cross 82 in 167 cm length

When Aaron handed me this ski, his eyes lit up and he said, "This is an instructor's ski."  I was suitably impressed, despite my initial skepticism.  No, I wouldn't want to own this ski or make it my daily driver, but it did do all the things and did them well.  The shovel-shaped, lightweight, rockered tip initiated extremely easily, and then the ski held on and held up as pressure built throughout the turn.  The ski was turney and slidey, which is to say, it's very easy to steer into any turn shape you want.  I'd call it "contemporary" as opposed to "traditional."  The older lady at the demo tent on the same skis seemed confused by it, and I don't blame her.  When I asked her what she usually skied, she said, "they're old," so I assume she's used to a ski that take a lot of input to direct them where you want to go.  You can't try too hard on this ski; it won't hook up and it doesn't drive.  But if you use a light touch, you will be rewarded by a smooth and stable ride.  Basically, as long as you don't expect it to go like a race ski, and if you would rather ski in the chop and slop than work on your schmedium-radius carved turns on the groomed, it'll do you well in most terrain and conditions.

Amy demonstrating that good schmedium radius on the E-Cross.  Of course it's worth checking out, cos all new skis are these days.  I mean, with all of our collective history, no design engineer would over-rocker a ski, right? RIGHT?!?!?

Dynastar M-Pro 92 in 162 cm length

Why?  Why would anyone want this much rocker?  What is this ski for?  I truly don't know.  I'm not just trying being rude here; this ski is not very functional.  The extremely rockered tip just flaps in the breeze, smacks the snow in way that is both distracting and destabilizing.  Oh god, I just looked at the marketing copy and this claims to be an all-mountain ski for intermediate to advanced skiers.  It would not be good for either.  It's squirrely; I realize that its goal is not to rail an edge (because it really, really can't do that), but an expert ski should be able to handle a little extra speed without feeling unstable.  And an intermediate who wants to improve their turns would not be well served by a ski that so twitchy that you can't rely on pressuring or tipping it to get you through the turn.

K2 Reckoner 92 in 169 cm length

To say this ski is "not for me" is being generous.  To be fair, this ski is not for me.  But I'm also confused about who this ski is for.  The advertising goes, "From the park to the trees, to the afternoon chop, these approachable, yet playful skis and their versatile All-Terrain Twin Rocker will have you wondering why you waited so long to jump on the twin-tip train."  Ok, let's break that down.  "From the park to the trees, to the afternoon chop" means it's a park ski that you might also ski to and from the chairlift and on a lap with your friends who know all the good stashes, which is to say, it's a park ski.  "Playful" and "versatile" in this case means a cheap, cap-construction ski that's not good at anything in particular.  The thing about jumping on the "twin-tip train" is so outdated, I am confused about what they're going for here.  Twin-tips were invented for skiing backwards.  That's all.  Rocker negates the need for this and adds the functionality of making transitions easier.  Straight forward twin-tip park skis haven't been a going concern since like, 2005?  Was this ski designed by some guy who watched some ski movies back in college?  In terms of actual performance, it has none.  It's bad at everything the Dynastar E-Cross is good at: it can't shape a turn (you just have to throw the ski sideways), lets the terrain throw you around, and the tip and tail slap the snow all the way down the hill.  But maybe that's what you want from a park ski?  A ski that goes straight, that you can throw around when you encounter obstacles, and makes a good noise when you land?  I guess if that's what you want, this might be the ski for you, you still shouldn't buy this ski.  See, that was way more fun to write than a complimentary review.

This ain't from demo day, but it's pretty purty.

Is there anything else to say?  All I know is we didn't dwell, we each just ate our house-made egg sandwich with bacon and arugula and a light mild aioli on a toasted Wolfermann's Heritage English muffin and packed the Forester, bougie stickers and all, and made for the turniest ski hill road I know.  All 178 of em by the time you're at the Patrol room.  And we had a real good time cos it was Demo Day.

Put a Sagehen On It

The landscape is bright and lonely.  In the sagebrush steppe, the canopy is only the height of the tallest bush around, which is usually sage or bitterbrush, punctuated by the occasional juniper or hackberry.  The snowy ground is smooth and expansive.  At lower elevation, bumps caused by bushes scatter the rolling hills.  Draws between these hills offer moisture.  At lower elevations, they’re clogged with dogwood and willow brambles.  At higher elevations, aspen trees run up the ravines, creating ghostly-white groves, their bare, winter branches seemingly reach out to draw you in.  The rare skin track and the subsequent turns write a story over the hills, stretching out beyond where you can see.  Patches of dry, temperate forest host ponderosa and subalpine fir patches to break up the blankets of snow.

It’s a vibe, as the kids say.  (Or they did some time ago.  I am no longer in-touch with what’s hip with the kids these days.  I still think “put a bird on it” is funny.)  Eino has a playlist called “sage country snow,” inspired by said vibe.  Back when we both drank alcohol, one of our favorite things to do while dinking together was to make playlists.  I never listen to Neko Case on my own, which is a real shame because she always has my favorite songs on our playlists.  I don’t really miss drinking, but I do kind of miss the creativity that would flow during these sessions, one song inspiring the next, our differing tastes finding compliments in rhythm, lyrics or cheesy key changes.  Now, in sobriety, I’m finding more creativity through writing, which, unfortunately has not manifested itself in anything publishable, but, oh well. (Hah! Nothing is manifested except through doing the thing.)

Sage country snow.  Photo by Eino.

