How To Ski and How Not To

by Vivian Caulfeild

(2) You can stop more neatly by shifting the weight all at once to the stemming ski, facing towards its point as you do so and instantly bringing round the lower ski—lifting it if you like, or at any rate flattening it—to the side of the upper. This is something between stopping by stemming and stopping by a step round. There is no swing about either process, and although the last may be called a turn because there is a change of front, it cannot be more than a slight one, because one cannot safely point away the upper ski at more than a slight angle.

Apart from the question of speed, with the increase of which the insecurity of any sort of stemming always increases, you cannot, of course, stop in either of these ways if traversing steeply enough for the divergent upper ski to be no longer pointing quite horizontally. You must then do so either (3) by flattening the lower ski, putting half the weight on the upper, holding the divergent position until the consequent steering action brings the upper ski horizontal again, and only then putting the whole weight on it and bringing the other parallel to it—a pure “steered” turn, with the inevitable accompanying drawback of the tendency of the skis to run apart; or (4) by shifting the weight all at once to the stemming ski—facing towards its point as you do so, bringing the other (flattened) quickly parallel to it, and instantly weighting the heels of both (see [p. 131]), when they will turn upwards in side-slipping and come to a standstill. If before you make the turn you only point the stemming ski at a very slight angle away from the other, and if you throw your weight on it and face towards its point as, and not after, you point it outwards, you will, by the method just described, make what, for the sake of distinction, may be called the “steered” Christiania in the best way that it is possible to make it.

In coming to a standstill on a gentle slope from a slow traverse by any of the methods just described, you will find that the practical differences between them are very small indeed; but if running very fast you would find that the first two were impossible, and the third awkward and unsafe, but that by the last (which, as I have said, is practically the same as the method described at the beginning of the chapter) you could, if your balance were good, turn and stop with perfect ease and steadiness. What I have called Christiania stemming, though possible, is of so little practical use that, in that respect, it is hardly worth considering; but to understand how it may be done, and its exact relation to steering, side-slipping, &c., makes it so much easier to master the difficulties of the swing, that I have risked exasperating the reader by describing it at length.

The upshot of all this is that when the Christiania is made in either of the ways so far described in this chapter, whatever steering or divergent stemming there is in it should be reduced to a minimum.

In this turn, by whatever method it is made, the main difficulty—apart from the question of balance—is in getting the turn started. If once the heel of the leading ski can be got fairly outside the track of its point, it is easy enough to keep the turn going. It is the starting of the turn that is the main object of the divergent position of the skis; in fact, although this position produces some steering effect as long as there is any forward motion at all, it produces less and less as the skis move more and more broadside on, and is only really efficient as the turn begins. This divergent position, indeed, although on the whole, I think, the best possible way of starting the swing, becomes more hindrance than help as the turn proceeds, owing to the accompanying tendency, if most of the weight is on the inner ski, for the outer one to run away from it; or, if the outer ski is most weighted, for the inner one to whip round at right angles and cross the other’s heel ([Plate XXXIX.]). You should be careful, therefore, not to let the skis point much apart, and not to let them do so at all for a moment longer than you can help, but as soon as you are sure the steering has done its work thoroughly, and the heel of the front ski has fairly begun to side-slip, should quickly bring the skis parallel, and carry through the rest of the turn simply by weighting both heels.

In the case of an uphill turn made while running fast, you will generally find that the skis can be brought together again almost instantly. The separation of the skis is then almost imperceptible, and no doubt many runners do it quite unconsciously. The skis merely make, as it were, a quick snip, like a pair of scissors.

In order to get the skis parallel, some people find it easier, instead of keeping the outer ski unweighted and pressing its point inwards again, to shift most of the weight back and out on to it, and so thrust its heel outwards. The latter method puts the skis parallel a little more quickly than the former, but is apt to get them rather wide apart in doing so.

The two methods just described are, as I have said, identical in principle; the divergent position of the skis, with its accompanying steering effect, being the main characteristic of each. In each method, moreover—apart from the question of balance—the only muscular effort necessary (which should be very slight) is that of checking and reducing the divergence of the skis; the runner, as soon as the skis are parallel, being carried round without any effort whatever.

A third method—the one usually taught—is quite different in principle, being precisely similar to a skating turn; that is to say, the runner uses the inertia, or rather momentum, of his upper body as a purchase from which, by a muscular effort—though not necessarily a great one—he throws both skis simultaneously more or less athwart the line of his course; the skis remaining parallel throughout and acting practically as one. I said a muscular effort—I ought rather to have said “two muscular efforts,” for the movement which causes the skis to turn, though it may be very slight, and may then appear to the onlooker—and even feel to the expert performer—quite simple, is really a compound one that consists of two distinct parts, and should be learnt as such.