Taos Ski Week, Day 4

Fresh Powder and Footbeds

By Carson Bennett, 3-03-08

	heavy snow at Taos Ski Valley

It snowed for hours last night, and it’s still snowing this morning when I drive from the hostel to the Taos Ski Valley. The flakes are as big as cotton balls, and softer. When I drop my skis at the base of the mountain, six inches of powder swirls up, floats for a moment, and settles again without a sound.

I see a couple from California who are in my ski week class and join them in the queue. We hop on a chair almost immediately. “Have you ever seen snow like this?” I ask them. “Only once,” the wife replies, “in Colorado. But there, with snow like this, it sometimes took twenty minutes to get on the lift. Here, I haven’t waited in line all week.”

This is one of the blessed things about Taos – no crowds. In three years of skiing here, as far as I can remember, I have waited more than five minutes for a chair only once: spring break 2006. This is why Taos opening to snowboarders worries me. Not because of the snowboarders themselves, per se, (unless they’re the type who enjoy chatting with their friends while lounging in the middle of the runs) but because more people make longer lift lines. Maybe, since I have been skiing at small, family operated mountains like Taos and Wolf Creek for a few years, I have a slightly skewed view of what a “long” lift line is. A few weeks ago I skied Purgatory (Durango Mountain Resort) with some friends, and I was downright frustrated by a ten minute wait at the bottom of the mountain. I’m spoiled.

Yesterday we learned how to ski on the crud. Today, we learn how to ski knee-deep powder. I tend to exaggerate, but this time, when I say knee-deep powder, I mean knee-deep powder. Everywhere. The wind hasn’t stolen any of it. Yesterday’s drifts and gullies have been ironed out, and in the trees – heaven.

The trick with powder, we learn today, is to attack it. If you don’t have your skis pointed down the mountain, if you aren’t following the fall line, you aren’t going to move. If you turn uphill as you would to slow down on hardpack, the sheer mass of snow will knock you off your feet. It would be like attempting to water ski sideways.

I have to risk arrogance here for a moment. I am awesome today. I feel confident. I’m skiing right behind our instructor, popping in and out of the trees, floating. But, skiing hard has caused something I didn’t expect. My feet hurt like hell. The arches are cramping and I can’t feel my toes at all. This happens every time I ski harder than usual, or longer than usual. I mean, my ski boots always hurt, but not this much. I tell Dano about it on the lift.

Apparently, ski boots don’t have to hurt. I did not know that. I thought it was just the price you had to pay for a day on the slopes. Dano tells me I should go to the Boot Doctor, one of the shops at the base of the mountain, and have them take a look at my boots. It could be that they’re too big, and I have to crank the buckles down too hard, cutting off circulation to my toes. Or, it could be that I need a new footbed. I don’t even know what a footbed is.

At noon, when the class ends, I visit the Boot Doctor. The shop is small, crowded with merchandise. Helmets hanging from the ceiling, racks of coats and ski pants, walls lined with skis and boots, counters full of goggles and covered with hand warmers, sunblock, lip balm. In the back stands a kind of two-story carpeted bench. A young guy in Buddy Holly glasses waves me over. “I’m Spencer. How can I help you?” he says.

I tell Spencer my problem. I buckle my boots all the way down to keep my feet from moving inside them while I ski, but that makes my feet cramp up and I lose feeling in my toes. He asks me to sit on the top level of the carpeted bench with my feet on the first level. He sits in a chair in front of me and takes off my boots. First, he measures my feet and measures the boots to make sure they’re the right size. Good news, they are. (I can’t afford to drop five, six hundred bucks for a new pair. I’m staying at a hostel and eating granola for lunch, for god sakes.) Spencer shows me the footbed that came with the boot. “Here’s your problem,” he says. The thing is paper thin. I have better footbeds in my running shoes. Apparently I have high arches and no support whatsoever.

Spencer suggests I either buy some inserts, basically the skier’s version of a Dr. Scholl’s insole, or spring for a custom-made footbed. He says the second option is far superior. A custom-made footbed is built from an exact mold of the bottom of your foot. It fits every toe, the curve of the arch, and the heel exactly, providing the ultimate support and comfort for someone who skis often. How much is a custom made footbed? About $140 at the Boot Doctor. Cheaper than a new pair of boots, I’m tired of my feet hurting every time I ski, and I can surely live on granola for a few more days…or weeks…so I splurge. Spencer makes me some foot beds. I’ll try them out tomorrow.

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