Crossing the lake with the Grand and Nez Perce in the background.

These long approaches into the Tetons have made me super impressed by and thankful for my new approach skis from Wagner, and skins from Climbing Skins Direct.  For this year, the guys at Wagner Custom made my skis a bit wider and shorter, with a flat tail and more camber.  They’re also lighter due to an all-aspen core.  Snappy, with kick for the flats, and really light underfoot.  The skins from CSD are light and supple, and I’ve been shocked at how well they glide–it’s really unbelievable being able to kick-and-glide with skins on.

With these thoughts running through my head, the trip across Bradley Lake and up Garnet Canyon flew by.

Skinning up Garnet Canyon.

Before I knew it the sun had risen and we were staring up the Ellingwood Couloir–1500′ of 50-degree snow that tops out at the Dike Col.

AJ climbs the Ellingwood Couloir.

The climbing was fantastic–really firm frontpointing, with some short stretches of ice mixed in.  We hit the Col by mid-morning, stopping briefly to re-fuel as we looked over at our tracks on the Grand, just receiving the morning sun.

The upper East Face of the Middle Teton loomed above us in the sun as well, the last 600′ before the summit.  I had turned back from the East Face a few times in the past, so I was definitely chomping to finish it up on this day.  We traversed across a 50-degree powder slope to get to the gut of the climb and found soft, boot-top powder conditions.

Jake climbs through the steeps.

With the sun full on the Face it felt like climbing in a solar broiler–fortunately we cruised up it quickly and surmounted the 60+-degree pitch at the crest.  The East Face route culminates in a notch ~50′ below the summit; the final pitch to the top might be skiable in some years, but we found dry, slabby rock so we decided to call the notch our high point.

Sitting in the notch on a sunny, windless morning, looking down into Wyoming on the east and Idaho on the west, I felt supremely satisfied with our adventure.  Sure, it’s a ton of effort to get here and there are risks involved, but the reward is so sweet.

Soaking it all in at the summit notch.

And without calculating and managing risk would it be a worthwhile pursuit?  We let our sweat dry in the sun and chuckled about the enormous group that was rumored to be over on the Grand while we were the only party on the Middle.  Sometimes it all just works out.

When it felt like time to go, I put my boots back on and we rigged up for the descent.  The initial entrance onto the East Face was actually pretty sporty–no wider than the length of my board, really steep, with thousands of feet of relief below.  Whew.  I side-slipped and hopped my way down onto the crest of the Face and then made controlled turns down to the gut, where things eased off a bit.

Tiptoeing through the entrance to the East Face.

Jake side-stepped through the entrance–his skis were definitely longer than the space allowed–and joined me.  The trip down to the Dike Col was fun and brief–really just a few turns and a traverse, but in pretty great, moist powder.

And then we leapfrogged down sweet springtime corn in the Ellingwood, taking pictures, whooping it up.

Going heelside in the Ellingwood.

We had a variety of theories about how to handle the sluff that we brought down, but it seemed to work best for me to just ride faster than the sluff was traveling, making high-speed GS turns, laying it over hard.  Jake’s skis weren’t quite as fast, so he chose to vary his fall-line to stay out of his sluff.

Jake skis sweet corn in the Ellingwood Couloir.

Once we exited the bottom of the couloir a hard left brought us to the top of the Cave Couloir for another 1000′ of mellow turns down to the Meadows in Garnet Canyon.

The trip out was quick and uneventful and we cruised the trip across the lake and over the moraines, back to the truck.  Compared to the day on the Grand, I felt remarkably energetic after more than 7000′ of climbing and riding.  I wish I could have another month of Teton adventures like this, but I’m headed to Alaska next week for a month of guiding.  I’m stoked to have ridden these lines at the end of this season–maybe I can squeak in one or two more before I leave…

Looking at the Grand from the Middle Teton. The Ford Couloir drops straight from the summit, the Stettner is to the right.

We would approach via Garnet Canyon to the Teepe Col, climbing the full Stettner Couloir to the East Face and then to the summit.  Which sounds much more straightforward than it turned out to be.

Skinning away from the parking lot at 1:30, the five hours that remained before dawn felt like a pretty long stretch of headlamp skinning.  Fortunately there were three of us in it together, and the iPod made it feel easier.  Refrozen skin tracks proved to be super slippery on the steeper stretches getting into Garnet.  Ski crampons were vital for the trip up the rock-hard surface snow on the Teepe Glacier.  But just when the endless darkness was becoming oppressive, the upper glacier glowed orange as we finished climbing to the Teepe Col in the warmth of sunrise.

