It is a curious coincidence, if nothing more, that in Canada it is the regular thing for ski-ers to do their cross-country running without sticks, and that in Canada, and nowhere else, an Anglo-Saxon (Barney Reilly) has already done some first-rate jumping.
About the special dangers of ski-running a word or two may be useful. The risk of injury from falling on snow is not very great, and there is not much danger of any one but a lunatic dropping over a precipice in an unknown country, or dashing at full speed into a solid obstacle, instead of adopting the simple device of falling down before he reaches it, if he cannot manage to turn. I have never heard of anything worse than a broken leg (which is no doubt quite bad enough) resulting from a fall in snow. The kind of snow most likely to lead to injury is not hard, icy snow, as the beginner generally fancies, but deep soft snow, especially if covered by a breakable crust; for in this the skis may plunge beneath the surface, and, getting jammed, may throw a strain on the foot or leg.
But even here the runner whose style is good is not very likely to hurt himself, even when going fast, if his binding fits properly; it is the stick-rider with his feet level and skis apart who gets the most awkward falls. In jumping, owing to the firmness of the surface, there is hardly any danger at all.
The real danger of injury in ski-running does not consist so much in the nature of the injury itself as in the fact that it may leave the runner incapable of movement in a dangerous situation.
If he is far from shelter he may be badly frost-bitten before he can be got home—therefore the more spare clothing he carries the better.
If he is alone, he will be lucky if he gets home at all—and any one who thoroughly realises this will think twice before he goes ski-ing by himself without saying where he is going.
The advantage of carrying a map and compass, and of knowing how to use them in case of losing one’s way, is obvious. It is not only the mountaineer but the ordinary tourist who is exposed to this danger, for even the latter should remember that when once he is above the tree-line a snow-storm or a fog may make it impossible for him to find his way for ten yards by eye alone.
In thick snow or fog nothing is visible except a blank whiteness. When the fog or falling snow are thin, objects which are darker than the snow (rock, trees, &c.) may be visible for some distance, but all light and shade disappears in the snow itself, all tracks, holes, and irregularities in its surface become quite invisible, and it is then impossible, in a bare tract of snow, for the runner to tell whether the ground in front of him goes downhill, uphill, or level.
Even an overcast sky causes this curious absence of light and shade; and then, though the main landmarks may be visible, and there may be no danger of getting lost, running becomes exceedingly difficult and uncomfortable, perhaps even dangerous, for the snow on the edge of a precipice or steep drop, when seen from above, is apparently continuous with the snow at the foot of it.