Part 2

My own belief is that the best excuse for the low standard of British ski-running is ignorance and bad tuition.

A few English runners have learnt a good system of ski-ing; but these have generally had bad teachers--Swiss guides, very likely, who, though first-rate runners themselves, had more instinct than science, and were quite incapable of imparting clearly to a beginner whatever knowledge they possessed. The majority of English ski-runners have learnt a thoroughly _bad_ system, and have very likely learnt at the same time to believe that it is an exceptionally sound one.

The members of both these classes are, as a rule, profoundly ignorant of what an expert can do on skis, of the real advantage of becoming an expert--or, at any rate, as skilful as possible--and of the best way to set about doing so.

There is no reason whatever why, with practice and good teaching, any man should not become a fairly skilful runner; even if he cannot run with great dash and speed, he can, at least, learn to do so in good style, without--or practically without--any help from his stick.

Very few Englishmen try to do this; indeed, next to caution, the most prominent characteristic of English ski-running is bad style.

Now nearly all the continental runners--certainly all the best of them--have taken the Norwegians as their model, and have, in consequence, aimed not only at running as fast and steadily, but also, in one sense, as easily as possible; that is to say, with the least muscular effort compatible with a perfect control of their skis, or, to put it more simply, _in the best style_.

Most Englishmen, however, have learnt a very different method of ski-ing. This system also teaches the beginner to run as easily as possible, but in quite another sense. The whole aim of the system is to dispense as far as possible with skill rather than with effort. That is to say, it directly encourages bad style.

The system is the invention of an Austrian, Herr Zdarsky, who, having never seen a ski-runner and knowing nothing about skis or their management, got a pair from Norway, and reasoned out a method of using them, eventually altering them to suit his method.

This was certainly a very surprising achievement, as every one will agree who realises not only the practical difficulty of ski-running, but the complication of its dynamics.

What is less surprising, when one remembers the origin of Zdarsky's system, is that it teaches not one simple method of controlling the skis that had not been discovered long before, and but few of those that had been. It must in fact be regarded, not as a new and different system, but as a small part of an old one--the whole Norwegian system of ski-running.

The distinguishing features of Zdarsky's system are an almost exclusive reliance on the snow-plough position (or an approximation to it), for either braking, turning, or stopping, a deliberate use of the stick to assist these manoeuvres and to help the balance on all occasions, an extreme dislike to going fast, and, in general, a pronounced tendency to avoid difficulties of balance rather than to overcome them, and to encourage timidity as well as clumsiness.

The main object of Zdarsky's system is to enable a beginner to run safely on steep and difficult ground with the least possible preliminary practice; and so far, no doubt, it is successful. But its very weakness is what makes it successful, for it turns out ski-runners quickly by allowing them to run badly. It is the very worst school for a beginner who takes up ski-ing no less for its own sake than as a means to an end, for if he begins in this way, sooner or later he will have to alter his methods entirely, and get rid of a lot of bad habits which he would never have acquired if he had, from the outset, learnt his ski-ing in the Norwegian manner.

To become a fairly proficient stick-riding and zigzagging crawler is a very simple matter; but to get beyond this point, and, discarding the help of the stick, to learn an _equally safe_ but considerably quicker and more comfortable style of running, is impossible without devoting some time and pains to practising, though far less of both than is usually supposed.

Every one, of course, has a perfect right to choose the style of ski-ing that suits him best. If a man looks upon ski-running simply as a means of locomotion, or if he dislikes the trouble of practising, or has exceptionally poor nerve, or is extraordinarily clumsy, he will very likely be perfectly satisfied with a slow stick-riding system, and will quite reasonably refuse to try anything else. So far there is no harm done.

Unfortunately, however, many of those who choose this primitive method of ski-ing make the absurd mistake of thinking that their method is a particularly sound and practical one, and delude the innocent novice into thinking the same.

Realising that without the stick they themselves would be helpless, they say that its help is indispensable for safe running. Anything which they cannot do themselves, such as running with the skis together so as to leave a single track; turning or stopping by a free use of the different swings, &c., instead of by their own dreadful imitation of the Stemming turn and Christiania; fast straight-running; jumping, and so on, they condemn as showy, unsafe, and of no practical use, and class under the general heading of "fancy tricks." The absurdity of this standpoint will be patent to any one who knows the immense superiority of good running to bad, as regards ease, sureness, and speed.

Let us compare ski-running with horsemanship. Just as the ski-runner undoubtedly finds it easier at first to run with the aid of the stick than without, so the man who mounts a horse for the first time will certainly find it a good deal easier to keep in the saddle if he holds on to it by the pommel or cantle. I believe, however, that there is no school of horsemanship which advocates this method of riding as being particularly practical.