Approaching the Teepe Col at sunrise.

We left any unnecessary gear at the Teepe Col (skins, ski crampons, my approach skis and poles), pulling out crampons and ice tools for the remaining climb.  With a thousand of feet of relief to the canyon below the traverse around to the Glencoe Col felt exposed, but it was easy travel and we quickly reached the shadows of the Stettner.  The lower Stettner was pretty good climbing–boot-top chalky powder, and the ice bulge in the pinch was completely filled-in so that we could just fly past it.  The upper Stettner was another story.

Looking up as we climbed past the mouth of the Chevy (which we would descend hours later), the narrows above looked pretty easy–shallow snow over low-angle slabby rock with some scree thrown in.  The chockstone that used to present the greatest difficulty of this route blew out two summers ago, in theory making the Stettner a much more achievable line for winter ascents/descents.  As I started to climb past the first rock bulge, though, it proved to be significantly harder than it looked.

Climbing past the first rock section in the Stettner Couloir.

The rock was actually steep, with little usable ice, and the snow was all sugar.  I backed off halfway up it and we pulled out the rope and gear.

Andy found a patch of ice that took one screw just above our belay platform, and I somehow took the lead.  (Andy is by far the better climber–what was I thinking?)  We acknowledged that there would be no protection on the climb up this stretch; it was solo climbing while dragging a rope so that I could belay my partners up to me.  But that was the situation that we had, so up I went.  Climbing slowly and deliberately, placing my picks and frontpoints in small clefts in the rock, I squirreled my way up to the easy snow above and belayed Andy up to me.  (After hauling my pack and snowboard up–there was no way I was going to lead through that with my pack and snowboard on my back.)  Andy continued up to check out the next bulge while I belayed Jake.  Unfortunately, this just wasn’t Jake’s day–he was worn out from no sleep the night before and the climbing we had already done, so he decided to turn back and meet us at the Teepe Col.

It was cold as hell in the Stettner–by the time I was done belaying and climbed to Andy I was wearing everything I had with me and still didn’t want to stop moving.  As a result, we decided that I should lead the second bulge as well so that I could warm up.  And of course, the climbing proved to be significantly steeper and harder than it looked from below.  Andy had found good ice for a belay anchor (which we hadn’t found at the first bulge), but there was no way to protect the climbing up here either.  Once again placing my picks and frontpoints gingerly on the rock I slowly climbed past this bulge and finally reached the sun at the top.

I must say, the sun felt really good.  After belaying Andy up to me, we stood in the sun and ate a quick snack while stowing away the ropes.  The last thousand feet to the top were technically easy, but physically crushing.

Climbing the upper East Face to the summit.

We could see the summit the whole time and the boot-top trailbreaking occasionally turned to stretches of thigh-deep powder.  It should have been pretty quick and manageable, but at 13,000′ with the sun baking us it took over an hour.

But summit we did, right around noon.  Amazing views in all directions, with a stiff wind out of the west.  I had forgotten how far the top of the Grand is above everything else–even the Middle looks small from up there.  We took a brief respite on the top, snacking a bit and recharging on Red Bull and Monster.  And then we made turns right off the top.

The snow in the upper Stettner had been pretty bad, so we decided to ride the Ford-Stettner variation instead.  The first hundred feet or so off the top were just picking our way through a few rocks to the top of the Ford, but then it all turned sweet.  50-degree turns on firm windbuff led down into the gut and 1000′+ of 45-degree moist, ankle-deep powder with a slight soft crust on the surface.  Awesome carving turns on my snowboard, maybe not quite as much fun for Andy on his skis.  We cruised down the Ford pretty quickly and found the anchors at the top of the Chevy after a super exposed sneak between some rocks and the top of the Petzoldt Couloir (a thousand feet of air to a rocky landing.)  Two full 60-meter rappels took us down the Chevy and back into the Stettner for more soft, fun turns to the bottom of our line.

AJ rides the Stettner.

A traverse around to the Teepe Col brought us back to Jake and all of us had a sunny descent down into Garnet Canyon and back to the parking lot.

Andy skis out the Teepe Glacier.

