Wherever there is snow, there one can ski; whether one safely may is another question, whereof more anon. Absence of snow, or snow transformed into blue ice, are therefore the well-defined limits to the possibilities of the sport.

There is no kind of surface capable of harbouring snow which has not been tried on ski, from the plain, with its unbroken sheet of white, to the rugged mountain side, where narrow channels have to be navigated amid toothed reefs and giddy precipices.

Every pedestrian knows the infinite variety there is in landscape; how an ever-changing aspect of the surface is created by the geological nature of the soil (sand, moor, rock)—the vegetation (grass, heather, forest)—the inclination of the slopes and other topographical features (downs, hills, mountains, valleys, lakes); not to forget the work of man (his houses, fences, roads, and ditches). For the ski-runner this great variety of ground is increased a hundredfold by the different states of the snow, which he learns to distinguish in the course of his outings. The changes snow is capable of are wonderful to behold, and the observant tourist never ceases to discover some kind or condition which is new to him. There is soft, flaky, fresh-fallen snow; there is downy, fluffy, powdery, floury, crystalline, brittle, salt-like, slithery, gelatinous, watery snow; there is snow as hard and white as marble, and snow with a thick crust which breaks into big slabs; there can be a layer of soft or powdery stuff on a hard sheet, or a thin, glassy film over loose snow. We have seen it in thin scales, the size of half-crowns, rustling under the ski like the leaves of an autumn forest, or, again, in the form of long, streaky crystals, like asbestos. Often it lies pat and smooth over the rounded hills; at other times it will be a frozen turmoil of waves, ridges, and grooves!

Variable Ground is Desirable.

In stating that it is possible to ski on every kind of snow and on every form of snow-covered ground, it is at the same time to be observed that some kinds of snow and some kinds of ground are more suitable for the sport than others. And as regards the ground, most people prefer it to be as varied as possible. We do not like it to be all precipitous mountain-side or all dead level, or, for that matter, all undulating glade. Nor do we desire our slopes to be always smooth and easy, any more than we wish them always broken and difficult. A happy combination of all these things is best. We adore the straight, smooth descent of a long incline, with its wind-song in the ears and its snow spray in the face, but we have also an affection for turning hither and thither amongst trees and rocks. And even level running, which the beginner is apt to despise, is much more interesting and much more difficult than many people are inclined to believe.

The Snow Should be Uniform.

But, whilst the ground itself should be varied, it is most desirable that the snow upon it should be of uniform quality throughout. Sudden changes, as, for example, when a thin crust will bear for some distance and then suddenly give way, are not only unpleasant, but sometimes positively dangerous. Perhaps the best of all snow is that which has rested for some time undisturbed at a temperature a few degrees below freezing point. Under such favourable conditions the tiny crystals of which it is composed settle down and pack together, forming a mass, the compactness of which increases with its depth. Nor does the surface remain unchanged, for here the dew condenses, and in freezing forms the innumerable thin leaf-like films above mentioned. The ski glide very easily over these, and sink into the compacter substratum just far enough to admit of easy steering.

Another capital snow condition is when a hard crust has been formed, on the top of which more snow falls to the depth of a few inches, the first few flakes of the new fall being wet, so as to adhere to the old crust and prevent slipping.

Wind-driven snow is not usually very good, but sometimes, if the temperature be not too low, it will form itself into a compact floury sort of substance, which will stick slightly to the ski to a degree just sufficient to help up-hill, but not enough to cause annoyance or to prevent a free passage downwards. Very hard snow is bad both for climbing and for glissading, for up-hill it becomes necessary to stamp vigorously in order to obtain a footing, and down-hill the lack of side grip renders steering very difficult. But quite watery snow, especially if it be shallow, often affords capital sport.

Sticky Snow.