The reasons against the use of the stick as an aid to the balance in ski-running are much the same as those against using the saddle for the same purpose in riding. There is a waste of energy in each case, for it is doing clumsily by brute force what can be done more comfortably, gracefully, and effectively by skill. Moreover, the balance, when helped in this way, never improves, but remains permanently bad.

Correct position, narrow track, complete command of the different swings--all those things, in fact, which distinguish good style from bad--mean economy of force, and are therefore eminently practical. To say that jumping is a useless accomplishment may at first sight appear justifiable. In one sense there is not much practical use in jumping, for occasions are not very often met with in the course of a tour where a jump is the only way, or even the safest way, out of a difficulty.

But in another sense jumping is extremely practical. It accustoms a runner to moving at the highest possible speed, and shows him that he need not mind taking a fall at this speed; moreover, to quote from Mr. Richardson's excellent jumping chapter in "The Ski-Runner," "the first thing which a jumper has to learn is how to keep calm and collected and to make up his mind instantly what to do next when travelling at top speed--just the very things, in fact, which he must learn if he wants to be a good cross-country runner. For these reasons it is the very best and quickest way of generally improving a man's running."

A very common attitude of Englishmen towards ski-jumping is to treat it as a showy and dangerous acrobatic display, all very well for reckless and athletic youths, but out of the question for any one else. Yet I suppose that among the men who take up this attitude there are many who ride to hounds, and very few who, though they may not themselves hunt, would dream of attributing to men or even women who do so either undue recklessness or unusual acrobatic ability.

Though there may be a doubt as to whether making a jump of moderate length on skis or riding a horse over a fence is the more difficult feat, there can be none whatever as to which is the more dangerous. Ski-jumping, indeed, is so safe that perhaps it could hardly lay claim to the title of a great sport but for the fact that it is not only difficult, but also exceedingly, if unreasonably, alarming--at all events to the beginner. It seems strange that so many able-bodied English ski-runners never so much as give jumping a trial, unless they have an altogether wrong idea of its danger.

I spoke just now of the ignorance which made many bad runners condemn a better style of ski-ing than their own. It is not easy, at first sight, to see why this ignorance as to the comparative advantages of good and bad running should be so common as it is, for at most of the Swiss winter places there are among the natives some really good performers. The English, however, get few opportunities of watching the Swiss runners, except on the jumping hill, and seldom see them doing their best across country, for these men, unless they happen to be guides, do most of their ski-ing with their own countrymen, the members of their own local ski-club.

Moreover, a good ski-runner is not seen at his best when acting as a guide, for he has to go slowly, and look after the weaker members of the party, and there is no element of competition to put him on his mettle.

Whatever may be the reason, the fact remains that the average British ski-runner has little or no idea of the superiority of good running to bad as regards safety, comfort, and speed--to say nothing of interest or beauty. He would probably be surprised and somewhat sceptical if told that by learning a good style of ski-ing he would find it possible to do the downhill portion of his tours in about half the time (or less), with half the fatigue, with just as few falls (if he wished to avoid them), and with far less chance of hurting himself when he did fall--for bad style means awkward falls; that he would thus get infinitely more pleasure, interest, and excitement out of his ski-ing, and that, moreover, by going in for jumping he would still further increase all these benefits without increasing his risks.

I hope that by means of this rather rambling discourse I may have managed, not only to show what, in my opinion, are the reasons for the low standard of English ski-ing, but at the same time to implant a conviction of sin in the conscience of the average English ski-runner.

The object of the rest of this book is to show him what, to my thinking, is the way of salvation, and to place the innocent novice in the path of virtue at the very outset.

EQUIPMENT

THE SKI

_The Wood._--Skis are usually made of ash, which is, perhaps, on the whole, a more suitable wood than any other. Hickory is excellent, but is said to be more brittle than ash, and is also heavier. It is, however, but little heavier than the _best_ ash, for in the latter wood lightness means bad quality. The wood must be well seasoned, and as free as possible from knots, especially near the bend and the binding, though small knots which do not extend through the whole thickness of the ski cannot do much harm.

The grain of the wood should be wide and well marked. The way it runs in the ski is most important; it should run parallel with the long axis of the ski throughout its length, above all at the front bend and the binding; for if the grain run out at these points, the ski will be very liable to break there. If anywhere else the grain runs out at all, see that it does so in such a way that the lines on the _side_ of the ski run backwards and downwards (Fig. 1, A), not forwards and downwards (Fig. 1, B).