Eino and I celebrated our 14th anniversary on Saturday.  The longer we’re together, the more I marvel at how long we’ve been together.  Longer than most people are married.  If we’d have had a kid in the first few years of our relationship, they might be a teenager by now.  We spent our entire 30s together.  Moved to three different states together.  We’ve lived in this house for 7 years.  WTF?  I just realized that that is half our relationship.  I was talking to my mom the other day about the houses we lived in when I was a kid, and we lived in our first real house for 10 years.  In kid time, 10 years is an eternity.  We’ve lived in this small, weird mother-in-law rental for almost that long, even though the house has changed hands three times and our rent has doubled.  We like it here, so we’re still here.  Through that time, I experienced and adjusted to life-altering medical injuries to my brain and body.  I guess my point is, I’ve changed.  But so has Eino.  Thank God we’ve changed in ways that still work together.

We skied at Soldier Mountain last weekend.  It’s only a two-hour drive from our house, so I was surprised we haven’t been there before.  Soldier is totally our jam.  A small lodge, built after the old one burned down in 2009,* contains the ticket office, rental shop, food service, bar and boot-up area with cubbies(!), all under one roof.  The ski patrol shack sits beside the lodge.  It looks like it might have started as a mechanic shop or a barn and has been added onto at least three times.  No ski school building to be found, although there is a good-looking beginner carpet just beyond the main lift.  We pulled into the parking lot about noon on Sunday and I would’ve guessed it was a Tuesday for the lack of cars.  But, it’s Mormon country, so maybe they’re busier on Saturdays.  And their school district is down to a 4-day week, so, as Eino discovered the week before, the kids go skiing on Friday.  Soldier has two fixed-grip lifts, one painted sage green and pale yellow.  The first lift takes you to mid-mountain and the second takes you the rest of the way up.  They have cat skiing on the upper and outer ridges.  Usually I scoff at cat skiing as a snobby cash grab, intended to create a sense of exclusivity, but in these wide open, rolling hills in the middle of freaking nowhere (between Utah, Boise and Sun Valley), it makes sense.

Runs and the spaces between.  Photo by Eino.

Most of the runs are swaths of groomed snow between ungroomed, bare stretches.  With enough fresh snow, the mountain’s nothing-to-scoff-at 1,150 lift-serviced acres* would open up, and I bet you could ski virtually the entire area.  At some point recently, some patrollers bombed some nice-looking off-piste.  I’m no expert, but it didn’t look steep enough to me to be avy terrain; I bet they did it just for the fresh turn.  Some of the north-facing slopes take you through forested gullies.  As it is, most of the runs are about the same pitch, despite what the trail signs might imply.  Which was just fine with me, because all I can ski these days is less-than-very-steep groomers, so there was a lot of room to explore for a few hours.  The grooming was good: nice and smooth and still there in the late afternoon.

Soldier Mountain has changed hands a few times since we moved to Idaho.  Bruce Willis owned it for awhile in the 90s, then donated it to a non-profit.  A young couple bought it a few years back for a third of the price of a house in our neighborhood.  Then they sold it a couple years later, and now, like so many ski areas in the U.S., it’s owned by people who (I assume) don’t ski (some investment group in Utah).*  I have to spend some time in nearby Fairfield, ID for work over the next few months.  On our drive through town, I spotted the motel, the U of I extension office, and the school, all along the same main road.  It’s a small town, in the vast expanses of mountainous Idaho.  And, it's easy to pass on your drive to not-too-far-away, bigger, fancier ski areas.  I would know.  We passed it by for 12 years.  If Soldier was located next to a bigger town, it would be a totally legit, locals' hill.  As it is, I question its long-term viability.  They’ve added mountain bike trails recently, and run the lifts on the weekends in the summer.  That’s supposed to be good for business.  Maybe if they can actually capture the elite snowcat market, that’ll help.  So, maybe.  Hopefully.

Eino and I met at Crystal Mountain, when we both worked there.  We actually met over a year before we started dating.  I was working at the ski school sales desk before I became a full-time instructor, and he worked at the tune shop in the next room.  I’d say hi to him, but he didn’t say much.  He’s quiet is all, and I was dating somebody else and our paths didn’t cross much except briefly in the hallway.  My second year at Crystal, some of our mutual friends got it in their heads that we should date.  So, we hung out a few times, skied together with our mutual friends a few times.  Then, Eino asked me out.  I suggested we go skiing together on our day off, to which he responded, “That’s not really a date.”  And I said, “But it’s easy.”  So, on our first date, we skied together.  We had a great ski day, hiked the King and ate lunch at the mid-mountain lodge.  Our second date was a “real” date at a cute, little Italian restaurant in town with an over-attentive teenage waiter.  Our relationship was built around our love for our sport.  We’ve stayed together because we share more than this common interest, but skiing has been central to our relationship.  So, when I destroyed my knee 5 years ago, and then developed arthritis despite/because of my diligent rehab, skiing because something we could not share without lots of pain and anxiety.  It took me several years to accept that I was never going to get back to where I was.  Even if I replace the damn thing, I won’t be able to ski like I did.  And I need to put off the replacement as long as possible if I want to be able to walk when I’m 80.  I can still ski, but I can only handle not-steep groomers for an hour or two every other week or so.  At first, I doubted that I could still find enjoyment in the sport at this lower level.  First world problems, yeah, I know.  But it’s a part of my identity, so yeah, it matters to me.

Eino getting some nice angles. Photo by Amy.

