Culture

Like an irresistible drug, racking up new descents keeps ski mountaineers looking for the highest high. Welcome to the brave new world of 8,000 meters and up. —Part 2
By Jay Cowan

Standing on the top of an 8,000-meter peak in the Himalaya or Karakoram is one of the great achievements in climbing. You are on hallowed ground that few on earth will ever touch. You’ve spent days or more in the “death zone” above 26,000 feet where your body is deteriorating just by being there. The sheer physical exertion of chiseling your way upward—foot by punishing foot, over rock and ice and cliffs in temperatures only fit for yetis and lichens—is fully extreme. And on top, having just expended this massive amount of energy and willpower, you still need to have something left in the tank … because now you have to get down.

It may seem like a skiing descent would at least be easier and quicker than on foot, but that’s not always the case. Quicker, yes, but dangerously so. And those who ski above 8,000 meters, who are all athletic beasts, say they are the hardest turns they’ve made in their lives, even on decent snow, which it rarely is. Just keeping your concentration and staying aware and in the moment is difficult when you’re fighting an oxygen-deprived brain and hemoglobin shortages in your blood. And it’s especially sketchy on a 50-degree pitch slathered with wind-rippled ice where one slip can be fatal and each turn requires super-human effort...

(photo by Ilan Adler)

Heavy snowfalls this winter across the Northern Hemisphere led to record avalanches. For the 2018–19 season, the Colorado Avalanche Information Center reported 2,557 observed slides, up 96 percent over the five-year average. The Swiss Avalanche Institute reported that, across Europe, 147 people died in avalanches up to May 13, a 47 percent rise over the 20-year average.

According to etymological dictionaries, “avalanche” first appeared in print in French in the 17th century. It comes from the old French word avaler, meaning “descend” or “go down.” It became the modern verb for “to swallow.” Aval today means “downstream” and derives from the phrase à val, “toward the valley.”
The second half of the word, -anche, is a variation of the common French suffix -ance, from the Latin -antia. The suffix turns a verb into a noun. An English example would be turning deliver into deliverance.

Other Latin-based dialects have similar words: in Savoyard lavantse, in Provençal lavanca and in Romanche avalantze. The related word avalement, meaning “swallowing,” was adopted by Georges Joubert to describe a form of down-unweighting, or upward retraction of the legs—a turn that functions to absorb a roll in the terrain. —Seth Masia

From the moment people figured out they could go downhill on skis and survive, they’ve been trying to be the first to ski from ever-higher mountains. Here are some of the biggest moments in first turns and first descents. By Jay Cowan

When 30-year old Polish ski mountaineer Andrzej Bargiel skied from the summit of K2 in July 2018, it was one of the last and greatest first full descents of the world’s highest peaks. At 28,251 feet in the Karakoram range of northern Pakistan, K2 is the second highest mountain on earth, and arguably the most challenging. To date, fewer than an estimated 450 people have summited it, compared to ten times that many on Mount Everest. And only a handful have been crazy enough to try skiing K2. When it finally happened it was instantly legendary, one of the true highlights of skiing’s longtime obsession with going higher.

Ski mountaineering at this level has evolved into a very specialized pursuit, demanding the best alpine gear and skills, along with extreme physical fitness, in order to survive at the very limits of human endurance: oxygen-thin air, polar temperatures and brutal winds, on slopes that are mostly insane. This isn’t some groomed black diamond at your local hill. Conditions vary from concrete sastrugi whitecaps to steep sheets of sheer ice, on gnarly couloirs and exposed faces, in the shadows of seracs, and across snowfields stitched with crevasses. 
Bargiel, who soloed the climb and descent without oxygen, made one 150-foot rappel with his skis on at the top of the Bottleneck, where other skiers have died. “I’m very happy that I managed to ski down … safely … To be honest it was my second attempt, so I’m glad that I won’t be coming here again,” he declared at the base afterwards. This kind of ski mountaineering is clearly not about simple transportation or pleasure. It’s about constantly pushing the boundaries of yourself and the sport. But that wasn’t the reason high-altitude skiing began.

Once skiers started going downhill and liking it, they sought longer runs on higher mountains. As Lou Dawson notes in his seminal book Wild Snow (American Alpine Book Series, 1997), the early history of first descents in America often went unrecorded. That was also more or less true in the rest of the world. In Europe, those who first introduced skiing to their communities made many of the first descents and inspired others. But they didn’t start keeping close track of them until the skiing was combined with serious climbing and became part of a culture that noted, and celebrated, such things...

