Live Free: An Ode to Rock Skis
A love letter to spring skiing (and its equipment)
Lord knows New Hampshire skiers and snowboarders love the arrival of spring, and spring skiing, even if it’s a harbinger of our favorite season coming to an end.
Much like New England weather, spring skiing can be the very definition of capriciousness, as the vagaries of March and April can translate to a wild mix of conditions.
In short, don’t be fooled by the promise of sunshine and mild temperatures. Resorts will market those bluebird days, and you can’t blame them. It’s a tough business, especially given the erratic behavior of Mother Nature.
Despite the best efforts of local snowmaking and grooming crews, spring skiing is still a gamble, to some extent, and skiers and snowboarders should know that most gamblers rarely win against the house in the long run.
The funny thing is, these less-than-ideal circumstances often lead to epic outings, providing ample fodder for the best après ski stories. My brother Sean’s bachelor party in early April delivered nonstop rain, forcing us to don trash bags (before we could afford Gore-Tex gear). The fog was so dense, we could barely see 10 feet in front of us, inspiring one pal to coin the phrase, “skiing by Braille.”
On another wet spring day, I had a well-known resort all to myself. The steady drizzle was a tad uncomfortable, especially on the lifts (I had finally upgraded my outerwear), but the conditions on the trails were simply outstanding. I skied until my legs were fried. Back at the base lodge, folks looked at me like I’d lost my mind. Yes, they were warm. And dry. But I left with memories of an exceptional day that I still cherish decades later.
That’s why I continue to head north, no matter what the forecast is. But I don’t make that trek without my trusty “rock skis.”
The venerable rock ski is an integral part of any dedicated skier’s quiver, in large part because warm rain and fog can eat through a snowpack quicker than a starving Labrador retriever devouring his Purina dog chow. When local slopes look like they’re dotted with coffee stains (thanks to the barely covered mud and gravel), skiers and snowboarders know they’re risking wallet-crushing gouges to the P-Tex bottoms and metal edges of their boards. For those who care about the investment they’ve made in their equipment — often well into four figures — spring often means turning to and tuning up the rock skis.
“Every ski has a place, and rock skis are no different,” says my good friend and fellow winter fanatic Lafe Low. “They’re essential for those first turns early in the season when coverage is sketchy. They’re also critical for those last few runs when you’re more likely to hit a rock or two, or have to skim across a bare spot. They’re even valuable companions for hauling up to Tuckerman Ravine and snaking down the last tendrils of snow on the lower Sherburne Trail.”
Most rock skis are typically an older pair of beloved boards — used skis given an opportunity to enjoy a second life (not unlike a great baseball player who becomes a designated hitter before being put out to pasture). There’s also the sensation of reconnecting with an old friend.
“It’s the life cycle of a ski,” says Low, a 1984 graduate of Keene State College. “It starts out factory-fresh, super sharp and snappy. A fresh ski is able to carve up the hardest loud powder New England can serve up with alacrity.
“Then, you get used to it,” he says. “It becomes your go-to, everyday ski. You know its nuances and how it feels. A few seasons go by, and you don’t pull them out quite as much. They retire to the exalted position of ‘rock ski.’ ”
Ski equipment, like bicycles and tennis racquets and even sneakers, has seen a sea change in technological advances. Superior design and superior components have made the performance characteristics of skis and snowboards better than ever.
But it also makes them … different. When the snow cover gets suspect, I break out my old K2 KVC Comp skis with their screaming neon pink highlights or my squash-colored Salomon X-Scream skis to carve some old school turns through the mashed-potato snow.
And those old friends have never let me down.