I didn’t feel like skiing this year until about January.  But then, one day, I wanted to go.  I looked forward to the weekend that Eino and I could go up to the hill and make some turns together.  We did, and it was fun.  I didn’t over-do it, stopped before my knee started hurting, and made sure to do all the after-care that keeps my knee working okay enough.  And I’ve been able to ski several more times since then.  I skipped last weekend because my knee was kind of sore, but I’ll probably be able to go next weekend.  Eino doesn’t ski as hard or as long as he used to either, due to injuries.  But we can still ski together.  Last weekend at Soldier, he made a few runs while I taped up my knees and put on my boots in the lodge.  We skied about 6 runs together, ate chili in the lodge, then made a few more runs.  I quit for the day before he did because I was starting to hurt.  I hung out in the lodge, watched the staff and skiing public kick the snow off their boots—ski or cowboy—as they tromped through the lodge.  Eino took three more runs, then we stopped at the coffee shop on our way out of town.  We don’t ski like we used to, but we can still do it and we can still enjoy it together.

*Wikipedia, y’all

87

 Mikaela Shiffrin is officially the G.O.A.T.!

Today in a slalom race in Åre, Sweden, she won her 87th world cup race, making her the winningnest alpine skier of all time.

She is rad.

Complaining About Arthritis (Part 2)

By Amy Post

My first day on snow this season was delightful.  I skated to the chair with a spring in my step, felt that little bit of exhilaration as the chair scooped me off my feet, and I giggled as my skis slid along the snow, all the way to the top of Showcase.  I was even more thrilled when I was able to make turns, top to bottom, without pain in my knees!

Even though it was fun, the first few runs felt a little off, technique-wise.  But they always do, the first time back on snow each season.  And now I’m skiing with an old injury, active arthritis, and a higher level of pain.  So, I experimented with different ways to turn my skis in order to not aggravate my knees.  If I don’t bend my right knee too much, it doesn’t hurt too bad.  Meanwhile, my left knee woke up and started barking at me, reminding me that it too has arthritis.  But after a few runs, that knee settled down and worked the way it’s supposed to.  I discovered that if I muscle through my turns, my knee hurts a lot more.  But if I focus on actively releasing the opposing muscles, my body picks up the slack and engages the necessary turning muscles just enough to make the movements, without as much pain.  With some feedback from my colleagues, I was back to symmetrical, dynamic turns by lunchtime.

Catching face shots in the neighborhood.

The first hour was almost pain free.  But during the second hour, my bad knee started to ache a little, a few twinges here and there.  Before I went to the mountain that day, my plan was to make a few runs and just see how it went; stop if I hurt too much, ski a few if I felt good, and if I ended up skiing for a few hours, bonus!  So, I thought about going home at lunch time—you know, quit while you’re ahead—but I decided to stay for the afternoon session.  As we started the afternoon, I was pleased that my pain didn’t spike on the first run after lunch.  My pain often reveals itself once my muscles cool down, so taking an hour-long break can sometimes be really uncomfortable.  But my knee didn’t feel any worse than it did right before lunch, so off I went!  Skied awhile more, started to get a little more sore.  But I was skiing with other instructors, so there was lots to focus on besides my knees, and we were standing around talking a lot too, because that’s what we do.

About an hour into the afternoon session, I noticed that I was starting to brace against my outside ski by making my outside leg stiff.  I do this when I start to get fatigued, my knee starts to hurt a lot, or both.  Actually, it is a vicious cycle, because knee pain shuts down quadricep function and lack of quadricep strength causes knee pain—one of the many gems I’ve taken away from physical therapy.  Once I notice myself bracing, I actively work on relaxing those muscles instead, which makes better turns anyway.  At one point during the next few runs, I bent my knee in a way that made me yelp with pain.  I think I skied one more run, but was getting to the point where I couldn’t stop bracing that outside leg, so I called it a day.

Even though my knees were screaming at me on my way to the car, I forced myself not to limp and iced them immediately when I got home.  I was on a high for the rest of the day and the next from the joy I felt because I got to ski.  Plus I got to ski almost a full day without unbearable pain!

The next day, I woke up and my knee was 3 cm larger than my other knee, and it hurt like hell.  I couldn’t walk normally and spent the rest of the week icing, elevating, wearing my compression sleeve, and pouting.  Today, a month out, it’s still not back to where it was before I skied.  For two weeks, stairs were impossible, even going up.  My knees have disliked walking down stairs and hills since I first injured them 20 years ago.  But I’ve always been good at the up.  Even when I’m out of shape, I can hike up a hill like a Gelada baboon.  (As opposed to the clichéd mountain goat.)  But not right now.  By now the swelling has gone down and the pain is less, but stairs are incredibly difficult.  That’s a problem.  It’s one thing if I can’t ski; even though skiing is an important part of my identity, I know that I can have fulfilling life without skiing, even if I don’t know what that looks like right now.  But if I can’t get around because I can’t handle stairs, that’s a real problem.

Here’s a few things I’ve learned lately.  You guys, I have chronic pain!  Maybe that sounds obvious, but in the past, I have not thought of my pain as a chronic condition.  It started when I was 18, got really bad for a few years, then I learned to manage it and did OK for about ten years.  Then it came back and has steadily been getting worse for the last five years.  I don’t know what I thought it was before, but I guess I just always hoped it would get better and go away.  I always thought, if I got stronger, fitter, lost x number of pounds, ate the right food, or found some magic fairy dust and learned to fly, my knees would feel good, even though I also knew that my patellar cartilage was damaged and degenerating.

