Does Every Turn Have To Be A Telemark Turn?

Instead of sleeping in that spring morning or slowly sipping a coffee and watching the sun rise from the warm comfort of my living room, I was instead perched between two towering rock walls, clinging to the icy ribbon of snow between them.

Part way up, with skis on my back and ice ax in hand, I kicked aggressively in the hope my cramponed foot would plunge snugly into its surface. But luck would not have it. I made yet another in a series of uneasy steps upward, just the very points of my spikes finding purchase.

Anxiety built, fed by a sense of gravity and a lack of footing. Together it created that familiar pit of fear in my stomach. Collecting myself, I paused several times and peered over my right shoulder, feeling the precariousness, looking it in the eyes in the hopes I could conjure something that might quell my fear.

I’d be able to self-arrest if I fell, I reassured myself.

I responded to my own fallacy as the points of my crampons struggled once again to find purchase.

I’m not so sure about that.

Continuing up the corridor, I ascended ever higher. The focus on the task consumed me, raising my awareness to a mental singularity. Though I was joined by a partner, the climb became a solitary internal battle until we finally gained the ridge.

There we took in the still-snowbound Front Range from the craggy, ramparted col. And for a moment, I forgot about the unyielding snow surface that we would soon become reacquainted with on our descent.

But the time quickly came. Crampons came off and skis came on. Edging into the couloir proper, my skis chattered with apprehension. It then dawned on us that the slope was so uniform for a reason—most descenders had, out of necessity, side-slipped the entire line. Looking at my feet, affixed to ski by free-heel touring bindings, I realized I may not even be making more than a few alpine turns. And, more disappointing still, perhaps not a single telemark one.

Telemark skiing, at its most elementary definition, is a specific skiing technique. But it goes beyond that.

With a free heel, many see the telemark binding as allowing for myriad approaches and interpretations; a foundation on which an endless continuum of interpretation rests. In this approach, telemark skiing is thought of not as a rigid requirement, but instead a more abstract notion; as a style of skiing that allows the rider to interpret their gear, style, and ethos on their own terms—and not necessarily with strict adherence to the telemark turn.

But the fundamental definition of telemark skiing can also bring forth a fundamentalism—what renders in some skiers as a single-minded devotion to the lunging turn. And while more than a few of the free-heel persuasion balk at this inflexible definition, others feel this notion truly encapsulates the telemark ethos.

It’s a rift-in-miniature that is endemic to the sport. “One of the funniest comments that I consistently get is on the park segments where people say ‘oh, they’re not doing tele turns,’” TELE COLO’s CJ Coccia notes while ruminating on his 2023 film THIS IS TELEMARK.

“They kind of treat it either seriously or jokingly like it’s an alpine segment.”

But the idea of strict adherence to the telemark isn’t just a topic taken to by critics of the new school. Many a devoted and proficient free-heeler opines that to truly unlock the potential of the technique, one must fully and resolutely tread the genuflecting path.

Still, does every turn have to be a telemark turn?

Some would say yes, including Ty Guarino, an AMGA-certified mountain guide, ski patroller, and telemark mountaineer extraordinaire, who penned an article for Voile Manufacturing (for whom he is an ambassador) in February of 2021 entitled “The Telemark Ski Mountaineer: Tips, Tricks, and Discussion Points.”

In the piece, under the heading “Practice How You Play,” Guarino laid out his philosophy of telemark proficiency: “If you aspire to telemark ski well, especially as a ski mountaineer, you need to telemark ski every day you go skiing. No alpine skiing. Ever. Period.” Guarino expands on his reasoning, saying “the nuances and intimacies of the telemark turn demand your top physical and mental condition. If you are switching back and forth between the two disciplines, you will build muscle memory pathways in your brain for both types of turns. You don’t want your brain to be conditioned to do anything other. Understand and know the balance needed for having a free heel.”

While Guarino proclaims that the telemark skier must be devoted entirely to the free-heel endeavor to reap its full benefits, he also notes the necessity of occasional alpine turns, though in a free-heel light. “You will absolutely need to have the ability to make an alpine turn, but an alpine turn on free heel equipment,” Guarino qualifies. “Some argue that they are the same turn. I would argue differently.”

But a less doctrinaire approach to the telemark turn exists. Cole Panter penned a 2021 post on the Skimo.co blog entitled Locked Heels: A Tele Skier’s Foray into AT, another sober take on the alpine vs. telemark debate.

Within that post, Panter, a devoted telemark skier, came to find that his skiing path didn’t need to be paved in one direction. In particular, Panter noted how he long thought that any disadvantage his free-heel gear may grant could be overcome through strength and technique.

“I’d always thought that building enough strength and stamina would allow me to travel in the mountains without any compromises,” he writes, continuing “any incompetence in the mountains was a reflection of me, not my gear.”

But the efficiency gap between his telemark gear and modern AT counterparts became an operative motive for Panter, who says that the move to alpine touring from telemark “was a game changer.”

“When truly assessing the situation, it has become painfully clear that ‘modern’ tele gear, specifically the boots, is far from cutting edge. Their excess weight and inefficient ‘walk’ mode resembles a decades-old AT boot,” Panter writes.

Panter thus credits his higher energy levels and ability to tackle bigger lines in the backcountry as indelibly linked to using lighter AT gear. Still, Panter counts himself as a telemark skier, although with a caveat.

“One season later and most of my backcountry days are on an AT setup. But despite tele’s clear disadvantages, I just can’t fully shake my addiction to knee dropping,” says Panter. “As a result, I have started to think of my AT gear as my new tools of the trade—something necessary for ski mountaineering—while my tele equipment has become more of a toy utilized only when the terrain is easily accessible and the tour stays below 5K feet of elevation gain.”

Interestingly, Scarpa has since released their completely rethought TX Pro and TX Comp, boots that give telemark tourers an option at retail on par with midweight alpine touring options. And with bindings like Voile’s Transit TTS and InWild’s Meidjo—both telemark traps that incorporate a Dynafit-style tech toe long only found on alpine touring boots and DIY tele rigs—the playing field seems to be leveling, though telemark boots and bindings on par with lightweight AT counterparts is yet a distant dream.

Still, telemark equipment has come ever closer to alpine. InWild’s Meidjo can even incorporate an alpine heel, allowing the skier to choose between alpine or telemark turns on one setup.

But regardless of any shortcomings, one attribute keeps free-heel gear at the top of the list for many, regardless of its weight: the fact that it allows the skier to make a sweet, soulful telemark turn. A turn that may not be a requirement for each arc—or each setup—but to others, amounts to the singular motive for moving over snow.

The debate continues on, as it long has in telemark. As the late Paul Parker cheekily put it in his aptly named, legendary instructional Free-Heel Skiing: Telemark and Parallel Techniques, published first back in 1988: “I love parallel turns. Some of my buddies say I’m cheating. There’s no such thing as cheating. Anyway, if they could do them they’d probably cheat, too.”