This time on the Grand felt easier than the last, but it still took 15 hours and I can’t say that at the end of it I was ready to go throw a frisbee or do much of anything besides eat and sleep.  It was a super fun, challenging day on a truly spectacular mountain with great friends.  As we drove home we were already planning our next trip.  It’s amazing how easy it is to be inspired by this range, how each objective reveals a myriad of others.

The Corner Pocket by Brad Foley               Photos by Brad Foley and Chason Russell

The day started out normal enough, coffee, breakfast, morning phone calls to find a ski partner for the day and out the door.  By the time I had made it to town Chason was calling with one thing on his mind, the Corner Pocket.  As one of the last unskied lines on the west face of Silver Mountain the Corner Pocket was high on the list of ski decents.  After grabbing climbing gear and ropes Erin Raley, Chason Russell and I were on the lifts and on our way to Silver Mountain.

Erin Raley climbing to the Corner Pocket in Lena Basin

Moving quickly through upper Lena basin we made it to the entrance of the Corner Pocket at the top of the ridge between Palmyra Peak and Silver Mountain.  Looking down the couloir that led to the hanging snowfield of the Corner we knew that it was going to be more of an adventure than we had thought. 

Chason Russell entering the upper couloir

Wanting to ski the line as pure as possible Chason kept the ropes in his backpack and headed down the steep, rocky terrain.  Sidestepping with skis on to a small patch of snow we were able to make a few turns to the next section of extremely steep rock.  Trying not to think of the cliff below we made it through the crux of the down climb with adding only a few grey hairs.

Hop turns in the upper couloir

Down climbing the steep rocky section

Back on snow and feeling much more comfortable we had finally made it to the heart of the Corner Pocket.  The heat of the sun had left us with soft easy skiing snow; with breathtaking views to the west and smiles now on our faces the only thing left to do was ski.  Left right left right down to the “powder reserve” and on to the Observatory for a much needed rest before skinning back to our cars.  Even if someone had skied the Corner Pocket before us, it didn’t matter I was just happy to have spent the day with two great friends in one of the most beautiful places around.

Chason enjoying turns in the Corner Pocket

The Corner Pocket

Riding the East Face

As it was, we got some amazing 55-degree turns on chalky powder for ~1200′ down to the glacier below.  And fat powder down the glacier and out Garnet Canyon.

So that was the setup when we decided to tackle the Apocalypse Couloir on Prospector’s Mountain a few days later.  Having just been denied the summit of the Middle, we probably had some extra “human factor” preying on us when we set out across Phelps Lake with the Apocalypse in view.  I like to think that I’m pretty good at staying objective in my decision-making in the mountains.  Perhaps not super conservative, but thoughtful.

In any case, the trip into the base of the couloir took longer than expected–goofy route-finding and unclear directions from a different parking lot than where I’ve started in the past.

Crossing the lake.

We ran into a couple of moose right where we wanted to cross the creek in Death Canyon–cool wildlife encounter, but it definitely took us a bit of time to skirt around them.  After leaving my approach skis tucked under a rock below the couloir, we began the long bootpack that would ultimately place us in the cave at the apex of the couloir.  Nice powder varied from ankles to knee-deep climbing into the couloir proper, and then firmed up as we approached the ice in the narrows.

Moose in Death Canyon

The Apocalypse is an hourglass-shaped couloir with a ~40′ section of mixed snow and ice in the narrows, requiring mild climbing technique to continue moving up, and a rappel or downclimb for the return trip.  Above the narrows, as the upper funnel opens up, the couloir takes a hard left and continues for another 1000′ to the cave at the top and steep rock continuing to the summit of Prospector’s.  My understanding is that Stephen Koch and Mark Newcomb named it the Apocalypse when they made the first descent because of the unreal amount of ice hanging over the lower half of the route, presenting the very real possibility of being crushed under icefall if things warm up.  Little bits and chunks of ice rain down as you climb; it’s quite a relief to climb past the narrows and into the more standard couloir-skiing hazards of moving snow and rockfall.

Jake climbs through the narrows.

We chose a cold day with light snowfall in the hopes that low temps would keep the ice in place.  In that assessment we were correct; nothing much was moving up there, just wispy little spindrifts pouring off the rocks above and blowing apart in the light breeze.  The trailbreaking in the upper couloir was great–firm and fast–with the exception of three pockets of ridiculously deep powder.

Deep trailbreaking.

