By DAVID KITTREDGE
Renaissance Redneck
Back in the early 1960s I decided that I wanted to learn to ski. My father, being a frugal man, told me that I was welcome to use his use his skis. No, the skis were not barrel staves and canning jar rubbers, but close to it. I was grateful and proud to be able to use my dad’s equipment, though it was designed for a much taller person. Even when buying a new set of skis in those days you would be fitted by holding your arm straight up, bending your wrist downward and the properly sized ski would just touch your hand. His uninsulated leather boots had squared off toe sections and were much too big for me so we stuffed newspaper into the toes of the boots to fill in the void. The ski poles had huge hoops at the bottom which were about eight inches in diameter. The wooden skis had no metal edges and the bindings were rudimentary with a metal toe hold, leather straps and springs that snapped in around the heel of the boot. The bindings had no release mechanism to eject your skis if you fell down. These skis and bindings were bought in the late ‘40s before the release type Marker bindings were invented in 1952.
I started skiing in a neighbor’s pasture, having to herringbone up the hill that was dotted with juniper bushes. The herringbone maneuver not only provided a means to enable you to climb up a slope but it also tamped down the snow to create a path to ski on. To herringbone you point the tips of your skis outward at a 45-degree angle and you commence to step forward up the inclined slope and if that does not work when the slope becomes too steep you turn both your skis perpendicular to the slope and side step your way upward. This I would do throughout the day skiing straight down between shrubbery.
The next year I received a new pair of wooden skis with metal edges, a pair of insulated lace up boots, and poles. Arrowhead Skiway was still under construction so the alternative was to ski at the Claremont Country Club golf course. Just off Charlestown Road there was a slope used for skiing that had a rope tow. The rope tow was a contraption that was powered by an old diesel motor and the system had a couple of pulleys through which ran a continuous 1-inch diameter hemp rope that you would grab onto as it was moving and you would your clamp right arm down onto the rope for extra holding power. You would slide the loops of your ski poles onto your left arm and let them dangle as you were pulled up the slope. After employing the herringbone method to clamor uphill the previous year I perceived the rope tow as being the epitome of engineering excellence.
Finally in my third year of skiing Arrowhead Skiway opened for business and my parents bought me a season pass. The facility had a beautiful A-framed lodge, multiple trails and a Poma lift. The Poma lift consisted of a metal bar with a plastic disc attached to the bottom and the upper end of the bar was attached to a cable. To use this lift you had to place the metal bar between your legs and snug the plastic disc up against your rump and you would be whisked uphill. I perceived this lift as another echelon of modern technology as compared to the rope tow of the previous year which, although it was a great aid in propelling one uphill, tore your ski gloves up after a couple of days of use.
My first morning at Arrowhead I stayed on the wide expanse of the bottom practice slope and was able to ski uneventfully. That afternoon I met up with a school chum and he tried to coax me into going to the top of the mountain with him. I explained that I was quite comfortable skiing on the practice slope as I was not very good at turning on my skis still. I had not ever taken skiing lessons. He then countered that we could use the novice slope, which he explained meant beginners slope and further explained that there was nothing to it, easy peasy. I still was not convinced.
He then uttered those abominable words, “What are you? Chicken?” I bristled and replied “No way” and proceeded to follow him up to the top of the hill on the lift. Once at the top we started our flight downward and at the first corner I panicked, did not turn and ended up in the woods as I was not good at stopping yet either.
After skiing off-piste I decided to walk down the trail with my skis on my shoulder until I reached the relative safety of the practice slope where I stepped into my bindings and proceeded down hill toward the line of skiers in the lift line.
For some reason the designers of the ski area had a safety fence installed that separated the line of waiting skiers from the actual skiing area. For some reason I panicked again and I forgot to try to turn or stop and skied right on through the wooden fence, across peoples skis and I never stopped until I hit the bare asphalt of the parking lot. I looked back and people were shouting and waving their ski poles at me with no apparent concern for my health and well being. Luckily for me the narrow planks on the fence were nailed to the backside of the posts otherwise I might have had to hitch a ride to the hospital in an ambulance. Later when I explained what had happened to my parents they then decided that it was probably time for some skiing lessons.
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