Nordic Skiing

Why Generation Stocking Cap Should Give In on Idaho’s Nordic Trails

By Gina Knudson, 1-19-11

	Groomed trails are for sissies. Or they're what those with waxless skis should maybe stick to. Photo by Flickr user Gari.

In a nod to the noggin, I got a ski helmet for Christmas this year. When my 13- and 11-year-old children aren’t doing combat on the hockey rink, they are careening down the slopes of Lost Trail Powder Mountain on snowboards. USA Hockey requires helmets for the former, and their parents require helmets for the latter.

The kids had been stating the unfortunate and obvious for some time. “Mom, we’re better than you, but you make us wear helmets and you don’t wear one.” Their childish cruelty contained more than an ounce of truth, so rather than defend myself, I borrowed my response from the school of defensive driving—“It’s not us, it’s THEM,” and then point in any random direction at a high flying, oblivious, iPod-listening, snowboarding speed demon. Or at a sinister tree. Lord knows we lost the great Sonny Bono to a tree.  My problem, until Christmas, was that I was from Generation Stocking Cap, those of an era when even Olympic luge competitors put on a wool cap with earflaps and called it good.

Now I feel great about joining the Safety First crowd, and my new Smith helmet is every bit as comfy and warm as my stocking cap. I’m more confident on the mountain, and more confident that my kids will keep THEIR helmets on even when we’re not skiing with them.

My only regret about my new lid is that I left it behind before embarking on my most recent cross-country ski outing.

After all the hockey and a couple of downhill skiing outings, the peace and tranquility of a nordic ski venture seemed like just the ticket.

This, as they say, is where the trouble started.

I grew up in southern Idaho, and whether groomed trails or untouched high prairie, nordic skiing terrain was relatively gentle. Even though I’ve lived in Salmon for nearly 10 years, I’ve never properly come to grips with the fact that the reason I can see creatures like bighorn sheep and mountain goats near my home is I am surrounded by steep. Unless I’m touring the municipal golf course, my skinny, long, waxless Treks are as nonsensical in Salmon as a cocktail dress and stiletto heels.

Nonetheless, my friend Kristin and I headed to the Williams Creek area of the Salmon-Challis National Forest. Each time the trail signs offered choices, Kristin and I scoffed at the routes that indicated “easier.” This was cross-country skiing, for Pete’s sake.

Eventually, the trail behaved the way all trails near Salmon are apt to do: that is, to plunge headlong toward the Salmon River. When you are on long, skinny, waxless skis and you hear the zipper-like zzzzzz-sound of the scales on the bottom of your skis ...  you are really already out of most reasonable options. About the best thing you can do is holler and let your friend and your dog know that yet again it has occurred to you that you have no edge whatsoever on your skis, and that dragging your too pointy poles along in the very deep snow doesn’t seem to be working all that swimmingly, and that the car keys are in your coat pocket if anyone can ever reach you after you finally cartwheel your way to your final resting place.

After the eighth such event, I found myself in a semi-inverted position, looking back up the hill from whence we had descended after giving up looking for my right leg, still attached to my ski. The hill looked like a large Catholic family of St. Bernards had played a heated game of Red Rover, Red Rover on and near the trail, thus rendering it obliterated.

Looking back at the vandalism I’d caused by failing to invest in new, more backcountry-appropriate equipment, I realized I was hurting more than just myself (and that was saying plenty at this point). My fellow skiiers, those who would inevitably come after me and most likely be drawn in by my deep wallows, deserved better.

The next time they see me braving nordic skiing in Salmon, I swear I’ll be wearing my helmet.

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