The Highly Selective Skiography of gincognito

[gincognito]

The Beginning

I believe I fell in love with skiing due to my father’s impatience with the bunny slopes of Glen Eden. At the time, being all of 10 years old, I thought his refusal to spend more than two runs on the mellow T-bar serviced slope was a sign of his utmost confidence in my ability. I’d properly affixed my skis (in half the time it took him to strap on his clunky contraptions), survived the horrible lift, and made my way down with only a minimal amount of butt-sliding and knee torque-ing. My wedge was in fine shape and clearly I was destined for greater terrain.

Across the road we trundled, a boy and his father, out on their first day of skiing together. How could anyone foresee the seed about to be planted? Surely my mother would have put a stop to such madness. But with a family vacation to the Swiss Alps looming, it was deemed necessary to give me a practice day on sticks and snow. Surely the 300 vertical feet of Glen Eden would be adequate?

In line for the chairlift, fear seized me. So fragile, so high – were we really supposed to sit on those? Watching the chairs fly around the bull wheel, only the belief that my father believed in me kept me from turning and running. Or bursting into tears at the very least.

But survive I did, with a helping hand on the loading and unloading portions. For sure, I gripped the chair tight, fully aware that the space below the safety bar was more than adequate to allow me passage. The height was dizzying and electrifying. My eyes were wide.

When I came off the exit ramp with not a piece of me hitting the ground, my confidence reached new heights (never mind the fact that I’d been hauled to safety like a sack of odd shaped potatoes by the strong arm of my Pa). I was standing and I was invincible. It was a foregone conclusion.

And so we drifted off towards a blue run, my father giving me the helpful instruction of “Just stay behind me, nice and easy.” My wedge firmly in place, I was in full control as we meandered over to the edge of the world.

Seriously. The slope dropped. The comforting view of white snow fell away and the parking lot down below filled the void. The gentle nudge of gravity tipped me over the edge and was replaced by an aggressive free fall.

I left my father in the dust.

I don’t know if he called to me. I don’t know if he made any wild arm-waving signs. All I heard was the roaring wind of my own creation. All I felt were the tears streaming out of my eyes. And all I saw was my life transforming.

That, and a lady in a brown one-piece. A brown one-piece with yellow and orange racing stripes up the side. When it began to dawn on me that she was not going to move (due to her not knowing I was barreling towards her) and that my control was currently at a minimum, I finally threw it into panic mode. Instincts garnered from years of falling off bikes, falling off skateboards, falling off stairs and just generally falling, kicked into gear and I let myself succumb to survival. Details are sketchy at this point, but when the snow cleared and my eyes opened I saw my father looking down at me.

I have to believe that he knew I was not hurt. I have to believe this because he was laughing. And how could I not join him? And how could I not fall in love?

Sick and ashamed and happy (and this may be a repeat, but it will be added to - with pics if my ransacking of old family photo albums goes as planned),
d.

[mr_gyptian]

nice

[bad_roo]

I'm trying to imagine you as a 10 year old grom but in my mind's eye you still have a goatee and it's weirding me out.

[3o3]

Originally posted by gincognito
only the belief that my father believed in me kept me from turning and running. Or bursting into tears at the very least.

I love this sentence. It's one of the coolest parts of being a parent. Watching your kids try something they don't believe they can do, simply because you believe in them.
Awesome story gin!

[Dr. Crash]

Very nice writing. Hey Schmear, publish it?
drC

[InspectorGadget]

Mem - or - ies . . . . in the cor-ner of my mind.

Great story Gin

I can't wait to see the photos.

[Big E]

Nice, gin. Have the same vision as roo, though. Maybe the sparkly gold helmet, too

[shera]

Lovely.

It'll be cool when you pass the same experience along to your own yard-apes.

[Mulletizer]

Very nice. That brings it all back to me.

---------------
Aged 6, family holiday in the Swiss Alps. The first time I had skied. Had the wedge down pretty fine but hadn't realised you could use it to turn. Seems the instructor had just been leading us in a straight line very slowly.

My mother took me skiing one afternoon and, accidentally, I applied more pressure to one side, turned and stoped. I was majorly pissed about this. There might even have been tears.

Mulletizer: "Why did I turn? I don't want to turn. I want to go straight! I don't want to turn."

Mother: "No Mulletizer, you have to turn. If you don't you'll go too fast and fall over and hurt yourself. Turning is good - all the best skiers turn."

Mulletizer: "No. I don't want to turn. Tell me how to not turn. I want to go straight."

------------------
Fast forward 16 years. Mum has come to stay with me whilst I'm bumming in La Grave. I just straightlined a (not very big) powder pitch.

