09/03/2024
THIS MORNING, I found a satchel that was half-filled with souvenirs of ski trips of long, long ago. Some as long ago as January 1983. Oh, the memories...
My first-ever ski trip began with the long bus ride from Heidelberg, Germany, to Verbier, Switzerland. We arrived in the night of Wed., Feb. 26, 1983. Trip was organized by the Heidelberg International Ski Club (HISC).
It was also very nearly the last ski trip I ever attempted. On the morning of Thurs. the 27, we went out and up, Up, UP. Ski Club veterans convinced a bunch of us rookies that skiing was as easy as walking, so we went with 'em, up, Up, UP. BIG Mistake!
None of us had ever had a lesson. At that point, I had never so much as tried to stand still on skis on level snow. Those veterans led us up the ski-lift to "Chassoure." It might as well have been French for "Sure Death." How sure? It was/is a double-black run, and I didn't even know what double-black meant. Chassoure is one of those ski runs on which, when one falls, he can expect to fall and slide unabated for several hundred yards at a time. How many times do you suppose us rank beginners fell during that first-ever attempt? Probably not more than seven or eight, but that's only because we slid so far after each fall. It was painful. It was brutal. It was, in my opinion, not necessary. Those veterans could have just as easily led us to a bunny slope and a full day or two – or four – of lessons for beginners. But they didn't. They took us to Chassoure, and we all paid the price. Ski trip consisted of four days, but all of us fresh veterans of Chassoure were in far too much pain to go out and up again. We spent the next three days – Fri, Sat, Sun – tending to our injuries in the hotel. (One member of our walking wounded caught a few minutes of the Super Bowl on Sunday.) Maybe this was the veterans' version of a snipe hunt. I don't know.
To this day, I have NO idea of why I ever wanted to try it again. I still shake my head over that question.
I'm sure some of the veterans took cameras, but we rookies did not. No photos of me came home from Verbier.
NEXT SKI TRIP happened just a couple weeks later. 'Twas with the Kontakt Klub, another Heidelberg group. We went to what could barely be called a bunny slope in Sankt-Englmar im Schwarzwald (Black Forest) in Germany. It had almost zero slope and covered only, maybe, seventy yards.
The lift was the "rope-tow" variety. That meant, while it was pulling me up the slope, I had an opportunity to get the feel of putting pressure onto the balls of my feet – shift pressure onto the left foot in order to turn to the right. Shift pressure onto the right foot in order to turn to the left. Counter-intuitive, yes, but that's just the way it is. The learning had begun. It has not ended.
We spent only a day and a half in the Schwarzwald. On the bus ride back to Heidelberg, I was safe, uninjured, healthy. Somewhere deep in my mind was congealing the idea that I could learn how to do this with just a little more practice.
A FEW DAYS LATER, a co-worker notified me that she and her husband could not accompany HISC on a three-day trip they had already booked. She asked whether I would want to reimburse them for half the cost and I, then, would make the trip solo. I responded, "Please give me a day or two to think about it." She did. Next day, I accepted her offer and was booked for a three-day ski trip to Lauterbrunnen/ Grindelwald, Switzerland. I had NO idea that Grindelwald was one of the biggest, baddest monsters in all the Alps.
Soon, the day of departure arrived, and away I went.
Skiing began on Fri, 25 March 1983. I easily remembered the progress I had made in the Schwarzwald. At Grindelwald, I was easily able to avoid trouble: See a 400' drop? Steer away from it -- NOW! And I did – with no difficulty all weekend. Even so, I still was not ready for the Olympics; far from it, but again I was alive and uninjured.
That was my third and final ski outing of Spring 1983. Even as our bus was rolling toward Heidelberg, I was thinking about the next ski season nearly a year away. "I think I need to learn how to do it right before I declare whether skiing is meant for me." At that point, the clock began ticking down toward September and HISC's kick-off meeting as we approached the 1983-'84 ski season.
THE WARM-WEATHER MONTHS ahead provided plenty time to think about the ski season past and the season ahead. My only possible conclusion was "Full Speed Ahead!" Once back in Heidelberg, I hustled into Sport Bredl and bought a set of skis, boots and some MUCH better ski clothing. That was easy. Put all of it into a closet until December. There was plenty time to decide on where to go for the all-important assignment of properly learning how to ski. Think, think, think... Some friends had gifted me with a ski atlas, so I spent a lot of time looking at it, studying it, making notes and the like. In about July, the decision was made: Zermatt, Switzerland, Home of the Matterhorn.
We'll share some details on that fairly soon.
Photo: Kent Olinger; Davos, Switzerland; Feb 99
