As soon as you have acquired a moderate proficiency in the various manoeuvres that have been described, you should have little difficulty in getting through a run quickly and comfortably without feeling any temptation to use your stick when once the descent has begun.

The following hints may help you when you go for an expedition:—

In the first place, be sure, especially if you are going far, that you are taking everything you can possibly want—spare clothing, food, dark glasses, wax and rag, knife, sealskin, climbing-irons, repair outfit, map, compass, lantern, matches, &c., if you decide that any or all of these things are necessary.

If the first part of the climb is along a beaten path, it will probably save time to cover that on foot. You can then either drag the skis after you by a string tied to the holes in their tips, or can carry them. Most people eventually prefer the latter method.

The best way of carrying the skis is to place them sole to sole (tie them so if you like), and then either to rest them almost horizontally on the shoulder, points forward, and hold them near the bend, or to lean them nearly upright against the shoulder, points up, and, with the arm hanging almost straight, to hold them by the heel ends (Plates LVIII. and LIX.).

They can also be carried by a sling from the shoulder, a convenient plan if any scrambling is to be done.

If you are climbing the hill by the route that you mean to follow during the run down, you should take every opportunity of making observations which will be useful to you later on, and will enable you to make the descent as quickly and easily as possible.

Try to plan out exactly how you will take the run down.

Notice all the peculiarities of the ground and snow, and fix in your head the principal landmarks. But remember that the ground will look very different when approached from above, and therefore keep on looking backwards at what you have passed.

Pay particular attention to the points where the angle of the slope changes, in order that when from above you are running towards an invisible piece of steeper ground, you may have the clearest possible idea of what to expect.

The actual climbing will at first give you a good deal to think of.

The ordinary procedure, when several ski-runners are climbing a hill, is for one to lead and the rest to walk in his track in single file.

If the snow is soft and deep the leader’s work may be very exhausting, and each of the party will have to take his turn.

If you are leading, make your tacks as long as possible to avoid wasting time in kick-turns. Remember all that has been said about adjusting your course to the contour of the hill so that you mount at a steady gradient which is too steep for no one in the party, about not side-stepping unnecessarily, and so on. And never, without good reason, attempt to hurry.

If you are not leading, and if the leader is a competent person, you will not have much to think of. If he is not, you may find following him a tiresome business.

If it is really difficult to do so (not merely irritating), don’t dream of suffering in silence, but complain at once, and if he is so stupid or inconsiderate as to persist in his misdeeds, make a new track for yourself.

Don’t be at all disturbed if you find yourself being left behind, but keep on steadily at your own pace.

If you make a halt and take your skis off, clean them thoroughly at once, and see that their soles are neither wet nor warm when you put them on again. If you are likely to feel cold (and you are likely as a rule), put on spare clothing as soon as you stop, not after you feel chilly.

Wax your skis thoroughly before starting the run down if the snow is sticky, or is likely to be so lower down; and remember to button up your pockets, or you may find at the bottom of the hill that snow has either taken the place of, or ruined their contents.

I have so far attempted no description of the snow itself. It varies infinitely in consistency, but considerably less so in appearance, and for this reason it is often impossible for the runner to be sure of the quality of the snow in front of him until his skis actually touch it.

This latter fact adds considerably to the difficulty of ski-running when patches of different slipperiness occur at short intervals. The worst kind of patchy snow consists of a hard and slippery ice-crust in the hollows of which finely powdered wind-blown snow has accumulated; fortunately in this case the difference is generally visible, the slow powdery snow being perfectly white and the ice-crust rather greyer. The safest way of negotiating snow of this sort while running straight has already been explained.

For practical purposes the ski-runner may consider the snow to be of three distinct varieties according to the consistency of its surface: viz. soft snow, hard snow, and breakable crust. There is no real division between these varieties, each melting into the other by imperceptible gradations; but, where the quality of the snow falls clearly under one of these headings, the runner will be obliged to use certain definite methods of turning and stopping, unless he is either a thorough expert, or a stick-rider of the worst kind. For, as I have already said, the former can make any kind of swing in almost any kind of snow, while the latter has only one method of turning, viz. that of dragging himself to one side or the other by means of his stick, carefully preserving while he does so his normal running position, with the knees well bent and the skis level, parallel, and a yard or so apart, which manoeuvre he calls making a stemming curve or a Christiania swing, according as the turn has been a downhill or an uphill one.