Mother: "I can't believe you didn't make any turns. Do you have death wish? You really should slow down."

Mulletizer: "No way. Turns suck. I don't like turning."

Mother: "You're just going to hurt yourself, Mulletizer. All the best skiers turn. You should turn more."

Mulletizer: "No way. I wanna go straight."

Mother: "You never listen. You're only going to hurt yourself. Then your season will be over."
...
Mulletizer: "Look, more powder! Let's go."

Mother: "Grrrrrr."

[road trip]

For a moment, I forgot that it was horribly hot and balmy last night and that the air conditioner has to yet to kick on in my cubicle hell.

Thanks!

[gincognito]

Fertilizer

So where should one go to cultivate a new found love of planks and angles? When one’s eyes are opening to the potential of snow-covered mountains, where can the possibilities best be appreciated?

How about the Swiss Alps? Worked for me. The mountains were nothing new to me – being born to a Swiss family with a father who works for an airline has it’s privileges – but I’d never before seen them in the winter. I’d never before seen them without a hint of green appearing on their flanks. I’d never before seen them dressed in white from top to bottom with only rocky ridgelines to offer contrast. And I’d never before seen them while strapped into skis.

This, even my young mind knew, was something.

So imagine my surprise when the ski lesson I’d been signed up for took place in the village. My mother, bless her heart, did not share my father’s confidence and so I was placed in the first-timers class alongside my younger sister. As I sidestepped up and down the slope I secretly fumed at the lack of respect being given to my one day of skiing in southern Ontario. This class was beneath me. Fortunately, my mother, bless her heart even more, soon saw the fallacy of her plan and yanked, not only me, but my sister as well, out of that class.

With smiles on our faces and sporty sunglasses to match, we headed up the funicular to join my father and older brother in the real mountains.

http://www.tetongravity.com/usergall...SwissLunch.jpg
Lunchtime. Apparently my bro thinks I am less than sane. Must be the glasses.

Now I could go back and look at all the pictures and home video, I could recount the tales with my fellow family members in order to get the details right, I could research the resort and village in order to get the facts correct…but I won’t. Instead, I will rely on hazy memories and overwhelming feelings. Because that is what really counts.

The place was big. Tall peaks in all directions. Endless mountains and valleys receding under an ever-blue sky. Lifts designed by Escher going off in all directions. Tiny dots of people milling about on every slope. I needed eyes that viewed in 360 degrees.

The snow was deep. Jumping off the balcony of our chalet in town yielded chest deep landings (and never mind how short I was). Wandering the backyard was a tiring ordeal more akin to swimming than walking. Our skiing would be limited to groomed pistes, but soft snow was never to be lacking.

The place was home. Simply because my family was there. Father, mother, sister, brother. Two full sets of grandparents, and various aunts, uncles and cousins dropping by. If these were my roots, I was more than happy to grab hold.

http://www.tetongravity.com/usergall...7/FamSwiss.jpg
Check out the form displayed by yours truly.

I remember rickety chairs that bounced for two towers before settling down. I remember T-bars that went up and down hill. I remember breaking a bamboo pole when falling off a platter lift (I was waving for my dad’s camera when it happened).

http://www.tetongravity.com/usergall...issPlatter.jpg
Just before the break...

I remember blue skies, with only one foggy day to break it up. I remember skiing by Braille that day, moving from one sign post to the next, never continuing until all in our party were accounted for.

I remember testing the limits of how fast I was willing to go – always striving to match my brother. I don’t remember giving a damn what I looked like doing it. Skis wide, arms wider, smile widest. I remember making big turns on big runs with big joy.

I remember finding jumps. I remember spread eagles. The fact that they weren’t much more spread than my regular stance and the fact that my tails often didn’t leave the ground would only come to me later. At the time I was flying.

http://www.tetongravity.com/usergall...7/SwissAir.jpg
I am an eagle. Watch me soar.

I remember faces burned by the wind and the sun, smiles etched in place, and a family vacation that could solve world problems.

I don’t remember if I felt particularly lucky at the time, but I sure do now. A door was opened for me and I ran straight through it.

Sick and ashamed and happy (and too impatient to wait for a weekend ransacking of photo albums),
d.

[Big E]

Installment 2 is as good as the first! I think I speak for all of us when I request that you dig up the pics of you and your sis with the sunglasses at age 10. I think we'll all enjoy those

[365wp]

Damn...this combined with the CO Mini thread is making me think about skiing for the first time since we left Boulder and headed east into Nebraska (and eventually Boston).