A recent episode of the podcast Ologies featured an interview with Dr. Rachel Zoffness, a pain psychologist.  (She also has a book that I ordered and haven’t started reading yet but it looks very good.  Link here and at the end of this post.)  The interview made me realize that I am dealing with chronic pain, which requires a unique approach.  She approaches pain with a three-pronged method; bio-psycho-social.  That means that pain is influenced by biological, psychological and social factors.  So, for example, when I first left Utah and was going through a mental breakdown (I believe the medical term is actually “acute stress disorder”), my knee pain came roaring back.  Intense psychological stress increases the pain signals in your brain to “danger, danger, danger!” levels all the time, even if the stress signals are from a separate, physical injury.  Alternatively, when I’m skiing with friends and colleagues, it’s easy to ignore the pain because my brain is in a happy social mode.

Most astonishing, I learned that chronic pain tells you to do three things; isolate, stay home, and don’t move.  This is a survival message in response to the pain.  Which is pretty much what I’ve wanted to do from about 6 weeks post-surgery when my physical therapy started to hit a wall.  She also said that this message our brain tells us about chronic pain is a lie, and that being social, getting out of the house and moving are the best things for chronic pain.  The thing I most appreciated about the interview with Dr. Zoffness is that she told me that the challenges I’ve faced since my big knee injury almost three years ago are, well, normal.  Sucky, but normal.

The last time I went to physical therapy, Rob said he thought it might be time for surgery.  When your physical therapist says it’s probably time for surgery, uff, he’s probably right.  I had an MRI last week, so that may give me some useful information.  (I wanted to do the MRI in October, but then I got COVID, and then it took almost three months to get it pre-approved by insurance.  Grr.)  My knee is a lot better now than it was a few days after I skied.  But I’m scared of the pain and doing anything that might cause weeks of swelling.

It’s hard to end these types of essays.  I want to end on a positive note, because that feels like the appropriate arc when writing about something disappointing.  And truthfully, I am still optimistic about my knee health and the future of my skiing life.  But I don’t have any answers yet, and right now I’m in the shit.  I haven’t skied since that first day back on snow this season.  The pain has reduced to an intermittent sharp pang in my knee cap when I bend it under load, an ache during and/or after activity, and an unsteadiness on stairs.  So, I might try going skiing later this week and really limiting myself to a couple easy runs.  This time, just for a little while and take it real easy.

Sources:

Zoffness, M.S., PhD., Rachel.  "The Pain Management Workbook: Powerful CBT and Mindfulness Skills To Take Control of Pain and Reclaim Your Life."  New Harbinger Publications, 2020.

"Dolorology (PAIN) with Dr. Rachel Zoffness."  Ologies with Alie Ward, 10 November 2021.

Overheard at St. Moritz last weekend

By Amy Post

"We should get a bunch of goats and name them after ski racers."

By Amy Post

How to Win the Ski Swap

By Amy Post and Eino Holm

Tl;dr: buy skis at the swap, not boots.  Look for other stuff too.

Advice for buyers:

1) Make a list beforehand.  Then forget it on the kitchen counter.

2) Arrive at the swap as early as possible.  At some swaps people start lining up super early in the morning the day the swap opens.  I’ve even heard tell of folks camping out the night before, like it was.  But then again, I did show up to a swap once with some friends and we were an hour early, but there was no one in line and it was raining so we went to Starbucks, contemplated going to Hot Topic in the mall (we were all solidly in our 30s), but went back to the swap instead.  I feel like I kinda missed out in that instance, choosing the swap over Hot Topic, even though we had fun.

3) Actually, volunteer or work at the swap if you can.  Swaps are often run by the local race team, ski club, or pro shop, and they often need extra help.  The really good stuff gets snagged before the doors even open by folks who are working.

4) Plan to spend more money than you want, if you want something relatively new.  Last year’s skis for $100 are either a myth or a trap (i.e. broken).  When pricing their gear, most folks ask for more than it is worth, and then pad for the cut that the organizers take. Finding last year’s skis, mildly used, at 25% off retail is a good deal.

5) You might find last year’s gear, unused.  If you are prepared to pay close to retail price, there’s no reason not to buy them.  But you are at the swap for deals, so you’ll probably want to move on.

Our local ski swap, happening THIS WEEKEND OMG!

6) Skis will probably be sorted by length, but all the different skis in that length will be jumbled together.  Know your size and go straight to that section.  Now you have to figure out what the skis you find are designed for.  Google them by brand and ski name (e.g. Nordica Girish); you might find a review or at least some marketing copy that tells you the skis’ intended audience and use (all-mountain, intermediate, park, race, etc.), its strengths and weaknesses, release year, and hopefully, its original retail price.

7) It may take some guess-and-check on Google image search to figure out how old the gear is.  Skis depreciate in value immediately.  If it’s three to five years old and well cared for, 50% off the retail price is a pretty good deal.  We’re talking $300 to $600.  Caveat emptor: we did some experimenting and found that Google’s reverse image search results are poor to incorrect.

8) Old rental gear can be a good deal for beginners and intermediates.  Try to find stuff that the shops just retired, rather than 10-year-old rentals.

9) All ski companies make good products.  They all make different kinds of skis for different skiers (beginners to expert, on-piste to powder skis), so don’t trust a product just because of the brand name.  I personally dislike certain brands and gravitate towards others, but I’ve sold plenty of skis from the brands that I dislike because they seemed to be the right fit for the customer.

10) Look for breaks in edges (on the parts of the ski that touch the ground), thin bases (you can see different colors or sometimes metal peeking through), bent skis (do the skis match in profile?).  Don’t buy these, as these probably can’t be fixed and might be dangerous to use.

11) Gouges in the base are super visible, so people are often worried about buying a ski with them.  But gouges really aren’t that big of a deal, and can be fixed.  Unless the back half of the base is missing.  That’s different.

