THE BEST OF WINTER . SPORTS.
IF a Londoner who died some twenty years ago could revisit Charing Cross or Victoria Station and watch the departure of the boat trains at this time of year, he would be perplexed. The rush to Switzerland in the summer he used to know and understand. Some people went to bask in the sun at high altitudes, others to climb the mountains. But in the winter the Swiss hotels were nearly all closed, and the mountains were regarded as for all practical purposes inac- cessible. The fashion of going to Switzerland for skating, tobogganing, or curling has steadily grown, of course, for several years, but the sport above all which has made Switzerland of the winter more desirable than Switzerland of the summer, and has filled the hotels to bursting, is the sport of ski-running. As a means of locomotion it is nearly as old as the hills—at all events, as old as the history of Norwegian hills—but the universal discovery of ski-running as a sport and as a means of warfare is a thing of the last few years. It is very odd why this should be so, but any ski- runner would laugh if you hinted that ski-running will suffer the fats of sudden crazes and drop out of fashion like ping- pong or diabolo.
The mountains of Switzerland are now traversed from end to end in the winter; it is not likely that so long as Europeans care for sport they will be allowed to repose again in their ancient silence and spread under the skies unscarred wastes through all the winter months. How different is the ski-runner's thought about the Alps from that of the Middle Ages or even of the eighteenth century ! As late as Sir Walter Scott it was the custom to speak of the mountains as savage, gloomy, and forbidding rather than to call them grand or inspiring. Sir Walter could not pass Pilatus without a shiver. As Mr. Harold Spender remarks in the preface to his excellent col- lection of prose and verse on Switzerland ("In Praise of Switzerland, Being the Alps in Prose and Verse." London: Constable and Co. 5s. net.), fear was the sentiment inspired by the Alps in the mind of the early modern man. Benvenuto Cellini's account of his journey across the Alps is "a narrative of pitiable terror" so intense as to blind him to the beauties of the scenery. If that could be the sentiment of the great Florentine sculptor, one is less astonished at the effect on the urbane spirit of Horace Walpole, even though it was two centuries later that he hurried through the Alps, desiring nothing more than to leave them behind him. Coleridge, Wordsworth, Shelley, Byron, Ruskin, saw the great vision of the Alps differently and, as we of to-day think, rightly ; and to the great Alpinists of the nineteenth century—Whymper, Leslie Stephen, Mr. Freshfield, and the rest—their sport was a kind of noble intellectual combat. In a rather more heedless spirit the ski-runners of to-day rush to Switzerland for their Christmas holidays. They are off to the playing fields. The savage vision has quite faded. They can hardly understand
why Dante made mountains with ice and snow part of his Inferno. Indeed, they may think too familiarly of the heights which can be explored by the magic feet of the ski-runner. We advise them to correct the impertinence by taking with them Mr. Spender's judicious anthology. If it would be heresy to carry it in the rucksack and read it in the sheltered nook open to the sun on the mountain height that every ski-runner has in mind as the object of a "tour," then let it be read between tea and dinner in the hotel. We do not say after dinner, because every serious ski-runner who is not kept awake by Bridge or Coon Can ought to be allowed to go peacefully to sleep in the somnolent atmosphere of the radiators.
