compare ski-running with horsemanship. Just as the ski-runner undoubtedly finds it easier at first to run with the aid of the stick than without, so the man who mounts a horse for the first time will certainly find it a good deal easier to keep in the saddle if he holds on to it by the pommel or cantle. I believe, however, that there is no school of horsemanship which advocates this method of riding as being particularly practical.

The reasons against the use of the stick as an aid to the balance in ski-running are much the same as those against using the saddle for the same purpose in riding. There is a waste of energy in each case, for it is doing clumsily by brute force what can be done more comfortably, gracefully, and effectively by skill. Moreover, the balance, when helped in this way, never improves, but remains permanently bad.

Correct position, narrow track, complete command of the different swings—all those things, in fact, which distinguish good style from bad—mean economy of force, and are therefore eminently practical. To say that jumping is a useless accomplishment may at first sight appear justifiable. In one sense there is not much practical use in jumping, for occasions are not very often met with in the course of a tour where a jump is the only way, or even the safest way, out of a difficulty.

But in another sense jumping is extremely practical. It accustoms a runner to moving at the highest possible speed, and shows him that he need not mind taking a fall at this speed; moreover, to quote from Mr. Richardson’s excellent jumping chapter in “The Ski-Runner,” “the first thing which a jumper has to learn is how to keep calm and collected and to make up his mind instantly what to do next when travelling at top speed—just the very things, in fact, which he must learn if he wants to be a good cross-country runner. For these reasons it is the very best and quickest way of generally improving a man’s running.”

A very common attitude of Englishmen towards ski-jumping is to treat it as a showy and dangerous acrobatic display, all very well for reckless and athletic youths, but out of the question for any one else. Yet I suppose that among the men who take up this attitude there are many who ride to hounds, and very few who, though they may not themselves hunt, would dream of attributing to men or even women who do so either undue recklessness or unusual acrobatic ability.

Though there may be a doubt as to whether making a jump of moderate length on skis or riding a horse over a fence is the more difficult feat, there can be none whatever as to which is the more dangerous. Ski-jumping, indeed, is so safe that perhaps it could hardly lay claim to the title of a great sport but for the fact that it is not only difficult, but also exceedingly, if unreasonably, alarming—at all events to the beginner. It seems strange that so many able-bodied English ski-runners never so much as give jumping a trial, unless they have an altogether wrong idea of its danger.

I spoke just now of the ignorance which made many bad runners condemn a better style of ski-ing than their own. It is not easy, at first sight, to see why this ignorance as to the comparative advantages of good and bad running should be so common as it is, for at most of the Swiss winter places there are among the natives some really good performers. The English, however, get few opportunities of watching the Swiss runners, except on the jumping hill, and seldom see them doing their best across country, for these men, unless they happen to be guides, do most of their ski-ing with their own countrymen, the members of their own local ski-club.

Moreover, a good ski-runner is not seen at his best when acting as a guide, for he has to go slowly, and look after the weaker members of the party, and there is no element of competition to put him on his mettle.

Whatever may be the reason, the fact remains that the average British ski-runner has little or no idea of the superiority of good running to bad as regards safety, comfort, and speed—to say nothing of interest or beauty. He would probably be surprised and somewhat sceptical if told that by learning a good style of ski-ing he would find it possible to do the downhill portion of his tours in about half the time (or less), with half the fatigue, with just as few falls (if he wished to avoid them), and with far less chance of hurting himself when he did fall—for bad style means awkward falls; that he would thus get infinitely more pleasure, interest, and excitement out of his ski-ing, and that, moreover, by going in for jumping he would still further increase all these benefits without increasing his risks.

I hope that by means of this rather rambling discourse I may have managed, not only to show what, in my opinion, are the reasons for the low standard of English ski-ing, but at the same time to implant a conviction of sin in the conscience of the average English ski-runner.

The object of the rest of this book is to show him what, to my thinking, is the way of salvation, and to place the innocent novice in the path of virtue at the very outset.

EQUIPMENT

THE SKI

The Wood.—Skis are usually made of ash, which is, perhaps, on the whole, a more suitable wood than any other. Hickory is excellent, but is said to be more brittle than ash, and is also heavier. It is, however, but little heavier than the best ash, for in the latter wood lightness means bad quality. The wood must be well seasoned, and as free as possible from knots, especially near the bend and the binding, though small knots which do not extend through the whole thickness of the ski cannot do much harm.

The grain of the wood should be wide and well marked. The way it runs in the ski is most important; it should run parallel with the long axis of the ski throughout its length, above all at the front bend and the binding; for if the grain run out at these points, the ski will be very liable to break there. If anywhere else the grain runs out at all, see that it does so in such a way that the lines on the side of the ski run backwards and downwards (Fig. 1, a), not forwards and downwards (Fig. 1, b).

Fig. 1.

Cross-grain; in a it does not much matter, as it only occurs at some distance from the binding and points backwards; b is very bad.

If the lines of grain on the sole of the ski run across at all instead of parallel to the sides, the ski, when it gets rather worn, will not run straight. If, of a pair of skis, one runs to the right and one to the left, it does not much matter, for in that case the former can be put on the left foot and the latter on the right; they will then merely keep together and hold each other straight.

But if both skis run off to the same side there is nothing to be done, so look carefully at the grain of the