Sunday, March 15, 2009

Day 1 of Ski Building



6 students began building skis tonight at 5 p.m. at the North House Folk School in Grand Marais, Minnesota. My husband Ron Thorley and I are building Sami ski shoes. Our instructor, Mark Hansen guesstimates the design is 6,000 years old and used by the Laplanders in Northern Scandinavia. Alice Williamson and Carol DeVore are building traditional cross-country skis suitable for track skiing. Peter and Solveig are making tele-style back country skis.

We are using North Shore white birch Mark harvested from Cook County. The wood has been drying for two years. Mark selected our blanks based on our height, weight and style of skis. He also showed us how to figure the length of curve in the tips, tail and where to locate the ski's centerpoint for determining binding placement later.

Ron and I have the shortest but widest blanks. Carol and Alice also have short skis, but they are narrower than the tele-types that Peter and Solveig are shaping.

Mark says white birch is ideal for ski building because of its long grain cellulose. He admits the fastest skis are ash, but he doesn't know why. He did share that a particular cemetery in Norway won't allow you to be buried there if you used ash skis. "They would consider your death a suicide if you had ash skis," says Mark with his characteristic storytelling smile. I think he's going to be the real story in this experience.

First on the agenda was to take the blanks from the stainless steel tub where they had been soaking for days in 120-130 degree water--Lake Superior water, by the way. If you want Superior skis, you need Superior Wood and Water. The North House Folk School compound is right on the Superior shoreline.

It's no easy task to get the wood to bend over the tip form and it took many hands to align the tips and then press the wood strips down in the mold so that we could screw wood block clamps on the waists and tips. We're working to have a slight curve on the tails too.

Without a doubt, building skis is truly a "hands on" job. I was first to put my skis in the mold and pressing down I said, "This must be what they mean by transferring energy in skiing."

The process took over an hour for 6 pairs of skis.

Now in the forms, the blanks will dry for 18 hours in Mark's basement. He has a special set up where he blows warm air over the skis to force the bends to stay. We'll meet at 9 tomorrow morning to learn more about ski design and then after lunch the blanks should be ready to begin sculpting into shape.

I'm thrilled to be in this amazing school, working with Ron, and most of all to be making skis--my absolute favorite snow toy.

By phone we told our son Ian we were building twin-tips, but I don't think he imagined them to be out of wood and from a design older than modern civilization.My aim is to have a pair of skis my great grandchildren will use. It must be in my blood. Before my father, Fred Waara, died in 1994 he built over 70 bamboo flyrods for trout fishing. To my knowledge he never built a pair of skis, but I know he's watching me with pride.