12) If people are watching you inspect a ski, make sure you flex it, pout and nod your head.  It tells you nothing about the ski but you look like you know what you’re doing.

13) Get the right gear for your kids and significant other.  Don’t get stuff that kids will “grow into” because they won’t be able to use it until they grow into it, making the time in between miserable.  And don’t buy boots too big with the intention of wearing lots of socks; that doesn’t work and just gives you blisters.

14) Don’t get talked into buying a race ski from a race coach who knows nothing about non-race skis.  (Ahem, I say that because I may have been that guy in the past.)  There will be a broad range of knowledgeable folks working at the swap; they may be brand reps or store employees who know a lot about the products, or they might be somebody’s dad who doesn’t actually know what he’s talking about but likes to talk.  It could also be somebody’s mom who knows all sorta stuff and could get you to the perfect deal.  Which leads me to…

15) If someone sounds like they know what they’re talking about, ask some more questions.  Ask around for the people who know what they’re talking about.  Be skeptical if someone seems like they’re full of it; trust your gut.  It’s rude to bring your knowledgeable friend into a shop to help you choose gear, but it totally flies at a swap.  

16) Check to see if the bindings work for you.  Your DIN (Deutsches Institut für Normung, currently known as release value, if we’re being legally correct) setting should fall in the middle of the range of the binding.  Swaps should have DIN charts available to help you estimate yours if you don’t know it.  

17) Check for drill holes where you can.  A ski starts to loose integrity after they’ve been drilled 3 or 4 times, or if the holes are closer than 10mm to each other.  Re-drilling a ski once or twice is no big deal.  It’s OK to buy a ski with a binding you’ll need to replace, but remember to factor this into the the cost of the equipment, as well as the bindings adjustment and test (about $25), and/or a binding remount  ($50+) at your local shop.

18) After the swap, bring your skis to a shop to get the bindings adjusted (refitted to your boot) and tested.  Do not try to adjust your bindings yourself (unless you’re a certified binding mechanic who works at a shop, like Enore).  They have the knowledge to set them correctly and the really expensive machine to test them.  It can be the difference between correct and incorrect binding function, which in turn can mean the difference between walking away from a crash and injury.  Also, learn about indemnification, which basically means old bindings can’t be serviced, so they may not be safe.

19) Don’t trust the internet to tell you your ski boot size; boot sizes do not translate directly to US shoe sizes because they’re different units altogether and you need your ski boots to fit differently than your shoes.  When people fit their own boots, they often get it wrong.  Temperature affects a boot’s flex and fit, so what feels comfortable in a showroom will probably be too big (and maybe too stiff) on the snow.  So, do you just buy a boot that’s uncomfortably tight and hope it gets more comfortable?  Also not a great idea because they could just be uncomfortably tight.  Well heck, what do you do?

20) I can’t really give advice on how to find a boot at a ski swap because it’s really hard to do unless you know your size and exactly what you want.  You can read reviews, and get an idea of what you want, but there is no substitute for visiting a good bootfitter, who can usually only be found in a ski shop or their own studio.  They not only assess your size correctly, but also take into account the shape of your foot, heel, ankle and calf, as well as what kind of skier you are, to find a boot that fits your size, shape, and style.  Then, after you buy a boot, they can tweak the fit.  

21) If you can find a good bootfitter at a swap, pester them until you’ve found something good, or better yet, just go visit them at the shop where they have access to a good range of boots and the time to give you the attention you deserve. 

22) So, should you go see a bootfitter before the swap to figure out what you want?  Well, no, because it’s rude to take someone’s time and not pay for it.  Emily, for example, is literally getting paid for her experience and expertise, both of which are many.  If a bootfitter takes the time to fit you properly and make recommendations, you will not regret buying your boots from them.  They can help you avoid the head and body aches of being in a boot that’s too big, too small, the right size but pokes and pinches, too stiff, too soft, overflexed, underflexed, over- or under-canted or canted the wrong way, among other issues.  In doing so, you won’t have to learn about the annoying challenges any of the aforementioned problems can cause because your boots will fit and they will work for you.

23) That said, it is ok to ask a shop employee if you can step on the Brannock device (aka the boot sizer-thingy) to figure out your size.  Again, remember their time is valuable and don’t be a jerk.

24) Do not buy a used helmet.  You have no idea if someone has crashed in it, or left it in the sun, or how old it really is.  Helmets break down after 3 to 5 years and need to be replaced, and they are only good for one impact.  That’s not just a marketing lie to get you to buy a new helmet; it’s been independently tested by multiple organizations.  It’s not “better than nothing” to wear an old, worn-out helmet.  It’s actually probably worse because it’ll give you a false sense of security and keep you from buying a new one that’ll actually work when you need it.  Always buy your helmet new. You can sometimes find new helmets at the swap (often sold by local shops, in their original packaging).  Buying a year-old helmet is fine, as long as it isn’t used and is in that original packaging; just know you’ll have to replace it one year sooner.  Shelf life isn’t technically as destructive as life in the wild, but the closed-cell foam used in helmets off-gases and degrades no matter what.

25) Swaps are great places to get your soft goods: goggles, gloves, outerwear, layers, etc.

26) Swaps are also good places to find fun, random stuff.  I’ve found roller skates, snowshoes and numerous edgie-wedgies at swaps, and sold my old ice skates and heated socks.

27) Swaps are also good places to find fun.

Advice for sellers:

1) Price low if you want to sell it.  Below half of retail for anything 3+ years old, assuming it’s in top-notch condition.  Then knock $50 off.  Remember the swap organizers are taking a cut, so add a bit back on.

