© 2002

“Bet the person who skied that face soiled his shorts.”

Nils Larsen, telemark videographer, telemark instructor, telemark equipment consultant, and all around zealot of this subspecies of skiing, is standing beside me studying the face of Excelsior Mountain, a 12,446 foot peak near the northeastern border of Yosemite National Park and the tracks before us tell a story.

Not a pretty story. On the 40-plus degree steeps, the uneven meter of two turns preceded a crater where the pilot augured in. Down and down the pilot went until, at the steepest pitch he was reduced to making wide kick turns. Then the terrorized skier ate up the lion’s share of the face’s final 400 vertical feet with one immense traverse.

“He was waaay over his head.” Nils shakes his head, a sign I interpret to mean that this sinner defiled nature’s beautiful line with graceless skiing.

“You don’t approve of the way he skied this—of how he marred the slope?”

I know I’m setting myself up. Nils is an opinionated guy and because we share the same out-of-vogue views on most things, we fuel each other’s tirades.

“It’s not the individual tracks, that bother me,” he says, “It’s what those tracks say about the trend of skiing.”

Nils looks out over the scenery before us. Between the broad bowls, wide ridges and steep chutes, there are ski descents of all possibilities within our viewshed. “Look at all that terrain that someone who doesn’t know how to ski 40° slopes could have enjoyed,” he says pointing to a beautiful bowl a mile in the offing. “But this guy probably trudged in on fat skis and stiff plastic boots, and there was no way he was going to haul his load an extra mile to appropriate slopes. Nope, he’s another McGnarly wannabe.”

Nils and I, on the other hand, aren’t skiing the slopes of the Eastern Sierra specifically for the “gnar” like so many visitors who have left tracks near the Virginia Lakes trailhead where we started. We’ve come to enjoy Nordic skiing in all its forms—to skim across flat alpine meadows, climb gradual U-shaped valleys, glide up multiple peaks, scribe broad turns down moderate bowls and, maybe, to link tight turns down a few steep faces. We’ll ski a little “gnar” if conditions are right but rather than laboring up one peak for hours with the anchor of heavy gear just so we can shred the downhill in seconds, we’ve come to enjoy slopes of all angles.

Our skiing is a throwback to the roots of Nordic skiing—efficient cross-country travel interwoven with the poetic dance of turning–and our gear is, by the standards of the new millenium, a throwback too. We sport lightweight skis piloted by light leather boots. It’s a system made for covering ground and one that is not awfully different than what I skied in the late 1970s.

“This is typical of modern skiing,” says Nils still studying those unpoetic tracks. “The guy skied in here, skied that one line—poorly—and skied out.” He turns to me. “This is an example of what I’ve been telling you—nowadays skiers carry more but accomplish less.”

Like this skier, we too will ascend Excelsior Mountain, but that act constitutes merely a third of the day ahead. With our light gear, we will circumnavigate the entire massif forming the foundation of Excelsior Mountain. Combining many miles of touring with ski ascents/descents bucks the current trend so focused on steep skiing. By carrying less on both feet and back, however, we will not only enjoy mellow terrain but also hop on the steeps when snow conditions allow. With less we can accomplish more.

“You really are a Luddite.”

It’s evening and, contrary to the no-fire ethic of the era, Nils sits beside a little blaze enjoying the warmth. He is environmental in his environmental insensitivity. The few sticks of wood employed in his fire were collected half a mile away on the march to camp, the fire is built on top of a dinner-plate-sized rock and the ashes will be thoroughly scattered in the morning. To Nils, however, an evening under the stars isn’t camping without fire. But it’s not this tradition of fire that has me accusing him of Ludditism. It’s the fact that in this era of pile caps, plastic boots, synthetic gloves, and polyester socks he sits by the fire wearing a tweed driving cap while drying leather boots, deerskin gloves, and wool socks.

Ludditism is one of Nils’ favorite topics and he launches into a lesson. “People falsely believe that back in the early 1800s the Luddites revolted against all technology.” Nils explains that the Luddites protested the mechanization of the industrial revolution because the machines would put skilled weavers and craftsmen out of work and because the factories created such soulless work. “The Luddites rebelled against misapplied technology that didn’t improve the quality of life. And they were right about the evils of the new factories—they did put skilled laborers out of work, they did create inhuman working conditions.”

Given how passionate Nils is about skiing and the parallels he is drawing, there’s no way this conversation won’t turn to skiing. I hasten the inevitable. Looking at the low-tech gear he’s drying I ask, “So how do you decide from all our ski technology what is misapplied technology and what is worth adopting?”

“With my brain. Unfortunately, there’s way too much lemming behavior as skiers jump aboard new technologies and new trends established by marketers, magazines, and filmmakers. Skiers are told they should be skiing steep, so we go out and scare ourselves rather than go out and have fun. Skiers are told they need heavier skis to rip, so we go out and marry ourselves to gear that’s too heavy to accomplish much. Skiers are told synthetic rules, but I’ve yet to find synthetic gloves that are anywhere near as durable, economical, or functional as these deerskin ones. Pigskin gloves are even better.”