The worst condition possible for ski-running is when, the temperature being slightly above freezing, the snow “balls.” This sometimes occurs with old snow when the sun is very hot, but much more frequently immediately after a fresh fall. The cause of balling is that water is formed on the surface, which, being pressed down into the colder substratum, re-freezes, and adheres to the bottom of the ski: to this, being again wetted, large clods of the “binding” snow readily attach themselves; sliding becomes out of the question, and one is obliged at every step to lift many pounds’ weight of mingled snow, water, and ice. Some partial cures for this evil exist, and will be found at the end of the book at page 105; but they are at the best but makeshifts, and to our minds ski-running in sticky snow is never really enjoyable. Fortunately, this state of affairs is not nearly so common as one might at first imagine, for after the snow has settled, even if the air be warm, the ski do not usually sink in sufficiently to reach the cold under-surface, and no re-freezing, the primary cause of sticking, takes place.

Crusted Snow.

Another kind of bad snow occurs after warm weather followed by frost, when an ice crust is formed. If sufficiently thick to bear, and if slightly warm, this is not so bad; but if it bears in some places and not in others a very irritating, and sometimes even dangerous, state of affairs exists. The evil is aggravated when the sun’s rays, penetrating, but not melting, the clear ice surface, are strong enough to reach the ground below. This being dark coloured, is warmed, and, of course, melts the snow which is close to it, forming large hollows, which, though capital hot-houses for plants, are veritable traps for the unwary ski-runner. On such a surface, when the crust is strong, the ski will slide rapidly, but when it is rotten they will break through, precipitating the runner forward, cutting his face and hands, and not improbably spraining his limbs and breaking his ski. Turning on such snow is a matter of extreme difficulty, for the pressure involved usually breaks the crust, with similar disastrous results. It behoves us to avoid such places, or, if we must cross them, to exercise extreme caution in doing so.

Patchy Snow.

A third, but less serious, sort of bad snow is commonly encountered, when the surface, being for the most part firm and in good order, becomes interrupted here and there by marble-like patches of very fine powder. This is a state of affairs which often occurs high up, when the cold is intense, and when strong winds blow fine snow over an otherwise good surface. The powder settles on the lee side of any inequalities and adheres to any slight irregularities. The ski glide very well over the old snow, but are checked by the powder, and a fall forward results. A little practice, however, soon enables one to distinguish between the semi-transparent, crystalline, darker-looking, old snow and the more opaque, white, fresh powder; and one learns how to make allowances by leaning backwards or forwards.

“Skavler.”

Another disagreeable variety of snow worthy of special mention is the frozen turmoil of waves previously mentioned. This, too, occurs very high up, and is caused by wind. In the Norwegian tongue it is known by the expressive name of skavler. The ridges are sometimes as much as a couple of feet high, and, being quite hard, they are very unpleasant to traverse. They occur, of course, on the sides of mountains more exposed to the wind. If one must cross them, a long ski is preferable to a short ski for the purpose, but there is often a way round if one looks for it intelligently.

An Eye for Country.

In this connection it may be said at once that to choose one’s way correctly and quickly, either up hill or down, is a most important part of ski-running, demanding just about as much skill as the preservation of the balance. What is known as an eye for country seems to be very largely a natural gift. Some people are always in difficulties, whilst others, often less skilful in other respects, are able to find their way almost intuitively across unknown ground. But, of course, experience in this, as in other matters, counts for a great deal, and what may at first sight strike the beginner as prophetic inspiration is often nothing more than an application of previously acquired knowledge to present conditions. It is impossible to give much information of this kind in a book, but, nevertheless, a few hints on the subject may be found useful.

In the first place it may be said that as a general rule snow is in better running condition on the north sides of hills, which are shaded from the sun, than on the south, which are exposed to it. And this is true not only of mountains as a whole, but of every little hillock and inequality throughout their contour. Also it is to be observed that the sun is warmer towards the middle of the day than in the early morning, but that the temperature usually falls about a degree Fahrenheit for every 300 feet one ascends. From which considerations it is evident that it generally pays to climb a mountain on the south side, where the snow will be firm, and, at all events late in the year, to start early in the morning. The north side will usually be the best for the descent, as there the snow will probably be powdery and manageable.

Again, the direction of the prevalent winds, as above mentioned, has considerable influence, and one will as a rule find the surface harder on the weather than on the lee side of mountains.

Another thing worth remembering is to proceed very carefully over stony ground early in the year. If a stone be struck it will almost certainly damage the ski, and very probably cause a spill; and in December many stones are concealed by an inch or two of fluffy snow, which is no adequate protection. By February, however, the covering will be both deeper and firmer, and the risk will not be so great. Grass or small heather, on the other hand, even though half exposed, does not stop the free passage of the ski, but earth—as, for instance, that cast up by a mole—is almost as bad as stones. So much for the mole-heap.