2) Decide how much you want to sell your stuff for before you get to the swap.  Folks there may give you advice, but there is no standard and everyone’s opinions vary wildly.

3) Learn about indemnification.  In order to find out if a binding is indemnified, Google "[Binding manufacturer name (e.g Tyrolia)] indemnified bindings" and look to see if your binding is on the list.  Sometimes you can find a consolidated list online, but the ultimate source for indemnification is the brand itself, and they'll list their indemnified bindings on their website.  There’s no use arguing about this because it’s a legal/liability thing. (Enore skis on 24-year-old bindings, but he had access to a nice Speedtronic to test them off the clock.  Few people do.)  Plus, do you really want someone to get hurt on your crappy old stuff?  I’ll answer for you: NO.

4) If you want to get a really good price for your stuff, you’re probably not ready to sell it.  You do get some value walking past it in the garage and reminiscing about the great turns you make on those skis.

5) Regret is a part of life.  Those FreeFlex 14s may have developed the Tyrolia Twist, but the Völkl they were bolted to will still make that one jerk below the Women’s Start mad when you got the line he intended to film for his Instagram Story.  Should’ve kept those Kendos.

6)    Don't forget to pick up your unsold items at the end of the swap.  Unless you don't want them back.  Cleaning out the closet is good for the soul.

7) Forget that you sold stuff at the swap, so when your check shows up 4-6 weeks later, it’s a nice bonus!

What the heck is a "quiver?" And how to build one.

By Amy Post

This is a quiver.

 

Or, if you prefer girl power...

A quiver is the thing that Robin Hood, Katniss, or any other archer put their arrows in.  They are either worn or carried, and made of leather, wood, metal or plastic.  Here's a beautiful one from Turkey from the 1620s.

By Unknown author - LSH 91418 (lm_dig7763), Public Domain,

https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=36886349

Whether you are robbing the rich to feed the poor, overthrowing the Capital, hunting for dinner, or doing target practice, you will need a different arrow for each of those pursuits.  Arrows vary widely in length, weight, stiffness (which affects its bendiness), and balance.  The different parts of the arrow all vary in shape and material, and thus function.  The different designs have their strengths and weaknesses, and choosing the right one is about finding the right tool for the job.  An archer's choice of arrow will depend on all the following variables: price, durability, personal preference, accuracy, penetration depth, aerodynamics, and the specific game a hunter or fisher is seeking. (1)

A skier's "quiver" is their collection of skis, each ski serving a different purpose.  The first time I heard the term "one-ski quiver" or the question "What's in your quiver?" I found this confusing.  The analogy is: a skier's quiver features several different types of skis for different purposes, much like an archer's quiver would cary different kinds of arrows for different pursuits.

So what is in my quiver?  I've got my all-mountain/PSIA exam skis (Head Total Joy, 85 mm underfoot) that I recently converted to my touring skis with the intent to replace, my slightly older, narrow all-mountain skis (Head Pure Joy, 73 mm underfoot) that are now my teaching/rock skis, my powder skis (Volkl Kiku, ~106 mm underfoot), and my Rossignol GS skis that are designed for a teenage boy.  And a snowboard I haven't used yet.  Then there are the old skis that I never got rid of like my slalom and GS boards from high school.  I even have two pairs of boots: the Lange RS 130 and a soft but close-fitting pair of Daleboots.  They are extremely different boots with different performances; the Langes are stiff and stable for all terrain, all conditions, but the Daleboots are comfy, easy to flex, and the ones I've been using since my injury.

For the first 10 years of my ski career I only had one pair of skis because that was all I could afford.  This is the norm for most skiers, and in truth, most skiers won't really benefit from more than one pair of skis.  The vast majority of skiers are intermediate, intermittent skier, so one pair of all-mountain skis is going to get them around the mountain almost every day that they make it to the hill.  However, if you never go off the groomed, don't mess around with a big ski; just get a front-side ski and have fun laying 'em over on the corduroy.  If you encounter a powder day, or some heavy snow that your all-mountain skis can't handle, you can rent a pair of demos from a local shop or borrow from a friend who is stuck in the office.  (If you borrow skis make sure to have a mechanic adjust your bindings.  Really.  A $25 binding adjustment is cheaper than knee surgery.)  Owning a quiver is a luxury, but it can benefit the avid skier.

How to build up your quiver:

1) Get a good pair of boots and have them fitted by an expert boot-fitter.  Boots are your connection to the ski, and if your boots don't fit or are worn out, it doesn't matter what kind of ski you're on because the movements you make inside your boots won't translate to your skis.

2) Start with an all-mountain ski.  But beware, all skis labeled "all-mountain" are not created equal; they vary in width, construction and performance.  Ask yourself two questions: what are my ideal conditions, and what are the conditions I end up skiing most of the time?  Do you hit the hill every Saturday, or do the weekends find you driving the soccer taxi and you call in sick on powder days?  If you ski all the time, regardless of conditions, you're going to want to buy a ski that can handle groomed, chopped up and/or firm snow (depending on the average conditions of your home hill).  This probably means a more narrow, stable ski.  If you select your ski days according to snow conditions, buy a wider, easy-to-turn all-mountain ski that will get you some of that float you chase.  Folks may try to tell you that you can ski anything on a fat powder ski.  They are wrong.  Powder skis suck in anything that's not powder.  Yeah, I said it.  That powder ski won't be very much fun three days after the storm when you finally get to the hill and the snow is all tracked out.  Really wide skis are harder to turn, harder to control and fatigue your feet and knees a lot faster than a more narrow ski.

3) Buy a powder ski.  Or a race ski.  Or a park ski.  Buy a ski to suit your favorite conditions or style and enjoy the benefits that a specialized tool brings to your day.