Assuming, then, that you belong to neither of these classes, you will have to know how to adapt the means of turning to the quality of the snow. It should be fairly obvious from the descriptions of the different swings how this is to be done.

In deep loose snow make all your turns, whether downhill or uphill, by means of the Telemark swing.

On hard snow, whether quite bare or covered by a very shallow layer of loose snow, make your downhill curves by means of the stemming turn, and use the Christiania swing for turning uphill.

In breakable crust, if it is very thin, you may find it possible to turn or stop with the Telemark. If this is out of the question you will have to jump or step round.

Of course soft snow may be so dense that the ski sinks into it but little (as in the case of watery spring snow); you will find it just as easy to make stemming turns and Christianias in this as to make Telemarks—perhaps even easier.

In the same way the layer of loose snow on a crust may be deep enough to allow Telemarks to be made as steadily as the other turns.

A breakable crust, too, may be so thin as to be hardly perceptible, or so thick that only some extra pressure (which occurs when a swing is made) will make it give way; but, generally speaking, you will find that you are limited to one method or the other—if you want to run with the maximum of steadiness.

Evidently, then, the Telemark is at least as generally useful as the other two turns to the moderately skilful runner who does not rely on the help of his stick. Yet most English runners undoubtedly look upon it as a pretty trick of no practical value, and never attempt it during a run.

It is quite certain, however, that a man who can make a Telemark swing with fair steadiness on a hard and slippery practice-ground (and the average runner can do this) will find it far easier to do so in the soft loose snow which is, fortunately, the variety most commonly met with during a run.

And if he can make the swing to the left, he is certainly capable of learning to make it to the right, and of turning downhill with it as well as uphill.

But if the runner only learns the Telemark to the left and the Christiania to the right, as most people are content to do, it will be a long time before he can rely on them during a run; for only the thorough expert can make both these swings with steadiness and certainty in any kind of snow, especially if his speed be high or the slope steep.

With the Christiania in particular it is exceedingly difficult, if the snow is unsuitable, to make a downhill turn, and by no means easy to make an uphill one.

The stemming turn, which is the only one attempted during a run by the average runner (I say “attempted” advisedly, for an examination of his track will seldom reveal much trace of actual stemming), is even more difficult to make in unsuitable snow than the Christiania.

The most important thing for you to remember when you first begin to make practical use of the swings, &c., while on a run, is that if you wish to fall as little as possible, you should never attempt to turn or stop while running at all fast.

If you run with judgment you can always avoid having to do this.

Suppose, for instance, that you find yourself approaching the edge of a steep slope; if your course is clear and the slope has an easy outrun on to level or nearly level ground, by all means run straight down; for at the bottom you will either run to a standstill or will slow up enough to be able to turn easily if necessary.

If, however, there is no clear outrun at the bottom of the slope, or if there are obstacles in your path, don’t dream of dashing straight over the edge and trying to turn off lower down, which you will certainly fail to do, but either stem, snow-plough, or side-slip straight down the slope, or turn off at once and take it in zigzags, making a downhill turn at the end of each tack by whatever method the quality of the snow demands. And unless you run each tack at a very gentle gradient indeed, you should take the further precaution of slowing up by turning slightly uphill before beginning each downhill turn.

To check the pace by making an uphill swing is a much neater and easier way of doing it than by stemming with the lower foot; the latter is a process which, when the ground is open, you need seldom use if you have a moderate command of the swings, though among obstacles—in dense wood and the like—you may often find it necessary to have recourse to it.

The means you use for making this preliminary uphill turn will depend, of course, on the quality of the snow, just as in the case of the downhill one.

Fig. 47 shows what turns to use in order to run in zigzags through snow of the three different qualities. The downhill turns should be made as shortly and sharply as possible, in order to prevent the pace from becoming unmanageable in the middle of them.

If on account of the nature of the ground you decide to run straight down a steep slope instead of taking it in zigzags, you must, of course, be ready to drop into Telemark position for any sudden undulations or difficult snow.

Remember that the quality of the snow depends to a great extent on the direction in which the slope faces.

