Did you grow up in a skiing family? Did you race? How did you learn to ski?
Part one:
I have a sense of deja vu answering this question, as I am certain that there was a similar discussion on the old forum. Oh well, start afresh.
I grew up in Montreal, and got my start skiing at Mt Beaconsfield, our name for the hill at the local golf course where YMCA instructors gave lessons on Saturdays. My parents made a few attempts at skiing but were definitely not skiers. However, my oldest sister got the bug from her husband's family and my older brother got into it through some friends and a desire to meet girls.
My parents did support the habit, though, and for my first lessons at age 10 or so, I had lace-up boots and some snazzy Arlberg skis, with screwed-on edges and cable bindings. We herringboned and side-stepped up the damn fairway and learned how to snowplow and stem christie. My brother did bring me along on a few outings to some of the closer hills in the Laurentians, like Mt. Avila and St. Sauveur.
The turning point in my life as a skier was when my parents let me join a ski club called The Ravens (I still have a hat). For 10 Saturdays every winter, busses would collect kids from all over the Montreal area and take them to Jay Peak, VT, where "lessons" would occur. I put the word in quotes because for the most part, lessons meant that a group of younger kids spent the day skiing around the mountain with an older kid (AKA instructor). To be fair, the beginner classes were fairly structured but as you progressed, the days became a lot more experiential. My brother was an instructor, though I never was in his class. The instructors were primarily university-aged, and remembering that this was the early 70s, there were a few freaks in the crowd. Like Alex, who made his own ski boots out of Bondo and fibreglass. He also had the bright idea to set up slalom gates on the face of the Green Beret, a run some of might be familiar with. We dutifully hiked up and skied the gates on a fine spring day.
More later, got to go...
Back again, part 2:
I was in Ravens for four or five seasons and for the last winter, had an instructor named Mark. Mark and his family still ski at Jay, and it is fun to reminisce about what little we remember. With any luck, all we Canadians will be able to return to Jay next winter and get back at it. There were four of us in Mark's class and he took us everywhere, including "the woods." That was what we called glades back then and you could lose your lift ticket for skiing there. Times have changed.
For me, racing was an excuse to go skiing. I somehow qualified for our high school race team and always enjoyed the look on a teacher's face when they signed the note allowing you to miss class and go skiing. One run and you were done, ski free the rest of the day.
Once in university, location and budget cramped my skiing style. I did, however, learn about nordic skiing from a misplaced American, and discovered that a lot of fun could be had on the misery sticks without spending any money. This eventually led to brief career as a nordic ski instructor and my introduction to the telemark turn in the era of leather boots and three-pin bindings. Telemarking became my go-to mode for the 80s and early 90s.
After we moved to the Hinterlands in the early 90s, a whole new world opened up. Backcountry exploration on early metal edged fishscale skis, a three-season stint as a snowboarder, better tele gear and new alpine stuff. I reconnected with Telemark Dave (who I had met in the 80s at tele race events), started searching for local pow and we eventually got into making our own glades. Meanwhile, we still would head down to Jay a few times every winter, ski with family and keep exploring that fantastic mountain. A few winters ago, I was honoured to share it with some origianl NYBSers at the "Northeast Ski Blogger Summit," well documented on the old forum and elsewhere.
This past winter, I did not ride a lift and just stuck close to home. Poking around in the local woods was as far as I wanted to go. Hopefully next season will bring the return of a little travel.
I've left a lot out, but that is my erratic ski history.