Time to start saving for this winter's trip, wherever that might be...

[gincognito]

Originally posted by Big E
I think I speak for all of us when I request that you dig up the pics of you and your sis with the sunglasses at age 10. I think we'll all enjoy those

Your wish shall be granted.



After the weekend.



If I make it to my parents.



If the pictures in my head actually exist.

Sick and ashamed and happy (and all the pictures in my head exist, right?),
d.

[Baconzoo]

Nice one gincognito,
enrich lives, create memories....


I started my Grom at 2 (last year) and this year he got poles.
http://www.baconzoo.com/downloads/jman.jpg

[snowsprite]

Wish I could convince my kid to ski w/ poles...he flat out refuses! I asked him why and it's something about it not being very cool in his opinion. He's a very stubborn little guy.

Thanks for posting this Gin. Makes me wonder & reflect what my son will remember of our ski time together. Luckily, I believe his ski memories will be good ones. We have had some of our most fun and happy times together on the slopes. I'm surprised he has not "rebelled" though with the amount of weekend time we spend on this sport. It must be in his blood, he seems to crave it as much as I do.

Sprite

[gincognito]

Bump for goatee-less pics.

Sick and ashamed and happy (and no goldish helmet either!),
d.

[gincognito]

Hooliganism

I appeared on the other side with a gospel to preach. From the soaring heights of the Swiss Alps, to the modest undulations of the Niagara escarpment, my enthusiasm was not tempered.

I credit three things with keeping the ski fuels burning bright in the Ontario southlands: friends, junior highschool electives, and Greg Stump.

The first two are somewhat interlinked. Heading into the winter session of Grade 7 we were blessed with the concept of Friday afternoon electives. For two months the last day of the schoolweek was turned upside down as kids headed off to their pre-chosen activity, throwing books by the wayside and putting their hyperactivity to use. Choices ranged from the mundane like cooking and sewing, to the physical like indoor basketball and soccer. Also thrown into the mix were a handful of offsite endeavours. Ice-skating. Bird watching. And downhill skiing.

The choice was clear and for two years a core group of us were the first to hand in our forms and spend a winter’s worth of Fridays on a bus bound for Glen Eden.

Skis, poles and boots were haphazardly thrown in the back of big yellow and energy ran high all the way to the slopes. Once there, the one-hour mandatory lesson was tolerated before we were unleashed to run rampant on our new playground. Boomerang, Sunset, Scimitar and Twister occupied most of our time as we milked each lap for all it was worth. When feelings were running particularly bold, Suicide made it’s way on to the list.

The trail map today lists it as Challenger and denotes it with one diamond, but back in the day, I swear to you it sported two. Not for the faint of heart, this run dropped from the top at a break-neck angle of 30+ degrees for a distance of at least 50-feet. Replete with moguls, this truly was a proving ground. I remember fondly surviving the thrill one day and turning around to view my friend’s decent. With so many dots littering the slope it was hard to make him out. The large cloud of snow that accompanied his falling made it a little easier and I smiled smugly at the knowledge that, finally, I had one-upped him.

http://www.gleneden.on.ca/images2/getrailmapsm.gif
The trail map of today - much has changed since my day...

Snowballs thrown from the chairlift, constant collisions, endless showing off, and perpetual games of cat and mouse with the ski patrol kept our days lively. These were the days well before terrain parks and smack dab – to paraphrase Mr. Stump – in the times of lawyers and lawsuits. The no jumping rule was strictly enforced and even ski lessons were not a safe haven. When our lively old ski instructor encouraged us to “grab a little air” on a small bump ahead (prompting my sarcastic buddy to ponder where we should put said air), a large women in red with a thick accent was there to whistle us down. I’ll never forget the anger on her face as she instructed us all to repeat after her: “Zee skis stay on zee ground!”

http://www.tetongravity.com/usergall...dJacketAir.jpg
A healthy disregard for the rules is key to being a hooligan.

Regardless we sought out any feature that could propel us into the air and grant us that feeling of flight. Scouts were put in place, 2-foot rocks were dropped, and sides of runs were flirted with in a constant effort to add thrills to our runs. In short: we were hooligans.

And we were loving it.

Not long after these beginnings, a member of our possee stumbled upon a strange ski video with a pink border and an odd title. In a world of “Snow Country” and “Ski Time,” we did not know how to react to something called “Maltese Flamingo.” We popped it into the top-loading VCR and our ski lives kicked into high gear.

Sick and ashamed and happy (and ploughing ahead in my self-indulgence),
d.

[Big E]

This is great! All of us getting a glimpse into the formative years of that trademark gincognito style in the air.