4) Buy a detuned race ski.  They're often marketed as "beer league" skis, or front side rippers.  They'll make you a better skier, make you feel like a hero, and give you something to do during the January drought.

5) Repeat step 3 until you run out of money.

6) Buy a snowboard.  They're fun, I promise!

Shop at ski swaps, end-of-the-season demo sales, second hand stores, or Craigslist (Is that still a thing?) to find affordable options, especially as you work your way down your list.  (Click here for my advice on How to Win the Ski Swap.)  Always beware the sentimental dude that wants $300 for his 30-year-old skis.

Here's another analogy.  My non-skiing friends have teased me about owning more than one pair of skis.  But skis are more like a set of screwdrivers than a hammer; you can do most things with one flathead screwdriver, but in order to accomplish all you desire, you need a range of tools.

l-r: demo, pro deal, Aunt Nancy, trash compactor, full retail, $35/bent ski, well-used internet score.

Not pictured: giant Ornj Monster from Craigslist, small GS from 2nd tracks, Völkl P40 that was a tip, Amy's High School SL, tele setups.

Sources:

(1) https://targetcrazy.com/archery/resources/types-of-arrows/

Eddie the Eagle the Movie

By Amy Post

Michael Edwards competed in the 1988 Calgary Olympics in ski jumping, where he came in last place. He’s a charismatic dude who drew media attention for his enthusiasm and thick glasses, earning the nicknames "Eddie the Eagle" and “Mr. Magoo.” He wasn’t very good, compared to the other athletes, but since no one else in England cared about ski jumping, he got to represent his country. After Eddie competed, the IOC changed the rules, and in classic spoil-sport fashion, made the qualifications stricter for future Olympics. Eddie tried, but failed to qualify for subsequent Olympic competitions, and moved onto a career of product endorsements, reality show dance competitions, and earned a law degree. (1)

Eddie the Eagle, the 2016 biopic about the selfsame athlete, isn’t a movie about an underdog that wins. It’s a movie about an underdog that loses. Make no mistake, qualifying and competing in the Olympics is a huge accomplishment in itself. Eddie was a genuine athlete who put in the work and competed at an international level. He represents all of us who don’t look like the “typical” athlete, but do the thing regardless. Eddie is intrinsically motivated, stoked to sets personal records and didn't let the haters get him down. This is much more powerful message than the false and privileged, “Just try your best, think positive and you’ll achieve your dreams!” Not to say this movie isn’t dripping with privilege—it fails the Bechdel test, features zero non-white people, and all the women are stereotypes (nurturing, cougar, or cheerleader). But skiing itself has a privilege problem; the lack of representation and accessibility to the sport is not unique to this movie.

Eddie in Calgary, 2017

(One of two free photos of Eddie I found on the internets.) (2)

As an alpine skier who is scared of leaving the ground, my favorite part of the movie was the sequence at the dry slope ski center, something I’ve only ever seen on YouTube. As he’s learning to ski, Eddie does the classic butt-in-the-air snowplow, in the backseat with ski poles tucked under his arms, tips pointing behind, right at eye-poking height. He gets pretty good pretty quickly and does some sweet synchronized skiing with some other alpine skiers in matching sweat suits, on long skinnies, legs glued together. The later jumping scenes are comically incongruous; close up of Eddie’s face as he’s sliding down the ramp, cut to actual, modern jumping skis (that require special bindings and boots) sliding in the tracks, then cut to Eddie crash-landing on not-quite-vintage-enough green Fischers, wearing those classic red and white, rear-entry Solomon boots. I was actually impressed with Hugh Jackman’s hockey stop. It was controlled and centered enough to make me think me might actually be able to turn a ski. I even learned a few things about ski jumping progression. The 80s ski style was bellisimo, especially Eddie’s historically-accurate pink Uvex goggles. Any skier who has dressed up for closing weekend would be super jealy of the lost and found that Eddie and his coach raid to get him some gear. Oh, and there’s classic Pisten Bully snow-cats.

Eddie the Eagle has all the essential elements of those classic 90s inspirational sports movies I loved as a kid (e.g., The Mighty Ducks, etc.): an awkward underdog; a washed up, old athlete who finds redemption and sobriety through coaching an unskilled athlete; a training montage set to upbeat 80s rock; bar fights; nasty teammates; a disapproving dad who learns to support his son; and scowling Scandinavians. Much like watching Eddie himself, I had low expectations going into this movie, but enjoyed the experience because it was cheesy, in all the right ways.

After watching this movie, I was thrilled to learn that the sequence where Eddie is practicing his tuck on the top of a moving van was based on real events. Apparently, Phil and Steve Mahre did the same atop the family station wagon. At least my dad remembered seeing a picture of it in Skiing magazine back in the day, so it must be true. In the spirit of don’t-try-this-at-home silliness, I share with you this excellent K2 commercial, starring the Mahre brothers and Glen Plake.

Sources:
(1) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eddie_the_Eagle
(2) By Orville Barlow - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=56852370

Mt. Ashland

By Amy Post

When I was thinking about going back to school, I looked for a graduate program with some specific, non-academic criteria: a place where we could live together (A lot of programs in my field are residential; think cabin in the woods with bunk beds.  Fun but not conducive to adulting.), a place where we could both work (He does bikes and skis, I do teaching and random stuff.), and a place where we could ski (and I could teach skiing).  While searching for programs, we visited Ashland, Oregon, and it checked all the boxes.  We skied Mt. Ashland on that trip.  At the top of Ariel, I saw the Cirque and said, “Hey, that’s steep!” and knew it could hold my interest for a few years.  I applied to the grad program, was accepted and we moved at the end of our last season at Crystal.