Next winter, the U.S. Ski and Snowboard Hall of Fame will induct up to eight new honored members, selected from a ballot of 15 nominees. But the ballot of 15 was chosen from a list of 71 skiers nominated by their friends and family. It took two rounds of voting, by a selection committee of 25 chaired by Jeff Leich of the New England Ski Museum, to break ties. Fewer than 11 percent of those nominated will be chosen by the electorate, numbering about 365 ski-sport veterans. The odds are long, and not likely to improve.

The field wasn’t always this crowded. Long-time ski-show promoter and Hall of Famer Bernie Weichsel recalls that when he was elected chairman in 2009, “We had to beg people to submit nominations. The Hall simply wasn’t very well known.”

Between 1985 and 2008, there were 14 years when the Hall found four or fewer inductees. At that point the selection committee instituted new criteria, and nominations began to grow after 2011, when the Hall partnered with ISHA for a gala event in Sun Valley. By organizing a reunion of professional freestyle skiers, Weichsel boosted attendance at the Hall’s induction banquet to about 600, and drew national attention. Weichsel also promoted the Hall at trade shows and ski resorts. One result: Baby boomers in the ski business began nominating their friends.

During his tenure on the selection committee (beginning around 2005), U.S. Ski Team communications chief Tom Kelly made sure that champion athletes got nominated. That’s a rich source: With the addition of freestyle and snowboarding to the FIS schedule, and new events in alpine and nordic competition, the number of medalists and World Cups has tripled. For instance, at the 1984 Olympics, American skiers won five medals of 87 available (5.7 percent). In 2018, Americans took home 14 medals of 255 awarded (5.4 percent). That’s triple the number of medalists who will eventually find their way into the Hall of Fame. Pro freestylers and prominent snowboarders also build the count of Hall nominees.
According to newly elected Hall chairman David Ingemie, the board of directors wants to limit nominations to people with national, as opposed to regional, influence. Another challenge is that people who are well known for leading large organizations—corporate executives, for instance—tend to pull more votes than innovators, regardless of their universal influence, who worked behind the scenes. For them, the odds are long indeed.

—Seth Masia

A new coalition of volunteers, ski areas and landowners team up nationwide to restore historic ski trails—and launch a backcountry movement. By Jeremy Davis

The power of the people is gaining traction deep within the hardwood glades of New England, and spreading to the backcountry nationwide. Nonprofit groups, passionate skiers, landowners and ski areas are moving beyond traditional rivalries to band together to reopen historic trails.

New England is full of such remnants of its skiing past. More than 600 rope-tow and lift-served areas have closed in the past 80 years, along with downhill trails unserved by lifts. The Granite Backcountry Alliance (GBA), based in northern New Hampshire, is part of a new movement that’s looking to skiing’s past as a path to its future. The GBA, 400 members strong, recently resuscitated the long-lost Maple Villa Trail, in Intervale, N.H., on the outskirts of North Conway.

Though the unofficial hub of this trail reclamation phenomenon is anchored in the history rich—and therefore opportunity rich—mountains of New England, just about anywhere there are skiers, there are historic trails being rebooted—or at the very least, backcountry skiers banding together to preserve access to popular routes...

The cover of New Love Magazine (February 1948) celebrated the intimacy of riding uphill on the relatively new T-bar, famously known as a He-and-She Stick Artist: Gloria Stoll Karn.

By John Fry

Skiing was a perfect milieu for boy-meets-girl 60 years ago. Four out of seven men and three out of four women were single. Apres-ski they united in in bars redolent with beer and cigarette smoke, or in farmhouse sitting rooms. But during day the prime socializing took place in the lift line. Here skiers routinely waited for 30 minutes and as long as an hour on a holiday weekend -- plenty of time to talk, observed ski writer Morten Lund, “to meet a member of the opposite sex, get infatuated, engaged and plan the wedding.”

The chances of agreeable encounters vastly amplified when ski areas replaced rope tows and J-bars with T-bars, known as “he and she sticks.” Especially desirable was a wobbly track, or one that slanted across the fall line, since it brought the riders into greater physical intimacy.