As in belly-button-deep.  Brutal, and it should have been a clear sign that conditions weren’t as safe as we’d thought.  My instinct was telling me that something wasn’t right, but we were working so hard to get to the top and we had just turned back from the Middle and all we wanted was to finish this thing, so we kept going.

We took some time in the cave at the top to eat and drink, replenishing ourselves after the 6-hour push to get there.  Then Jake took a couple of pictures and set up to shoot me making the first few turns down our line.

AJ exiting the cave.

On my tenth turn, I pulled out the first slab.  It pushed me around a bit, but I rode off of it and yelled up for Jake to ski the bed surface down to me.  It turned out those deep pockets were slabs waiting for the right shear force to cause them to fail.  On my sixth turn of the next pitch I pulled out another, deeper slab.  Probably about 40cm deep, it was moving with some serious force and it took me a while to get off the side of it.  I don’t often experience real fear when I’m out, but as the slab carried me downhill and piled up on my shoulders I was scared.  All I could do was try to carry momentum to the side and toss myself into the rock wall bordering the couloir.  Ultimately, I got out of it and watched the debris speed by as it slid down and around the corner.  At that moment, I wanted more than anything to be safe at home with my wife and our dog.

AJ rides the Apocalypse Couloir. (Note the crown in the lower right corner.)

After Jake skied down to me again, we discussed what to do from there, how to manage the last pocket, and then made cautious turns down to the main fork of the couloir.  The last pocket was totally wiped clean by the slab I had just knocked loose, so we actually had pleasant, firm 50-degree turns down to the narrows and then more powder below the downclimb.

It was a pensive, sobering trip out of the mountains.  I hate the feeling that I had so lost perspective of the stability up there, and lost control of my own safety.  We were driven to make it go, had the blinders on, and easily brushed aside obvious changes in the snow conditions.  As Jake put it, it was a cheap lesson: pay attention when things change, keep the drive and ambition and commitment out of my decision-making.  It would have been catastrophic to be carried the full length of the couloir.  Today I got by with a healthy serving of humble pie.

photo Chason Russell

TELLURIDE FREERIDE WORLD TOUR QUALIFIER

The energy begins to build days before the event. Skiers with backpacks and fat skis begin to examine terrain, and lines that rarely ever have tracks in them become highways. By Friday morning around 140 skiers have converged on the prospect ridge for a final inspection of the rocky rib and surrounding terrain. Tents are set up, judges are in place, and the Freeskiing World Tour Qualifier in Telluride is underway.

Inspection Day. photo Chason Russell

DAY 1:
With snow in the forecast and a run order selected at random, one can only hope to get a window of visibility during a run that is sure to last less than a minute.  Running 84th in a long list of great skiers there is a lot on the line for this one run. Only 40% of the field will advance to the next day’s venue and this year, event officials have big plans for the finals.

Variable conditions including rotten snow and cheese grader rocks plague the venue. Line selection is key. Choosing a line within ones ability that stands out enough to impress the judges is the name of the game. As the day goes on, the lines become increasingly skied out. By the time I get to drop in for my run, I have changed my flight plan several times, but the crux of my run remains the same. Fortunately no one has put tracks on the small, shallow patch of snow that my run depends on.

Chason Russell day one. photo Brad Foley

Standing on top of the venue, I struggle to visualize my run several times amidst the distraction of the huge lines and couloirs staring down from Palmyra peak and Silver Mountain. It seems surreal when the starter gives the countdown, and my Wagner skis find the fall line.  Any thoughts give way to focus and I’m skiing on autopilot. Recognizing a few key landmarks I soon find myself on top of a rocky outcropping that hardly looks skiable. Believing in my skis and line I have chosen, I commit to the fall line and within seconds ski into the finish, welcomed by the cheers from hardy spectators. I can only hope it was enough to qualify me for the finals which are set to take place off the summit of Palmyra peak the next day.