Let us now pass to the consideration of mountains.

The Eternal Snows.

Concerning this kind of ground it is needful to give a word of serious advice, to sound a note of warning—that is, about Alpine ground, the high mountain, and more particularly the region of the glacier. Winter among the highest Alps taxes to the utmost the experience and the qualities of the mountaineer. While affording the intensest excitement and causing a feeling of the greatest elation when successful, expeditions to these are never free from grave danger, as is sufficiently demonstrated by the victims whom ski-mountaineering has already claimed. The proportion of accidents is really appalling, and should make the ski-runner pause before venturing unwarily into the region of eternal snow. To mountaineers we need only say: “Observe the rules of your craft with redoubled watchfulness when ski-ing in the Alps.” Others we must earnestly implore not to undertake an excursion in the higher regions unless accompanied by experienced companions or native guides. Good “ski-hills” recommended for downright enjoyment, and free from conditions causing undue anxiety, are rarely higher than 8000 feet (sometimes 10,000 feet); and we strongly advise the beginner to stick to such and to leave the more ambitious summits severely alone.

In drawing this danger zone it must not, however, be assumed that every mountain under the limit is safe. The mountains, as it were, recede from us in the winter, and many summits and passes which afford a pleasant stroll in the summer become fraught with difficulty when the snow queen annexes them for a time to her dominions. Gracious to those who have been properly “presented,” and who approach her in a spirit of reverence, that lady arms herself against the parvenu who would force his way to her presence and shake her by the hand. Giddiness, snow-blindness, frost-bites, snow-storms and mists, steep ice slopes, hidden crevasses, tottering cornices, and last, but not least, the avalanche, are amongst her weapons. In the use of these she is quite pitiless, and she usually contrives to cunningly conceal them and to pounce upon her victim when he is most off his guard.

Geographical.

The beginner who has followed us so far is probably now imbued with the idea that ski-running is a most dangerous sport, and that if he is not overwhelmed by an avalanche, he is pretty sure to break his leg in some one or other of the kinds of bad snow which have been mentioned. Let him take heart. By far the greater part of the snow-covered ground within easy reach of his abode is sure to be perfectly safe, and, provided that he is reasonably careful, the chances of an accident are very small. During the months of January and February the snow is usually in excellent condition in any of the usual winter resorts in Norway or on the Continent,5 and by going further afield very good going may often be found until the end of April.

Still, it is quite exceptional to enjoy a day’s expedition without encountering a little bad or indifferent snow during some part of it, on which occasions the difference between the beginner and the expert will be more than ever apparent. The great secret is to go carefully, but to keep moving. Make up your mind what you are going to do, and do it. A hill is never anything like as difficult as it looks from the top, but it is usually considerably higher than it looks from below. In the clear atmosphere of such countries as Norway and Switzerland it is very difficult to judge distances. The moral is to consult maps. In Switzerland these are specially excellent, but even the very old and somewhat inaccurate surveys of Norway are far more reliable than your own or even the natives’ opinion about such matters.

A corollary to the importance of maps is the importance of the pocket compass, without which no party of ski-runners should ever venture far from home. It is surprising how easily a mist or a heavy snow-storm will cause one to lose one’s way, even on ground with which one is perfectly familiar at other times. In doubtful weather take a bearing or two as you go along. To do so takes very little time, and your knowledge may be of great value on your return journey.

We may conclude this section by directing the reader’s attention to the Year-Book of the Ski Club of Great Britain, which contains a great deal of information about ski-running from a geographical point of view. No. 1 of Vol. I., which has just been issued, deals with important centres for the sport in Great Britain, Norway, Switzerland, Germany, Austria, &c., &c. The articles are all written by disinterested and practical men, who are themselves ski-runners, and the reader could not do better than turn to it for detailed information concerning any country which he intends to visit. The book is edited by Mr. E. Wroughton, and is published for the club by Horace Cox, Bream’s Buildings, London. It is issued free to members of the club and for one shilling to the general public.