If the lines of grain on the _sole_ of the ski run across at all instead of parallel to the sides, the ski, when it gets rather worn, will not run straight. If, of a pair of skis, one runs to the right and one to the left, it does not much matter, for in that case the former can be put on the left foot and the latter on the right; they will then merely keep together and hold each other straight.

But if both skis run off to the _same_ side there is nothing to be done, so look carefully at the grain of the sole when choosing them, to see that there is no chance of this (Fig. 2).

There is one more point to be noticed about the arrangement of the grain in the ski.

If you look at the _heel end_ of the ski, you will generally see the grain disposed in vertical lines, as in Fig. 3, B. The ski will not only be stronger and more springy, but will wear better and run faster if cut so that the grain lies horizontally (Fig. 3, C).[1] Fig. 3, A shows a disposition of the grain which is likely to weaken the ski and should be avoided.

The colour of a ski is a matter of taste. Dark colours have the disadvantage of causing the snow which collects on the top of the ski to melt more readily; it may then refreeze and accumulate, forming an unnecessary load of ice.

A dark colour also makes it more difficult to detect faults in the grain, and it is wiser for this reason to buy plain varnished skis, and colour them afterwards if you want them darker.

New skis should be given several coats of boiled linseed oil, each being allowed to sink in before the next is applied. When at last the wood will absorb no more, give it a coat of _raw_ linseed oil; this dries hard, with a surface just rough enough for easy climbing, but slippery enough to make waxing unnecessary, except for the very stickiest snow. The more often skis are oiled, even when in use, the better.

_Dimensions._--When you are standing with your arm stretched at full length above your head, the ski, placed upright, should be at least long enough for its tip to reach the roots of your fingers; it may well reach a few inches beyond the finger-_ends_.

The longer the ski the pleasanter you will find it for straight-running. On a long ski you keep your balance more easily, run more smoothly on rough ground, and keep a straight course with less trouble. A short ski is slightly easier for turning, but if you learn correct methods of turning, the difference is insignificant; and in any case, however much you may twist and turn, you are bound for the greater part of the time to be running straight, and you might as well do so as comfortably as possible.

The ski should be as narrow as possible, hardly more than 2-3/4 inches (7 centimetres) at the narrowest part--_i.e._ where the foot rests on it--even for the biggest man.

If it measures 2-3/4 inches in width at the narrowest part, it should be about 3-3/4 inches wide at the front bend, and just over 3 inches at the heel.

A narrow ski is in every way better than a wide one; the only object of increasing the width of a ski is to make its bearing surface on the snow proportionate to the weight of a heavier man, and so to prevent it from sinking more deeply and therefore running more slowly. But this should be done by increasing the length rather than the width.

The beginner usually imagines that the wider the ski the more easily he will be able to balance on it. This is a great mistake. A narrow ski is far steadier than a wide one for straight running; it is easier for turning, and infinitely more comfortable for moving across a steep slope of hard snow, the diminished leverage putting less strain on the ankles, as the diagram shows.[2]

The thickness of the ski is proportionate to its elasticity and the weight of the runner, being about 1-1/4 inches at the binding and 3/8 inch at the front bend and the heel. A stiff ski runs rather less comfortably than a thinner and more flexible one, but it is safer to choose a ski of ample thickness near the binding, especially if it is to be used for jumping.

The turn up at the front of the ski should begin at about one-fifth of the distance from the tip to the heel end. _It should be very gradual_, for a sudden bend makes the ski run more slowly and far less smoothly. The under side of the tip need not be more than five inches above the ground.

There is a slight upward arch between the front bend and the heel. It should be no more than 3/4 of an inch high at its highest point, below the heel of the boot, only just sufficient to prevent the ski when resting on soft snow from bending downwards in the middle under the weight of the runner. The height of this arch should therefore vary slightly according to the length and stiffness of the ski, and to the runner's weight.

Of course any twist in the ski will prevent it from running true. A simple way of making sure that a ski is free from any such twist is as follows: draw a few lines across its sole, at right angles to a line down the middle of it, and, holding the ski so that a very much fore-shortened view of the sole is obtained, see if all these lines are parallel.

Nothing is more uncomfortable and difficult to run on than a ski which has become warped and has a downward bend in the middle. To prevent this happening and to preserve the upward arch, a pair of skis, when not in use, should be placed sole to sole and bound together at the front bend and the heel, with a block of wood about 1-3/4 inches thick put between them 8 inches or so behind the binding, just where the boot-heel rests on the ski.