Palmyra Peak, photo Chason Russell

DAY 2:
Waking up to clear skies, it dawns on me that we are getting the weather window we need to be flown with Helitracks to the top of Palmyra peak. Loading chair 4 at 7:30am, the surrounding peaks are glowing with rich morning light that reflects the glowing vibe in all the competitors. Hard to believe event officials and Helitracks will be able to fly 15 female and 35 male competitors along with all the staff to the peak of Palmyra, but as we near the top of lift 4 the unmistakable sound of the heli fills the air, seems we’re going for it!

organizers prepare competitors to load the helicopter. photo Chason Russell

Michael Gardner in the heli. photo Chason Russell

Arriving with several other competitors to the LZ on top of prospect ridge the heli has already made several trips to the peak. Organizers helped assemble groups by weight, secure skis and poles with duct tape and send waves of groups toward the helicopter. The closer our group gets to the LZ the harder the wind seems to gust. With incredible precision the pilot places the skids within inches of our kneeling group. In seconds we are loaded and airborne toward the peak. Gaining altitude we all seem to recognize when the wind is pushing the chopper around. Approaching the summit we hovered for a few seconds just feet above the snow before the pilot decided the conditions were not ideal to touch down.  The incredible sensation of thrust, power, and gravity, takeover as we peal down the west face of Palmyra with incredible speed. Seems we were only inches from the snow when we pulled off the summit for a second time. This time we pattern around the east face of the peak getting a close look at the spires of Palmyra. As we approach the summit for a third time it feels like the winds had subsided a little. Only seconds passed before we were crawling on the summit of Palmyra shielding our faces from the rotor wash created by the heli as it took to the skies again.

We would be the last group of skiers to be flown to the top because of the high winds. Fortunately the remaining competitors decided the hour long, steep hike would be worth keeping the competition on Palmyra. From the summit we all made our way down the shoulder of the peak to scope lines, it didn’t seem long before the athletes who had to hike began arriving on ridge. With more camaraderie than competitiveness athletes discussed line choice and snow conditions and before long the first female competitors began navigating their way down the hard pack snow on the north face of Palmyra peak.

Competitors on the ridge of Palmyra. photo Brad Foley

Without an inspection run it seemed many competitors didn’t know what to expect. After watching only a few runs it was apparent that technical controlled skiing would prove beneficial.

Travis Wolfe contemplating big air. photo Chason Russell

Michael Gardner was the third male skier to drop in, at age 17 and a member of the Telluride Big Mountain Team he laid down a run that would set a precedent for the remaining field of competitors. Pacing up and down the ridge finalizing my line, trying to stay warm, I remained entertained by watching competitors and spectators find their way to the finish area. By the time I was standing in the start zone, the light had gone flat and there were more ski patrol and event staff than competitors standing on the top. Visualizing all the components of my run one more time, I soon found myself making my first real turns of the day.

Chason Russell dropping in. photo Matt Steen

Excited to finally be skiing I worked my way through a technical section into a short one-ski strait line, over a small air, then over to one last air near the finish. Though relatively mellow it was a line I have wanted to ski for some time.  Not convinced that my run would be enough to put me in the top five, friends, spectators, and judges seemed to think otherwise. Next stop on the Freeskiing World Tour takes place in Crested Butte, Colorado.

AJ Linnell breaking trail on Treasure Mountain using Wagner Custom approach skis

AJ Incoming

AJ scopes the entrance

The Boy Scout Couloir is so named because it is the only clean line through the 400′ limestone cliff above the Treasure Mountain boy scout camp. Steep, narrow, and perfectly plumb, the couloir is a deep and beautiful cleft through towering rock walls. Ultimately, the reason that I hadn’t ridden it before was because of the long access and the difficulty of finding it from above. But with us camped on the summit of Treasure Mountain, we were perfectly set up for a descent and didn’t even know it. It would mean a long skin back to camp, but what better way to wrap up this trip?

AJ exits Boy Scout Couloir

What a ride

Skinning home

Chason Russell earned a podium spot at the 2009 Subarau Freeskiing World Tour Qualifier. Photo: Brett Schreckengost

The competitors and audience were stoked to see the finals take place on Telluride’s 13,300″ Palmyra Peak. Mark Welgos of Aspen impressively won the event with Arne Backstrom of Squaw Valley taking second place. Chason’s protege, 17 year old Michael Gardner of Ridgway Colorado, finished in fifth place. Claudia Bouvier of Vail won the women’s event. Results and more information regarding the event can be found here.

Placing third in the competition earns Russell a spot in all 2009 Freeskiing World Tour events, as well as the honor of recognition as one of the top freeskiers on the big mountain circuit.

Congratulations Chason!

The next Freeskiing World Tour event takes place in Crested Butte February 19-22. For more information, check out www.FreeSkiingWorldTour.com.