While hype has the tendency to lead skiers down questionable paths, Nils admits we have made technologic progress since the good old days, “Modern skis with no-wax bases… they can do amazing things—I’m not returning to wood. I use synthetic pants, shirts, and raingear.” He mentions Garmont’s new, very light, two-buckle plastic boot (the Excursion) “Those may lure me out of these,” he holds up his Karhu Nomads, the light leather telemarking boots we’re both using during this April tour. Considering he works for Karhu part of the year, that’s quite an admission.

“Like the Luddites, I’m not railing against technology per se, I’m railing against inappropriate technology—technology that rather than expanding our capabilities accomplishes nothing or, worse yet, diminishes our capabilities.”

In truth, the gear in our possession is extremely technologic. Our foam-core skis are shorter, wider, and shapelier than skis of old. They ski far better than the Europa 77s I started on decades ago, but like those skis of old they devour distance by remaining light under foot. Our 3-pin bindings are an aluminum alloy that can withstand tremendous torque yet, lacking a cable, allow unrestricted heel—“Free the heel and you’re free of blisters.”

Then there’s the very considerable technology wrapped up in what we carry—or, rather, in what we don’t carry. A Nilsian axiom maintains, “If you ski on light gear you ski with a light pack.” It’s all a matter of balance — you need good balance to ski light gear and heavy packs undermine balance. Furthermore if you intend to cover distance, feathery boards on the feet accomplish little if you strap an anchor to the shoulders.

Consequently we carry not only the provisions for five days of skiing but also everything needed to safely weather the backcountry in packs weighing 29 pounds. To say our LED headlamps, Silicone-nylon tent, polycarbonate shovels, electronic transceivers, and Spectra-cloth packs are a rejection of technology would be a joke. Instead they are appropriate technology for the goal of accomplishing more with less. Left on the shelves of the stores are the inappropriate technologies advertisers try to pedal but which make us the mules of our load: seven-pound packs, six-pound tents, four-pound sleeping bags, 3½-pound storm suits, camp chairs, cappuccino makers, candle lanterns…

The sky has purpled down to black and stars arch across its screen. We lay back and appreciate a sky so black it’s nearly white with stars. It’s good to be here enjoying Muir’s Range of Light at night. We are hours beyond the last tracks laid by others yet our light gear has made short work of reaching this timberline camp.

…story continues on page 2…

© 2002

…Page 2, continued from page 1…

Old school Nordic ski touring – Luddite Dreams

Under firm, morning-snow conditions we top Virginia Pass. The plan had been to drop into Glines Canyon, climb Epidote and Camiaca peaks before camping beside Summit Lake. We quickly nix the idea. The snowpack is thin and the skiing looks terrible.

The center of good skiing is obvious from the pass. We must drop to Return Creek, cross a lake basin, then make the long uphill trudge up the expansive bowls capped by Stanton Peak. To the fat-ski, plastic-boot crowd it would be a miserably long haul for the number of steep turns available. But to skiers of our ilk it’s a beautifully rounded tour offering equal parts of flat ground, gentle and steep climbs, and gentle and steep descents. Nils contemplates the distances and asks, “You think anyone else has skied that peak this spring?”

Given the state (or rather the weight) of modern ski gear, it’s a reasonable question. We strike off and with the sun hammering the snow discover it’s easy to penetrate the eggshell crust and submarine the skis into the yolk-like snow below. Smooth, delicate turns have Nils barely scratching the eggshell crust. “Heavy plastic boots lack the sensitivity to ski so delicately. Sure, you could ski aggressively and punch each turn, but there’s more elegance in finesse than force.”

We reach a frozen lake, stride across it with the impressive rock walls of Virginia Peak towering above us, than start a long uphill trudge. The corn has softened—ideal conditions for our no-wax skis. The skis grip securely on angles as steep as we care to climb, yet glide downhill nearly as fast as wax bases—all without the tedium and lost time of applying and stripping skins. Again Nils beats the appropriate-technology drum —waxless skis are such good springtime technology, he leaves the skins at home.

I, on the other hand, carry two skinny skins—made by slicing one randonnee skin, longitudinally, in half. Such skins, I argue, are useful for uphill grip in early morning when the snowpack is still icy and for particularly steep climbs. Nils grants me the first argument but rejects the second. “You can climb just as steep without skins and with far less effort.” He mentions the resistance created by skins, “They bleed your legs of energy.”

I’m skeptical.

“Then put a skin on one ski.”

I comply. In these corn-snow conditions I discover the ability to climb marginally steeper is not worth the substantially higher co-efficient of friction. I can’t wait to peel the sucker off.

The noon sun hits its zenith and burns through a sky whose blue has bleached nearly to gray. It’s a monochrome world. And a hot one. Were we toting heavy gear, the heat would erode our ambition. But as lightweights, the effort to ski higher is tolerable. We hit the ridge and a breeze freshens the strides leading to the summit.