On slopes with a north aspect, especially if they are steep, the snow gets little or no sun, and is generally soft and easy, though even here it may sometimes get crusted by very strong winds or by frost after a warm wind or rain.

On slopes which face south the snow is exposed to the rays of the sun—more or less directly according to the steepness of the slope and the time of year. During the day, therefore, the surface of the snow melts, freezing at night into a crust, and when the sun goes off these south slopes they are, as a rule, perfectly hard and icy, though when the sun is full on them they may become so soft that you will find it difficult to use any turn except the Telemark.

The most difficult snow occurs on slopes which face a little south of east or west, and on due south slopes when the sun is just beginning to strike them, or is going off them; for then the hard crust generally becomes more or less breakable.

If you get these facts about the snow well into your head, it will be a great help to you during a run.

You will very likely find that one kind of turn comes easier than another, and at first, when your principal object is to run steadily and avoid falls as far as you can, your safest plan will be to shape your course so as to make most of your turns by the method that you find easiest. If you thoroughly understand the conditions which affect the quality of the snow, you will know where to look for that kind of snow which suits your favourite method of turning, and what places to avoid for the probable unsuitability of their surface.

Do not forget that what is true of the main slopes is also true of their minor features. On slopes facing east or west, for instance, each small undulation has its north and south side, the surface of which is affected by sun and frost in just the same way as the main slopes facing in that direction. If you remember this you will often, when running across a slope whose general surface is difficult, be able to find small patches of snow on the sides of the undulations in which you can turn quite easily.

When beginning the run down always make up your mind before you start how you mean to negotiate that part of the hill which is visible. If some way ahead the ground becomes steeper, so as to be invisible, and you do not know what it is like, don’t run at a high speed to where the slope changes, but approach it in zigzags, or at any rate slowly, in case you should find it necessary to turn off or stop at the edge of the steeper slope. By doing this you will preclude the possibility of dropping over a precipice on unknown ground.

As soon as you can see what was hidden from you, plan out, without stopping if possible, the next visible piece of your course in the same way.

There is one difficulty about steering among obstacles which it may be as well to mention.

Suppose you are running down or across a slope with a tree straight ahead of you which you mean to avoid when fairly close to it, by swinging, say, to the left.

As you already know, you must, at the beginning of any turn, lean forwards, perhaps even a little outwards, never inwards. Now, if there were no tree in front of you, you would probably have no difficulty whatever in making the turn, but the fear of running into the tree will at first be almost certain to make you lean away from it as you begin the turn—that is, backwards and to the left. You will then, if you don’t fall down at once, at any rate fail to turn sharply, and so will probably do exactly what you were trying to avoid, viz. run into the tree.

Àpropos of trees, let me remind you that turns are mainly for steering, and that therefore, except just at first, they should be practised where steering is necessary—i.e. among trees or other obstacles. Unless you take every opportunity of practising them there, they will be of little real use to you. You should soon be able to make downhill turns on any open slope with ease, and will soon afterwards cease to find much fun in doing so, but there is no end to the difficulty and therefore the interest of turning quickly among obstacles, and anyone who is or wishes to be a good ski-er will not be happy unless he gets plenty of wood-running. Nor, for much the same reasons, will he be contented without plenty of bad and difficult snow, a fact which you should lay to heart at the outset.

I have already said that when running fast on ground that is covered with hard ski-tracks, you should try to avoid crossing them at a narrow angle. You will sometimes find that you want to run a traverse on a slope closely covered with hard parallel tracks, leading exactly the way you want to go and steeply enough to make running in them extremely unsteady. Your best plan here is to run almost or quite directly downhill across them for a short distance, and then to turn upwards with a Christiania and make a longish traverse at a less steep angle than the tracks; your low speed then enabling you to cross them at a narrow angle in safety. By repeating this process you will reach the point to which the tracks lead almost as quickly and far more comfortably than by following them. To make alternate direct descents and gradual traverses in this way is also convenient when you would otherwise have to run a steep stemming traverse.

By paying careful attention to all the above points you should soon be able to run safely and steadily, and to get down any ordinary hill with few or no falls. This also means that you will accomplish the descent in pretty quick time, provided that you never stop if you can possibly help it, and that after a fall you get up without either hurrying or dawdling.