For more info on Chason’s skiing, check out his summer of 2008 trip report from Lanin Volcano in Argentia

The Why Couloir January 11, 2009 — Words and photos by Brad Foley

Scott in the Why

The Why Couloir

Scott skiing the upper pitch of the Why

Skiing the Exit couloir

Turns in lower Delta Bowl

Please drink responsibly

The American Solar Energy Society featured Wagner Custom skis’ ultra-modern, clean and green ski factory in its December 2008 issue of Solar Today magazine.  Solar Today recognized Wagner Custom for its industry leading energy and recycling initiatives.

Wagner Custom is by no means perfect.  However, the company has several energy and waste reduction initiatives in place that help reduce the company’s carbon footprint.

Regarding energy, Wagner Custom first focuses on simple energy efficiency and conservation measures to minimize their overall energy loads.  The company’s entire factory floor is heated by a large solar thermal array (see image above).  To offset its electricity loads, Wagner Custom purchases high quality wind-energy credits that support farmer-owned wind turbines in the Midwest (see Native Energy Farmer Distributed Wind Projects).

Regarding waste stream reduction, Wagner Custom recycles it’s steel and plastic scraps while reusing (and selling) its wood core scraps as kindling.

The Solar Today magazine feature can be seen on page 25 of the December issue at http://www.solartoday-digital.org/solartoday/20081112/

Travis Wolfe conducting durability tests on his Wagner Custom skis. photo: Zak Gerdts

Travis Wolfe airing the Shark Fin. photo: Chason Russell

Travis Wolfe above the Ophir valley

Road to Lanin

Just another bump in the road

Radio Flyer parked by the stable

By the dawns early light

Refugio

Dog Nap

Nick on the ascent

Nick and Chason on the summit

Looking down the east couloir

Nick making it look easy

Veiw from below the couloir

Ice on Lanin

Nick traversing across the ice field

8000 feet later

Ideal corn snow conditions led us to the point where we had abandoned our shoes for hard shell boots. Drew and ‘Perro’ patiently awaited us there. Regressing through the volcanic debris back toward the Gendarmeria, we were consumed with a sense of satisfaction, dehydration, and hunger. A ‘parrilla libre’ (all you can eat grilled meat) was awaiting us back in San Martin.

Sitting in my assigned window seat on the bus the following day, I struggled against the desire to sleep and glanced out the window to get one more view of Lanin as the bus made its way across the huge expanses of Argentina. Consciousness gave way to dream state and in a seemingly absence of time, I was being served dinner, as the bus made its way through the night en route to Buenos Aires.

View of Volcan Lanin from the bus

A typical narrow straight ski (take for example the 1995 Rossignol 4SV, 203cm, 64mm waist) had a bearing surface of about 1150 square centimeters. If a 165 lb. skier stood on one ski, the pressure underneath would be about .14 lb per square centimeter.

Doesn’t sound like a lot. But the 1990 Atomic Powder Plus — the first of the superfat powder skis — had a bearing surface of about 2000 cm2. A 165 lb. skier put about .08 lb./cm2 on that ski.

Neither of these skis is very versatile. They lie at either end of the soft-snow performance spectrum: the Rossi slalom ski was designed for hard snow and in deep snow liked to go to the bottom and stay there. The Atomic was famous for bobbing around on top, denying the skier one of the great pleasures of powder skiing, the face shot.

If you live to porpoise in and out of deep snow, you want something midway between these extremes. For resort skiing, with a firm surface under the new snow, you may be comfortable with a pressure pattern of about .11 or .12 lb/cm2; for backcountry and bottomless powder, .9 or .10 lb/cm2. For that 165 lb skier, this would imply a bearing surface around 1400 or 1500 cm2 for the resort ski, or 1600 to 1700 cm2 for bottomless snow.

There’s a set of simple formulas for figuring out bearing surface based on length and sidecut dimensions, but as a rule of thumb, with today’s sidecuts, at a length of 165cm, a 70mm waist will give you about 1200 cm2, 74mm is about 1300cm2, 80mm is about 1400cm2, and 90mm is about 1500cm2. If you need more surface, you’ll need to go longer, Big Guy.