Most skis are made with a groove running along the middle of the sole from the front bend to the heel. This groove greatly increases the ski's steadiness in straight-running, and on no account should be omitted. A smooth-soled ski makes turning easier for the runner _who has not learnt the right way to do it_, but this slight advantage by no means compensates for the wobbliness in straight-running which it entails. If you want easy steering, choose extra-_flexible_ skis, but _not_ grooveless or extra-short ones.

Most of the ordinary foot-bindings are fixed to the ski by means of a hole bored from side to side through its thickest part. See that this hole is made almost entirely in the upper half of the ski's thickness, well away from the sole. When lifted by a strap passed through this hole, the ski should point downwards at an angle of about 45 degrees.

In order that they shall be stronger in relation to their weight and less flexible, skis are sometimes made with a convex, instead of a flat upper-surface. The increased stiffness makes them less comfortable for ordinary running but safer for jumping. The convexity should always stop short of the beginning of the front bend.

Fig. 6 shows that it depends on how this convexity is obtained as to whether and how it is an advantage or otherwise. Supposing the wood in each case to be of exactly the same quality, B will obviously be not only stiffer but heavier than A, C will be stiffer but no heavier, D will be equally stiff but lighter. It is evident, then, that one cannot say off-hand that the convex shape is either better or worse than the flat, but only that, _weight for weight_, the convex shape gives greater stiffness and strength, the flat gives more elasticity.

_The Binding._--The question of the binding, by which the ski is fastened to the foot, is a very vexed one; I shall treat it as shortly as I can.

The binding should, if possible, fulfil the following conditions:--

(1) It should be light; (2) should be easily adjusted to fit the boot; (3) should admit of being quickly and easily fastened and unfastened; (4) should be difficult to break and easy to mend; (5) should allow fairly free vertical movement of the foot, but limit its lateral movement enough to make steering easy; (6) should be comfortable, and not likely to injure the runner in case of a fall.

There are innumerable forms of binding on the market, not one of which is absolutely satisfactory in every respect; the choice of a binding is largely a matter of taste. But, though it is not possible to say that any one binding is the best, it is possible to say that certain forms are more generally popular than others. The reader who is not a novice probably knows all there is to be said for and against the more common forms; while to give a long description of several kinds of bindings, setting forth their various good and bad points, would be more likely to confuse a novice than to help him to choose one that suited him. I shall therefore describe one binding only, the Huitfeldt, which is by far the most generally popular one, especially in Norway, and shall show how it answers to the above-mentioned requirements.

The Huitfeldt binding (Fig. 7) consists of an iron, leather-lined toe-piece which is passed through the hole in the ski and bent up at each side; a short strap passing over the toes and connecting the ends of the metal toe-piece; and a long strap which passes through the hole in the ski and round the heel of the boot.

A third strap, which passes under the waist of the boot, prevents the heel-strap from slipping up the side of the foot, as it is sometimes inclined to do when the heel is much raised; and a fourth strap, crossing the foot behind the toe-strap, prevents the heel-strap from slipping under the boot sole at the side. The heel-strap, however, will often be found to keep in place perfectly without these two straps, or, at any rate, without the latter, and in that case there is no object in keeping them on the binding.

The ski is fastened on and taken off without buckling or unbuckling the straps when once they have been properly adjusted. In order to put on the ski, simply push the foot well home between the toe-irons, and then pull the heel-strap up over the boot-heel.

The toe-strap may be quite loose; the heel-strap must be so tight that it is only just possible to force it over the boot-heel.

The toe-irons must be hammered or bent (a heavy screw-wrench is useful for this) to fit the sole of the boot exactly, so that when the boot is pushed home between them the centre of the heel lies in the very middle of the ski. This means that for boots of an ordinary shape the inside toe-iron must be more nearly parallel to the side of the ski than the outside one, as in diagram; otherwise the boot-heel will rest on the inner side of the ski (Fig. 8).

If the toe-irons show any tendency to wobble, small wooden wedges may be driven between them and the side of the cavity in the ski, but by the _sides_ of the toe-irons, not _below_ them, or the ski may split.

The toe-irons should be so adjusted that when the boot is pushed right home the toe only projects a little way beyond the toe-strap (see Fig. 7). If the toe-strap crosses the foot too far back, it does not allow a free enough movement when the heel is raised, and in a fall forward may sprain the foot.

If the fastening fits properly there should be enough freedom to allow the knee just to touch the front of the ski.

In order to prevent the heel-strap from slipping off the boot, the heel of the boot should be made to project at the back, both top and bottom of the projection being rounded to allow of the strap being easily pulled on and off (see Fig. 9, p. 41). This is a better and a simpler arrangement than the strap and buckle at the back of the heel with which ski-boots are often fitted.