Wasn't Schmidt in Ski Time, though? I seem to recall him making the rest of the skiing in that movie look pretty pedestrian. Of course, Warren, with his trademark narration - "Sometimes, his uphill ski is above his downhill knee."

Ahh, Ima gonna have to watch that again some time.

edit - I think I'm thinking of "Beyond the Edge." That's the cover I remember (BTW, a poster signed by Schmidt and WM is on sale on WM's website right now!). Ski Time says it was done in 1995. That can't be right.

[bdog]

Good work. Very nice prose ... and stoke. Reflections on the past are always so good. Great pics. Wish I still had pics from my early days.

[gincognito]

Idols

We now had idols. We now had role models. We now saw the potential behind this thing called skiing. The air, the rocks, the speed, and the snow, but also the humour, the craziness, the absurdity, and the life. We were not alone. This was not a phase. Here were grown men jumping off cliffs and skiing moguls at a pace we could only dream of. Here were grown men falling in deep snow and wandering through casinos in sleeping bags. And here was a hairy caveman pontificating on the various shortcomings of the movie we were viewing.

Somehow it all made sense and solidified in us the feeling that we were skiers. We adopted the names of the Flamingo crew and soon had the film memorized (for the record, I was Chris “The Hatchetman” Haslock). We now had our own language and a window into another world.

After summers spent skateboarding and building ramps with wood pilfered from local construction sites (our parents graciously accepting our explanations that it all came from the scrap pile), autumn would bring to us the misery of school but also the anticipation of the coming ski season. The Ski Show was always the first indication that snow was imminent and, in brave feats of independence, our band of 12 year olds would get on the train to Toronto to partake in the swag-fest that these shows used to be.

Armed with plastic bags and an innocent ignorance we methodically walked the aisles grabbing anything on the counters that we deemed to be free. Brochures, magazines, stickers and posters all made their way into our loot bags and, eventually, onto our walls and schoolbooks. Excitement was clearly rising.

Compounding this state of impatience for the snow to fall was the fact that my parents had recently bought me my first pair of brand new skis. No hand me downs from my brother, no garage sale specials. These were new and shiny and mine would be first feet to click into them. Bright red Fischer RC4 Competition SLs. I still remember them well. Look step-in bindings and Nordica rear entry boots. I was in the big leagues now.

“Maltese Flamingo” made way for “Blizzard of Aaahhs” and “License to Thrill” and our minds continued to expand. Perhaps a little too much.

Though Friday’s at Glen Eden were being complemented with weekend trips to Mount St. Louis, Caledon, Horseshoe Valley, and, if we were lucky, Blue Mountain and Holiday Valley, it was becoming evident that our hills were not up to snuff. Though the latter introduced us to sanctioned tree skiing and further upped the ante on steepness with its infamous “Wall,” a feeling of restriction was setting in.

Further contributing to this confinement was the continuing hard-line stance on jumping and “reckless” skiing. Though adding a certain commando flair to our natural inclinations to take to the air, the lack of open jumping put a crimp in our style and, no doubt, slowed our progression. I have to smile at how far things have come and how tiny molehills have finally figured out one area where they can strive for equality. At the same time I grow a little wistful wondering what could have been had we had these same terrain parks to play in.

Instead we were left to find our own. Intersecting runs proved to be ideal locations to display the moves of the day.

http://www.tetongravity.com/usergall...0367/Daffy.jpg
Throwin' down.

Other solutions involved taking our mad skills off the hills and bringing them back to the home where, surprisingly, the parents proved more liberal than the patrol.

http://www.tetongravity.com/usergall...67/OffRoof.jpg
My bro showin' off for the ladies (in a jacket I would later inherit)

Camraderie and hooliganism go a long way and it’s mostly in hindsight that I project yearnings for bigger and better things. At the time skiing was still primarily about friends and laughs, and those were still in abundance on the slopes of Ontario. When word came down that the family would soon be uprooted to Montreal, I confess that my reaction was one of anger that I would be separated from my friends. At age thirteen is there anything more important in a boys life than his gang? It would be months later before skiing had the chance to be my silver lining.

Sick and ashamed and happy (and gripping, eh?),
d.

[edg]

Originally posted by gincognito
Sick and ashamed and happy (and gripping, eh?),
d. [/B]

Indeed - bring on the next segment!

edg

[Baconzoo]

Sick beyond words......
http://www.tetongravity.com/usergall...al_OffRoof.jpg

Roots of phat cliff drops starts at home on the garage roof.

[tuffy109]

gin's en fuego. lovin' it.

[summit]

neat