Seth Masia
Vail Ski School

The ski is a spring, built to flex and rebound. Like any spring, it likes to vibrate at a characteristic rate based on its length, weight, stiffness and internal friction. Think of guitar strings: Heavy strings vibrate slowly, light strings vibrate fast. Shorten the string and it vibrates faster still. Switch from steel strings to nylon, and it vibrates with a softer tone and fades off more quickly. The fade-off is called damping. The rate at which your ski rebounds — its general energy level — depends a lot on the same things that govern the quality of sound in a guitar string: length, weight, and damping rate.

Big ski factories like to talk about damping, as if it’s a good thing. When you ski on a lot of ice, you do in fact want to dampen out vibration along the ski’s edge so it doesn’t chatter out of its own track. But snow itself is the world’s best vibration damper: It compresses, but doesn’t spring back, so the compression energy is removed from the system. Because of that, it’s easy to build an overdamped ski. Put too much viscoelastic foolishness inside a ski and it begins to feel like a long rubber eraser. It grows slow to rebound when flexed in powder, seems to take forever to return to the surface — and in any kind of wet snow the glide speed goes to hell.

To get a lively ski that rebounds quickly in bumps and comes arcing up in powder, you want hard structural layers, like steel guitar strings, that vibrate at a very high frequency and low amplitude. Carbon fiber will do this, and certain very high-quality grades of fiberglass/epoxy matrix. (High-zinc aluminum skis, made of Zicral or Titanal alloys, have great vibration characteristics, until the metal fatigues with age, or bends from overflexing in bumps.) Because these materials are quite stiff (an engineer would say they have high modulus of elasticity) they have to be used in very thin layers.

To get a damp ski for tracking on ice, you can use thicker layers of “softer” glass mat in a more viscous epoxy blend, or build rubber layers into the ski. In general, when a ski has a lot of layers that “shear” against each other, the effect is to soak up vibration energy. It’s converted to tiny quantities of heat and lost to the snow and air.

The core material can also contribute to a ski’s energy level. Vibration travels nicely along the grain of a tough hardwood, and dampens out in shear between the lignin fibers in softer woods. Most polyurethane foam cores are natural damping materials, while some very light, expensive acrylic foam cores don’t have enough mass to absorb much energy.

Another mode of energy control is called mass damping. If a ski has a heavy tip (some skis actually have weighted tips) it tends to behave a bit like the bob-weight at the end of a pendulum: It takes some energy to divert it from its trajectory, and then it’s slower to reverse direction and come back to neutral than a lighter tip would be. When the combination of materials don’t give the ski the vibrational feel the designer wanted, one fix can be to tune a ski’s vibration rate by putting metal weights or thin strips of rubber at strategic points on or under the topskin.

A properly designed ski made of top-quality materials shouldn’t need external vibration dampers.

Seth Masia
Vail Ski School

Some bright soul figured out that if you steamed the plank and bent it into a gentle arch (what we call camber), the skier’s weight would spread more evenly across the surface of the snow, and the skier’s weight would straighten out the camber instead of sinking into the snow. The loaded ski now made a more-or-less straight beam and could be pushed straight ahead. Running got a lot easier. If the camber were made high enough, you could carve the tip and tail a lot thinner, making the ends lighter and more supple. The ski became even easier to run on, and floated nicely over uneven snow.

By about 1840, in the Telemark region, local woodcarvers had figured out sidecut. Making the ski narrower in the middle helped the ski turn with better agility. But the narrower waist tended to sink deeper into the snow, so to avoid the original problem of the center sinking, the middle of the ski had to be made a bit thicker and the camber a bit higher. Thus, by trial and error, ski-makers learned the art of balancing flex pattern against sidecut and camber. Change any one element and you had to change the other two.

One more element entered into the balance: torsional stiffness. In a ski meant for running across uneven natural snow, you wanted a supple tip to float over and conform to the surface. But you needed strength, too — if the tip were too thin and soft it would break. As long as a ski was made from a single piece of wood, a clever solution was the ridge-top shape, carved with a central reinforcing rib standing above the top surface. The rib reinforced the ski’s beam flex (its stiffness in bending) but allowed it to twist a bit to absorb the impact of sastrugi, suncups, and the like.

After 1935, quality skis were laminated from a variety of tough hardwoods and lighter softwoods. As I mentioned yesterday, all alpine skis were still more or less the same shape, so the adustable elements were flex and weight. Now, by choosing and aligning the laminates, a skimaker could adjust the torsional stiffness more-or-less independently of the beam flex. The ability to do this took a quantum leap with the adoption of aluminum and fiberglass structures.

