It’s a challenge. For years, we’ve been spring skiing the same trail in the same way with the same lines. You knew the bumpers would hold court on the skier’s left, both on the middle and bottom sections. Man, do they love that final section where they could show off for the Umbrella Bars. It was a show, and the Bump Squad was here for it.
The headwall was so short that you could flub it and lose your rhythm, but it didn’t matter because the end was only three turns away. In the middle section, people could go crazy, flip off the ridge line, and let it fly while they rested their legs for the bottom section, where the lines were strong. The patterns were in place. We knew which lines we liked and which we wanted to stay away from.
Yeah, that’s not what’s happening in The Canyon. There’s no show of glory or silly tricks happening. No joking around mid-trail and laughing with the folks on the chairlift because you’re feeling so good about yourself and your skiing. Nobody is taking 50 laps in one day and celebrating in the parking lot.
We are working. Hard. There is no respite easy middle section. Sure, you’ve got the top part to get into a rhythm, but all hell breaks loose once you hit the pitch. Whether it’s Dipper, Downdraft, or East Fall, there’s no playing about. The bumps are big, the trails are steep, and no one seems able to figure out a line for the duration of the trail—any of them.
It’s actually the funniest part. On Superstar, those lines were worked in. Solid. Patterns developed over decades. But not in The Canyon. Sure, you can get a rhythm going for maybe eight turns, but then everyone seems to blow up, and you end up in a band of mogul mess: no rhythm, no line, no zipper—just pure chaos. I don’t know what you people are doing in the morning when you set the bumps, but it is certainly not skiing consistently.
I’m not saying I would have set them differently, but those transitions are nasty. I don’t care who you are; it’s a battle to stay in the front seat with your feet underneath you when everyone who has gone before got shot out of that line like a cannon. And since my boots are about 1,000 days old with ripped liners and overworked plastic, I’m right there with you. It takes my entire core to rotate around and pull my now snow ladder skis around for the next turn—that isn’t where it should be in the line.
This isn’t Superstar, and you cannot ski it the same way. You’ve got to get lower. Lower in your stance. The steepness of the terrain and the consistency of that pitch means you have to keep your feet underneath you without blowing out. That means pulling your feet back and sinking into your ankles. You need to lift the balls of your feet in your boots to keep your shins engaged and help keep your ankle in the pocket. And then, you need to sink your hips straight down to your heels like an accordion. Any chance of those hips moving forward and gravity takes control, and you’re not ever where you want to be.
I got spanked yesterday. You know, where someone took the 1980s moguls from Outer Limits and plopped them right on Lower East Fall. Those old Volkswagen Beetle moguls? Yeah, they’re back. And on Lower East.
I missed like five turns as I slid across and down the trail completely out of control after having been popped out of a mogul like a torpedo. I was pissed. I spent my whole damn winter prepping for these moguls, and I can honestly say I did not prep enough. I’m not low enough in my stance, not twisted enough to have complete control of my skis in every situation and every turn, so I’m working hard and not laughing as I might have done on lower Superstar. If you thought you had Superstar mastered, come back and let The Canyon kick you and your ego in the butt.
It’s awesome and I am so here for this. It’s downright challenging, and I can feel myself getting better every day. I can feel myself getting worked in a good way, having to come into the trail with a real plan—and still screwing it up because I was so focused on skiing I forgot that I wanted to move to the left for the bottom section or hug right to make it above the still-buried jumping rock. This is the spring I was looking for—the one that is making me grow as a skier, forcing me to step up my game, not just float along on Superstar for another year. If you think you’re good, I challenge you to come lap the Canyon with us. And discover who you really are.
Merisa Sherman is a long-time Killington resident, global real estate advisor, public official, and Coach PomPom. She can be found online @FemaleSkiBum or [email protected].