The wonder is that ski-running as a sport was not dis- covered sooner. Even the skater who has become the fascinated slave of his pastime is in danger of breaking his bonds when he has put on ski and climbed for the first time to a height of two or three thousand feet above his hotel. He sees the rink a speck in the valley ; men like flies move unimpressively upon the tiny surface ; it seems petty at that moment (perhaps for ever after in his judgment — who knows ?), while the whole vast area of the snowy slopes uplifted from sky to sky are available for his feet, which are now winged like Mercury's. Even in Norway, although Norwegians have always practised ski-running as a means of transporting the human body across snow, it has become a sport only since the 'seventies of last century. From Norway it spread to Sweden, Austria, Germany, and Switzer- land. France, Italy, and Austria have organized battalions of ski-runners. Hungarian and Polish ski clubs (we take our facts from the "Year Book of the Ski Club of Great Britain") flourish in the High Tatra district. Four years ago a party of Englishmen travelled on ski in Montenegro, Albania, and Turkey. Even in Spain the ski-runner has appeared on the high plateaus and the southern slopes of the Pyrenees. In Algeria ski-running has been practised for years, and for all we know it has already proved useful in the Atlas Mountains of Morocco. It is the same story in Canada, the United States, India, Australia, and New Zealand. It is said that the dis- covery of ski-running as a sport was largely due to Dr. Nansen's book, " The First Crossing of Greenland."
The best ski-running ground in the world is probably Norway. Where the snow lies smooth on the pastures of the peasants it is perfect. Yet the winds of Norway are cutting, and it is not remarkable that the still atmosphere of the Swiss mountains makes Switzerland the favourite place. In Great Britain when there is snow the Peak district and the 'Welsh mountains are good, but the best grounds are the central Highlands of Scotland—the district of Pitlochry, Dalwhinnie, and Kingussie. Unhappily it is rare for British snow to be in the condition that the ski-runner desires. The best snow is that which has lain at a. uniform temperature below freezing for several days. One has heard of enthusiasts swishing down plough furrows in the Peak district, where the snow remained long after it had been blown away from the exposed places, and performing the most acrobatic " Christiania " swings of their lives in order to avoid running into a stone wall.
The friendly snow of Switzerland is deep enough to fall into without hurting oneself. You pay for the luxury by your labours in pulling yourself out of it and rearranging your limbs. The difficulties of learning to use ski are commonly exaggerated. As a matter of fact, the enjoyment begins from the first moment, and although people vary very much in the time they take to acquire control of their ski, it is fortunately unnecessary to master the different swings before a " tour " can be undertaken. The ability to make an S turn down a slope is enough for safe steering, nor is anyone in danger so long as he is able and willing to sit down ; " Telemarks " and " Christianias " may come later. An elementary knack of balance —to a skater it is quite simple—is enough to enable you to fly down a hillside at thirty miles an hour without difficulty. To the novice the first look of a very steep snow elope to the valley below is frankly alarming. He feels as though he were being asked to jump off the roof of his house. In a few days his hesitation is gone and can hardly be recalled. During a toilsome climb he only longs for the supreme moment when he will put his feet together and launch himself downwards. Then for a few minutes of transport he knows the sensation of the downward swoop of the swallow,while the powdery snow flies in spray from under the ski. The average Englishman cannot hope to emulate the Norwegian child who is on ski from infancy. Nor may he ever have the knowledge of snow necessary to undertake such adventurous journeys as are described in M. Roget's " Ski- Rims in the High Alps " (London : T. Fisher Unwin, 10s. 6d, net), which lies before us. M. Roget's first winter ascent of the Dent Blanche was a fine performance, and everyone who intends to use ski as a means of reaching the high peaks should not fail to read this book.
A new society of British ski-runners has been formed, as much for the benefit of the novice as for the expert. This is the National Ski Union. The Ski Club of Great Britain requires tolerable proficiency in candidates for membership, but the National Ski Union, which works in unison with the older club, is open to all interested in the sport. It has a strong council ; Lord St. Vincent is President and Sir Ernest Shackleton Vice-President. The older club has done invaluable work as a pioneer body, but it is evident that there is room for the new body, which will help it to guard and guide the interests of ski-runners and keep the sport free from commercial influences. Both clubs will encourage the adoption of correct principles in ski-running, so that the spectacle of a British ski-runner leaning on a single stick, when he should be either using none (downhill) or two (uphill or on the level), or making S turns down a slope when he is really proficient enough to run straight, may be banished. The office of the hon. secretary of the National Ski Union is at 3 King's Bench Walk, Temple.
Previous page