When I showed up at the Mt. Ashland job fair, there was no one at the front counter.  I waved down a lady with a Mt. Ashland vest and said I was here to apply.  She looked at me and said, “You just got here?”  The job fair was scheduled to go on for another hour so I was confused by her question.  I said, “Yeah, I just got off work and came right over.”  To which she gave me a weird look, like, “Then why are you here, at a job fair?”  When I actually sat down for the interview, we were half way through when I noticed I was speaking to Kim Clark, general manager.  “Oh!” I said, “You’re the boss!”  “Yes,” he responded, “but I got my start as an instructor.”  So, we chatted PSIA, he shook my hand and said, “See you up there.”

Kim was a great leader.  Mt Ashland had the best workplace culture of anywhere I’ve ever worked, and that is a testament to Kim’s leadership.  The ski school director, Brian was awesome; he got the job right out of school, graduating from that ski area management course at Sierra Nevada University.  He had clear expectations and a sense of humor.  Also, he liked me and I became friends with his wife.  At Mt. A, I met some great people, taught some fun lessons, passed my alpine level III, and skied a lot.

My second season at Mt. A, I worked full time over the university's winter break.  It dumped and we skied powder most days.  The thing about Mt. A is that it is small, about 200 acres.  So, the place is usually tracked out before morning meeting is over.  One day Kim showed me his secret stash, a tree shot off Lower Tempest that was pretty dense getting into it, then opened up.  Mt. A has some great tree skiing amongst huge hemlocks and Shasta fir.  Oh, and there 's this giant, granite boulder in the middle of Dream that's called the Big Rock.

Amy at the top of Dream

I took a field botany class in grad school, and we spent a lot of time on top of Mt. Ashland, exploring the ridge-top flora.  It was a new experience to spend time during the summer in the place I skied during the winter.  I got to know the land more intimately, on my hands and knees, looking at tiny flowers with a hand lens.  I got to know the land in a more expansive way as well; the Cirque is even more intimidating in the summer, with steep, rocky, unscalable (at my skill level) slopes and glacier moraines.  I never did ski every line in the Cirque because Light Brown is rocky and requires mandatory air.  I think it’s good to leave a place before you ski every line.

I’d be remiss to write about Mt. Ashland and not mention the expansion.  So, back when Alberta Tomba was crushing the World Cup, Mt. Ashland made plans to add a chairlift and runs into the next drainage north, adding about 200 acres of skiable terrain and almost doubling the size of the ski area.  It also would’ve added some beginner terrain, which is something Mt. Ashland lacks and one could argue, needs to be competitive.  As is, I got used to teaching a beginner flats progression on a double fall-line, hiking up to the bottom of the beginner lift and having my students lose control on the steepest part of the bunny hill, a pitch that Kim called “Sonnet face.”

Like most ski areas in the western United States, Mt. Ashland is on US Forest Service land, so they can’t just go chopping down trees and doing whatever they want.  In order to develop anything new, lease-holders have to complete an Environmental Impact Statement and defend it in court under the NEPA laws.  The town of Ashland is very liberal, full of environmentalists, and for the record, I identify with both those labels.  Many folks in Ashland were concerned about this expansion for its environmental impacts.  The ski area is situated at the tippy top of the city’s drinking water watershed, in a diverse, relatively undisturbed wooded ecosystem.  While the expansion would have impacted only about 1% of the watershed, the land is at the top of the watershed, affecting everything downstream.  The area is also potentially critical mountain-top habitat for the Pacific fisher and wolverine.  So, some environmentalists took Mt. A to court, and 23 years later (when I arrived in Ashland), each party was embroiled in hyperbole.  Environmentalists were convinced that Mt. Ashland was evil and greedy and going to poison us all.  Expansion proponents said that the future of the ski area hung precariously on the addition of one ski lift and a handful of runs.  The EIS said that the expansion would have a small impact, but the scope of that impact was relatively unknown and potentially significant.  In my opinion, the expansion just didn’t seem to make good business sense.  It created a rift between the ski area and the local community, the very community it relied upon to keep the lifts spinning.  Plus, a small ski area that doesn’t get a lot of snow is never going to attract a lot of destination business, so the expansion wouldn’t’ve really increased its appeal to the wider skiing demographic.  In the end, management abandoned the expansion plan, but not because the other side won.

The last season we were at Mt. Ashland, the hill didn’t open because it didn’t snow.  My plan that winter was to teach skiing full-time and finish my thesis.  Well, I actually got my thesis done ahead of schedule because I never went to work.  It was super depressing to be doing data entry and statistical analysis in February and giving up on my season.  So, we moved to Utah that spring, because we need a place to ski and I need a place to work.  Ashland and Mt. Ashland are magical places, so any hippy in town will tell you.  I just wish that magic would make it snow a consistent 300 inches/year.

R.I.P. Kim Clark

Kim got fired that spring because the board of directors decided not to roll-over season passes, and he thought they should.  He was right and they were wrong, but he got blamed for the PR shitstorm.  They were probably also just sick of the whole expansion nonsense and wanted someone to blame.  Kim moved over to Bluewood and took up general managing there for the last eight years.  Kim Clark passed away a few weeks ago from a heart attack.  He was on the hill when it happened, probably acting the kind, honest leader I knew.  It was really sad news, piled onto the sea of heartbreak that is Covid times.  The world lost a good man when Kim died.  I’d hoped we could’ve visited him at Bluewood, but now we’ll just have to go there to ski a run in his honor.