This kind of running makes no great demands on your skill, and still less on your nerve. Its main object is the avoidance of falls, and at first this should certainly be your sole aim. But if you wish to become a really good runner you should not allow it to remain so for long.

The first-rate runner has absolute command of the various swings, &c., and can stop suddenly or dodge among obstacles at a pretty high speed with perfect steadiness (at very high speeds it is impossible to turn or stop suddenly; the curve of the swing is then bound to be more or less long and gradual). He never turns or stops if he can help it, however, but runs everything as straight as he can, and at the highest possible speed.

There is not the least doubt that to take a hill in this way not only demands the utmost skill, but gives the greatest pleasure that ski-running, pure and simple, can afford.

It is not unusual to hear a man who never takes the easiest slope without constant zigzagging, say that he does so because he prefers going slowly and spinning out the run to dashing down in a quarter of the time. He infers, if he does not actually say, that the fear of speed has nothing to do with his choice.

You may be nearly sure that the man who talks in this way is inferring, if not telling, a lie, though very likely unconsciously. I used to say the same myself, and did not realise for some time that every ski-runner, whatever he may say or think, runs just as fast as he dares.

I don’t for a moment mean to say that there is anything to be ashamed of in being afraid of going fast. Indeed, the man who realises and openly admits that he is afraid, and who refuses to attempt anything which puts a great strain on his nerve, is very likely a more reasonable and admirable person than the one who gradually becomes a better runner simply through being ashamed of admitting his cowardice even to himself. I only want to impress upon you that the sine qua non of fine ski-running is speed, and that if you want to become a fine runner, you must be always trying to take things faster and faster. One reason why jumping is such an excellent training for the ski-runner is that it accustoms him to running at the greatest possible speed, and to falling occasionally while doing so.

To pay no particular attention to anything but straight running and speed from the first is of course absurd, for if you do this you will fall about hopelessly when any steering is necessary, and the most miserable stick-riding zigzagger will be down a hill long before you.

First of all, practise all the turns until you can make them with steadiness, for the special purposes and on the particular snow to which they are best adapted.

If you are weak in any turn, practise that one especially, not only on the practice-ground, but during a run.

To do the latter will, of course, add considerably to the number of your falls during a run, but it is the only way to improve, and you should never, except at the very outset, or for some special reason, be too anxious not to fall.

The boast of having accomplished a run without a single fall is usually sufficient to stamp the utterer of it as either a novice or a nervous person, who has negotiated his whole run in the easiest possible way. A very moderate runner, if he chooses, can thus avoid falling easily enough; but if he wishes to become a better one, he is bound to take chances, where an unambitious or timid one would play for safety.

Do not forget, however, that if to boast of not falling lays you open to suspicion in one way, to boast of falling stamps you infallibly in another.

After you can make all the turns pretty well in the snow which is easiest for each, begin to practise them in difficult snow. When you can make them while running at a moderate speed, try to do so at higher and higher speeds.

You can then practise running with the same foot leading the whole time, and make only Telemarks one way and Christianias the other; if you find this easier with the right foot leading, run always with the left foot leading until that comes just as easy.

Do your utmost, in short, to improve your steering in every possible way, and then try to run everything as straight and fast as ever you can.

I don’t, of course, mean that you are to become a past master at swinging and turning before you try to run straight and fast, for the two things can be practised together. But steering must come first, and until you can steer as well with your long grooved ski and without the help of the stick as the most redoubtable Lilienfeld stick-rider with his short smooth skis, you must give much more attention to that than to speed.

Your ultimate aim must, as I have already said, be to run in the utmost safety, with the utmost skill (i.e. with the least effort) and at the utmost speed; but if ever, as in a race, speed is almost your sole object, remember the following facts:—

Apart from the question of obstacles, the quickest way to get down a hill is of course to run freely straight down it.

The second quickest way is a free direct descent checked at intervals by uphill swings, so that the speed never becomes high enough to be difficult.

The third quickest way is a direct stemming (Telemark, snow-plough, or side-slip) descent, and not, as most people imagine, a free descent by tacks and downhill turns. The latter method takes more skill and less effort, but is a great deal slower.