Before long we’re downward bound dealing with slurpy snows on a steep face. It’s a scenario demanding completely different technique than our earlier descent but my accompanying videographer who created such instructional/informational videos, Beyond The Groomed and Freedom of the Heels is dealing efficiently with the knee-deep glop. Executing quick turns he rises out of the snowpack, changes the direction of the skis, sinks down, and let’s the skis carve momentarily. Then he recaptures the potential energy building in the heavily bowed skis by vaulting upward for another directional shift of the skis. It’s a strenuous but beautiful dance keeping him compact and balanced. The dance also keeps him from generating speeds his gossamer gear cannot control in this snowpack. Rather than nurturing such technique, the modern shortcut to skiing such snows gracefully is employing the sledgehammer of heavy gear.

We stop for a breather and as I pull out the camera to capture this stunning range of white snow, golden rocks and red-barked trees, I toss out questions probing the technique-versus-technology issue. “As a society we try to consume rather than finesse our way out of our problems, ” he tells me. Nils studies the cirque before us, deciding which slopes to ski next, then returning to the topic, illustrates the problem. “I see a lot of people spending $1000 on brand new ski gear who were unwilling to spend a few hundred dollars on the instruction required to have them skiing their old gear better than they currently ski their new gear.”

Nils traverses the cirque and finds a long, 35° slope. He skis the changing snow conditions fluidly by mixing telemark, jump telemark and parallel turns. I ski to the side of his tracks and spend a good portion of the descent battling the glop for balance. A quick look and Nils has not only identified the principle problem but rendered a solution. “Bend your ankles more…you gain an amazing amount of balance with deeply flexed ankles.”

During the next series of turns I bend the knees less and flex the ankles more and can, indeed, feel the improved balance. Suddenly my turns are smoother, my initiation into the next turn faster. It’s a small step in technique, a giant reduction in faceplants.

The margarine-colored light of late afternoon reflects off the snow as we start a two-mile long climb toward a camp at Summit Lake. To the south the white granite cliffs and serrated skyline of Shepherd Crest beckons. We decide to explore its environs tomorrow. Never mind that it looks a long ways off—on light gear if we can see it, we can reach it—if we aren’t distracted getting there.

On the two-mile traverse leading upward to camp, the passing slopes keep seducing us. Without skins to strip and without weariness generated by burdensome gear we frequently drop the packs, crank 20 or 30 turns through perfect corn conditions, then reclimb to our packs and carry on.

We enter the basin containing Summit Lake as the sky turns tangerine and ski to its eastern shores where we camp. From camp we can look across the lake toward the pyramidal peak we skied just hours ago. From this vantage point it appears a long way off. Nils is retracing portions of today’s route with his miniature binoculars and can just make out our descent tracks. “Not exactly McGnarly,” he comments, “But whoever skied way over there must have had an amazing day of Sierra skiing.”

 

…story continues with a list of lightweight gear here…

This is a rerun of an article first published in Couloir magazine,
Vol. XIV-5, Spring 2002

© 2002

SEEING THE LIGHT

The Gospel According to Nils
circa 2001

Nils skis on heavy gear at resorts, but for touring he looks for the ideal compromise between mobility and turnability. Here are his picks.
-SKIS: No-wax Karhu Pavo (73/60/76, 4.9 lbs/pair). “For spring conditions, ski ‘em short (175 cm for a 6-foot skier).”
-BINDINGS: Rottefella Super Telemark, 3-pin binding (13 oz/pair).“Cable bindings are too restricting.”
-BOOTS: Karhu Nomads (4.25 lbs/pair, size 10.5). “This boot isn’t stiff enough to drive a wider ski.”

PACKING LIGHT

Another Nilsian Axiom: Halve your load and you’ll quadruple your skiing pleasure. Here’s some appropriate technology to consider.
-TENT: Warmlite 2Rtent (2.75 lbs). A bombproof 2-person tent.
-PACK: GoLite Gust Pack (1.25 lbs). A 4500-cubic-inch pack that handles 30-pound loads admirably.
-SLEEPING BAG: Feathered Friends Swallow (2.1 lbs). Be willing to sleep in your clothes and this 20-degree bag is warm enough for any springtime tour.
-HEADLAMP: Petzl Tikka (2.4 ounces with batteries). An LED lamp supplying all the light you need around camp.
-RAINCOAT: GoLite Newt Jacket (10 oz). Though fragile for general use, if saved for foul weather this waterproof/breathable jacket does the job.
-RAINPANTS: GoLite Newt (5 oz). If saved for foul weather, these waterproof/breathable pants will keep you dry.
-SLEEPING PAD: Therm-a-Rest ¾-length UltraLite Pad (14 oz). Use your pack to insulate your feet while sleeping.
-FOOD: If planned carefully, 1.5 lbs of dry food per day is plenty. Shed all excess packaging.
-LEFT OUT: Camp shoes, spare change of clothing, camp chair, insulated mug, coffee maker, book, towel, toiletries (except toothbrush and toothpaste).

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© 2002

What are your go to pieces of equipment for keeping it light?