Stay tuned.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

The night of the pink moon

Some years ago I was skiing the Superior loop at Blueberry with my good chum Ann Wilson. It was March and we were lured by that butterscotch sun that at 5:30 makes the woods so much more luring after work than heading home to cook dinner.
We got started late and the sun set while we were still out on the backside, but it didn't matter. Our eyes and balance adjusted to the fading light and we continued to soak the silence and spring smells of the forest.
We were as giddy as otters, our skis in the tracks roller coastering over the ribbon of trail. We didn't have to talk; we knew what we were sharing.
Skiing ahead of me, Ann stopped at a break in the trees to catch her breath. The spot overlooks the deep bowl glaciers have carved from this unusual section on the Sand Plains. Breathing heavy I stopped too, but rather than looking out, I was looking down.
Her skis were pink. And so was the snow.
Of all the times I've skied, and all the colors of snow I've witnessed, pink is not one I can remember.
"Ann, look at that." She saw it too. And that's when we searched the source and found the moon was pink too. It's a ski night we still remember, and now it has happened again.
Last night I met Mindy Nannestad on Wolverine. She was skiing with her brother Josh and his girlfriend Alicia. When we reached the Superior loop, they broke off to head back to the parking lot. Mindy had more time to fill and since as a new cross-country skier she'd never ventured to Superior we decided to give it a go.
Anyone who has skied this trail knows soon after you gulp your nervousness and head out on the more difficult loop your decision is questioned by two steep hills. I've nicknamed them the "Twisted Twins" in reverence to the "Twisted Sisters" we bike up on County Road 480.
When Mindy saw the sign for the alternate route she asked, "Should we do the cut-across?" But watching her ski I knew she was ready--even if she didn't.
Skiing at every level is a test of your skill AND will. The best way to progress is to ski with someone who has a wee bit more confidence and can help nudge you out of your comfort zone. Mindy is strong, very well balanced, and eager to improve. This was going to be a break through night.
Trusting me she climbed to the peak of the first slope. I know she was seriously second guessing when she saw the roll over because her deep brown eyes went wide. She didn't have to speak, I knew the words behind that expression. I gave her a few tips but didn't stall too long before I pointed them down and went for it. . .all the while hoping I wouldn't take a digger and spoil the confidence building.
In seconds she followed, pressuring a snowplow for the start and then letting the skis ride the gully and back up like a pro. "That wasn't bad at all," she smiled climbing to the next peak.
I didn't want to tell her the next one was worse. She'd find out soon enough.
The best way to set a new standard for accomplishment is to immediately build on success.
Last October I watched my son Ian at San Francisco's Icer Air. After testing the sketchy catapult run-in and the cratered landing with a number of other maneuvers, his gumption was up to try a new trick, a double back flip. It was nearing the end of the competition and he knew it was time. In the air, his flipping seemed flawless. He landed and the crowd went bizerk. The announcer was raving. Ian was the hero. But for him, that wasn't enough. He knew he could do better. So rather than stop for the applause he ran from the landing back to the start to try again, this time spinning and landing perfectly.
When Mindy saw the second set of hills I know the gnaw of doubt was back, but she also had success fueling her adrenalin and I wasn't going to turn off that tap.
The rollover on this hill is serious, one of the steepest I've ever schussed on skinny skis. I stopped to caution her that she may feel that tummy tickle in the belly of the hill but her speed--now the fastest she had probably ever gone--would run itself out because the climb on the other side is just as angled as the drop.
I went first and when I got to the climb I yelled back, "I believe in you, I believe in you," hoping she would believe in herself too.
She held on to the snowplow a little longer to check her speed, but then squeezed the momentum to ride up the climb, smiling like a Chessie Cat.
From that hill, Mindy's skiing is forever changed.
Around the bend at the crest of another hill, a puppy in comparison, we toasted water bottles, but we couldn't linger too long because darkness was falling fast.
Fueled by Mindy's accomplishments we flew around the curls and swoops knowing nothing would be as daunting as the "Twisted Twins." I was skating and she was striding.
And then we hit that same spot I remembered from years back with Ann, and again, the snow was pink, my bright yellow Fischers looked pink and when we turned to check out the moon now high overhead. . .it looked pink too.
I shared the story with Mindy.
I ski for so many reasons, but aside from the physical rush, I get out on the trail for the moments when nature reveals secrets.
We took another water break, a deep breath and then were back moving.
Mindy had kids to pick up by 8 and I still needed to get home to cook dinner for Ron.
We hit the rest of the trail hard, horses to the barn, but then at that point we didn't have to talk much, we had already shared more meaning than words.

Monday, March 2, 2009

Be ready for anything



On Sunday, March 1, I was helping Mary Connor teach a skate skiing class at our annual Winter BOW in Big Bay, Michigan.




Lucy, an accomplished classic skier from the Detroit area was practicing her freestyle V 1 glide when she fell face first. I turned just in time to see she was okay and smiling but her ski was still rocketing down the lane.




That's not something you normally see on a cross-country trail. Unlike alpine gear, nordic skis usually don't come off. As I poled toward the runaway ski, I figured she probably had snow build up in the binding bar on her boot and didn't get a secure lock when she stepped into the binding.




Boy was I wrong.




When I caught up to the ski I saw instead that this crazy woman had skied so fast and so hard that she had separated the outer plastic sole right off from her boot.




I've never seen that happen before but it's reason to add duct tape to your waist pack.
I laughed so hard the squirrels had to come out and check on all the commotion.