To sum up, let me advise you to take in succession each of the following series of “Don’ts” as your guiding maxim when learning cross-country running:—

(1) Don’t fall (but stem, kick-turn, and stop ad lib.).

(2) Don’t stop (i.e. stem ad lib., but make no kick-turns).

(3) Don’t stem (but make as gradual tacks as you like, and check the pace when necessary by uphill swings).

(4) Don’t slow up before turning downhill.

(5) Don’t—if you can safely avoid it—turn at all.

When you can accomplish a run without falling or stopping, you may consider yourself a third-rate cross-country runner, being quite safe and not too slow.

When you can do so without falling, stopping, or stemming, your running will be sufficiently safe, fast, and in particular effortless, to be called second-rate.

When you can manage most of your run without either falling, stopping, stemming, or turning, you may be quite pleased with yourself.

The last sentence suggests a further word of advice.

It is seldom reasonable to feel very proud of one’s running, but it is often the greatest help to pretend to do so.

If after taking all possible pains to learn any manoeuvre you still find a difficulty in doing it, try the effect of imagining yourself rather a desperate fellow—a careless, skilful, dashing person who has done this sort of thing all his life and thinks nothing of it. You will very likely find that this acts like a charm, and that it was only the stiffness that comes from over-carefulness which prevented you from succeeding before. A certain amount of “side,” in fact—whether natural or assumed—is really an excellent thing. Most good performers talk of their running—perhaps sincerely—with becoming modesty, but they seldom show much sign of this modesty in their actions when ski-ing—evincing, as a rule, a healthy self-confidence which might almost be mistaken for a desire to show off.

In the above series of “Don’ts” I have not included “Don’t use the stick,” because I trust it would never enter your head to do so. I might however have said, “Don’t be afraid of leaving your sticks at home,” for unless you want to race uphill or on the level you can easily dispense with them, and to do so occasionally will prevent you from getting into the slovenly habit of prodding with the inner stick at the end of every swing. Not that this prodding need be considered a very serious crime, for as long as a stick is used with one hand for pushing and not with both for pulling, no great harm will be done to the style. But this prodding is a slight waste of energy, and therefore the tendency to do it should be checked. To go without a stick at all occasionally is the best possible way to cultivate a perfectly free and effortless style, not only of running down a hill, but of climbing up it.

One sometimes hears the absurd statement that to tour without a stick is “unnatural,” and therefore not permissible. All ski-ing is “unnatural.” If it is “natural” to carry a stick, it is still more “natural” to lean on it hard the whole time. The only real and searching test of the skill and ease of a man’s running is to take away his stick altogether and see if he can run fast and steadily across any sort of country without it; and I strongly advise you to test your own running in this way from time to time.

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.

In the description of equipment I have already mentioned the necessary safeguards against frost-bite and snow blindness.

Anything more than an allusion to the danger from avalanche is quite beyond the scope of this book. It is an intricate subject, about which whole books have been, and no doubt will yet be, written.

I believe that even now the conditions which produce winter avalanches are not fully understood. On any open slope of more than certain steepness—23° or so—an avalanche may start, especially after a thaw, or before the snow of a recent fall has had time to settle down. An avalanche, once started, can of course travel over a less steep slope, or even level ground. Lose no time in collecting all the information you can on the subject; for, although the ordinary tourist (not the climber) can usually avoid it, the danger is a very serious one, and you should never willingly expose yourself to the smallest risk of it. If the risk is unavoidable, make sure that you can get your skis off your feet in a moment, for if you are caught in an avalanche this is the first thing to do. The next is, if possible, to keep your head above the surface of the snow.

The ancient quip about presence of mind and absence of body is particularly applicable in a case of this sort.

I have said something about the special discomforts and dangers of the mountains and the snow, but nothing about their extraordinary beauty and fascination. If I were better fitted for the task than the ordinary guide-book writer, I might attempt a description of them; as I am not, I will spare the reader.

To some ski-runners these beauties may be of secondary importance to the sport itself. The ski-runner may even exist who looks upon climbing a mountain as an altogether exasperating, but unfortunately inevitable, preparation for a run down, and whose ideal is an artificial jumping-hill in his garden provided with a lift. I have never met him.