Even one the T-bar’s drawbacks could be turned to social advantage. If a tall and a short person were paired, their unequal heights would cause one or the other to fall off. Consequently, the lift attendant sought to pair people of equal height, a dimension that also happens to work well in long-term relationships. The notoriously short Dr. Ruth Westheimer, who skied at Belleayre in New York’s Catskill Mountains, was in the liftline one day awaiting a suitable rider to go with. Eventually, a shortish man showed up, and they rode up together. He later became Dr. Ruth’s husband.

The boy-meets-girl opportunities absolutely shot ahead in the 1950s with the switch from single to double-seater chairlifts. Instead of sitting silently alone wondering how to meet the gorgeous gal he’d seen in the liftline, a fellow could now actually sit next to one on the chair. For the skilful Romeo, a 10-minute ride  was more than enough time to inveigle a gal into joining a beer and ski songfest at the end of the day.

Alas, the opportunities for intimate conversation have lessened as lift riding time has shortened, and the number of chair occupants has grown from three to four, to six and even to eight skiers and snowboarders. Not a few of them may have pulled their dating-app equipped IPhones out of their parka pocket, seeking a date.

In a talk to Park City's annual forum on leadership, Vail chairman/CEO Rob Katz explained his take on running North America's largest ski resort enterprise. Katz is an impressive guy, but his take on leadership focuses 100% on internal corporate culture. He offers no discussion of leadership for the communities in which Vail swings so much economic, social and political weight. What does this say about his worldview? Click here to see the one-hour video, including an interview by Park City's Myles Rademan.

Getting dragged across the snow by horses, planes, reindeer and dogs is a unique sport that’s at least 1,000 years old.

By Jay Cowan

Skijoring, one of skiing’s oldest activities, has become one of the latest feel-good winter sports. If you’re doing the popular dog-powered variation—whether pulled around a cross-country track by your own fleet of Corgis, or using huskies supplied by an outfitter—you’re enjoying a recreation that dates back at least 1,000 years. 

The term “skijoring” comes from the Norwegian snørekjøring and means “ski driving.” Rock art in Scandinavia shows humans skiing as early as the 5^th century AD. Later, there are depictions of skiers being pulled by elk (likely while being captured) and reindeer, possibly domesticated. The first written record of what we define as skijoring comes from the Altai Mountains of central Asia, via a Persian historian, Raschid ed-Din. He wrote in the 1200s AD, citing earlier use of skijoring from historical records of the Tang Dynasty (618 to 907 AD). ...

Two of the world’s most popular adventure sports have inspired and influenced each other for more than half a century. By Jay Cowan

LIFE magazine was likely the first national publication to recognize surfing’s impact on skiing, and it wasn’t favorable. In the issue dated March 12, 1965, the editors ran a feature headlined, “Aspen’s Awful Surfer Problem.” The story described Aspen as “one of the toniest ski resorts in the country—until the surfers arrive. Then the town fills with youngsters…there’s wild skiing and wilder parties rock the nights. These surfers-turned-skiers are a new breed on the slopes.”

While the story insisted “the new invasion makes Aspen very unhappy,” it gave skiing the same glamorous national spotlight that was already making surfing explode. Skiing grew in popularity among surfers—and also attracted people who had never considered either sport, but wanted to try something sexy and fun. 

Snow riding and wave riding have many of the same followers who pursue both passions with one love. Soulful sports that employ water as their medium—on liquid waves or frozen slopes—both are artistic expressions of freedom in exciting and beautiful places. And the lifestyles can be alluringly hedonistic. 

Of course, not all the surfer/skiers were “bums” and “vagabonds,” as the Life story labeled them. Joey Cabell from Hawaii was one of the most famous surfers of the 1960s. He started skiing at 19 in Alta and moved to Aspen in 1960 to take up ski racing. “In the early ’60s, Europeans still dominated the Aspen ski scene,” he told me. “And we weren’t what they were used to. But as long as crossovers with [skiing] exist, surfers will be there.” ...

The sleek modern skiwear look, it’s typically thought, originated suddenly in 1952 with the Bavarian designer Maria Bogner’s use of Helanca-modified nylon and wool blend to create the first durable stretch pant. (See “50th Anniversary of Stretch Pants,” September 2002, Skiing Heritage.) But the body-hugging ski look was arguably more of an evolution than a revolution, as the pictures accompanying this article show. Bogner’s revolution had as much to do with wildly varied colors replacing blacks and greys. 

Even before World War II—a period associated in North American minds with skiers wearing wool sweaters and cloth jackets, and baggy trousers with socks pulled over the bottoms—a slim aerodynamic look was underway...