It became clear that racers wanted higher torsional stiffness than recreational skiers. For grip on ice, race skis were engineered with torsional stiff around 1.9 newton-meters per degrees. This proved to be a practical limit: if the torque went much higher (some metal skis went to 2.5 nm/deg) they felt harsh and hooky, and had to be edge-bevelled pretty aggressively. Most recreational slaloms — bump skis, for instance — torqued at about 1.7 nm/deg. At 1.5 nm/deg and below you had forgiving intermediate skis. And a balance had to be found between torsion and beam flex: one factory called this the “torflex ratio.” A stiff beam flex, for a stronger, more precise skier, could use a stiffer torsion.

When “shaped” or deep-sidecut skis first appeared, it took a couple of years for engineers to figure out new flex patterns and torque ratios. Early shaped skis had a tendency to “hinge” in front of the binding, so they sort of plowed in deep snow — it was the original sinking-plank problem all over again. Compared to straight skis, it was found that shaped skis needed a longer stiff section in the middle and softer ends, and the progression of flex distribution had to be matched to the exaggeration of the sidecut. Similarly, torsion had to be softened a bit at the ends to soften the edge bite. Otherwise, the new wide shovels had a tendency to climb up the sides of moguls, and the new wide tails were reluctant to release at the end of the turn.

Balancing flex and torsion to sidecut is an art. It requires skill in adjusting core thickness, and clever choice of core laminates. Getting it wrong isn’t a disaster — a ski that feels a little harsh at the ends can usually be fixed with some smart tuning. But it’s so much more satisfying to get it right.

Seth Masia
Vail Ski School

Buying skis has become both easier and tougher than it was 20 years ago. Before 1990, there were about 35 ski factories around the world, and they all made essentially the same product. The design of skis had been more or less frozen for several decades. The classic slalom ski was 205cm for men and 190cm for women, shaped 85-65-75mm. This gave roughly a 40-meter sidecut radius and a bearing surface of about 1300 square centimeters. The classic giant slalom ski was 210cm for men and 200cm for women, shaped 87-68-77mm — roughly 50 meters radius and a bearing surface of 1400 square centimeters. The big differences in skis were not in shape and size, but in flex and materials. Slalom skis were of fiberglass, GS skis of aluminum. Recreational skis were thinner (therefore softer) and made of less-expensive materials. Buying skis required a lot of trial and error to find the flex pattern that worked for your weight, strength, skill and snow conditions.

Today most of that trial-and-error is gone. You can choose a ski based on matching width and turn radius to the kind of snow you like.

For hard snow, get a ski with a narrow waist: 67mm or narrower.

For soft groomers or general western front-of-mountain skiing, get a moderate waist — 68 to 74mm.

For resort powder (with a firm surface underneath) get a mid-fat waist, 75 to 80mm.

For deep snow (with an unpredictable base beneath) get a fat waist, over 80mm. If you’re big and heavy or carry a heavy pack, go even bigger: 90mm and up.

What remains is length and shape. Most men skiing at resorts can get along very nicely on a 165cm ski, most women on 155cm. If you’re stronger than average, go a bit longer but nowadays it won’t buy you a lot of additional stability. If you’re much lighter than average, go a bit shorter — it will pay off in improved agility.

Shape means sidecut. A deeper sidecut with a shorter radius carves a shorter turn. In general, this helps best on groomers. It won’t help in bumps, where you want the tail to release to avoid hanging up at the end of the turn. A good mid-fat nowadays has a shape close to 112-71-100, which gives a theoretical radius of about 12 meters and a bearing surface of 1300. Note that the bearing surface — the ski’s ability to “float” on soft snow — is similar to the classic straight slalom ski. So is the ski’s weight. But the agility — the ability to bend easily into a turn — is vastly improved due to a turn radius roughly 25% of the old long, straight ski.

So what should shape should you buy? Start with that “generic” 112-71-100mm shape at your length, then blow the waist up wider if you’re going to ski a lot of soft snow, and pull it in narrower if you’re going to ski a lot of hard snow. If you’re an expert who loves to carve, go for a shorter radius. If you want to be able to slide the tail a bit in bumps and tight woods (or if you have to skid a bit when you teach intermediates) opt for a bit narrower tail.

That’s the basics. Next time, I’ll consider the relationship between shape and flex pattern.

–Seth Masia
Vail Ski School