Skiers, like team sports fans, have hunches. They’ve made observations or fabulated mystical connections that may or may not exist. Like everyone else on Earth, they’re human, and they’re plenty susceptible to the odd superstition or two. Instead of wearing a certain jersey before the big game, though, their rituals involve trying to make the most of their time on the slopes—or avoiding disaster.
These are eight of those skiing-flavored superstitions. If you’ve spent your fair share of time in the mountains, you’ll likely recognize a few.
Skiing’s most potent and enduring superstition revolves around two words: “last run.” The theory goes that taking your last run of the day on the mountain and describing it as such invites catastrophe. Broken limbs, head injuries, snapped skis—these are the fears associated with the infamous phrase.
To avoid saying “last run,” skiers have once again proved their ingenuity. Popular alternatives include “two skip” or “two more skip the last.” Sometimes, you might hear some Spanish that veils the meaning of what the skier is trying to say even further: “Dos menos uno.”
Confirmation bias probably spawned the “last run” superstition. Presumably, one day, one skier called “last run” and ended up in the hospital by random chance. Then, all they needed to do was tell all their friends what happened. Those friends told their friends. Before long, a tradition was born.
The finality of saying “last run” could have played a role, too. Sure, you might be taking your last lap of the day, but why, however vaguely, would you insinuate that there aren’t more turns to come? Another day and another season are always around the corner.
This superstition stems from a collective observation of the cruel tricks the universe plays—it’s like dropping a piece of toast with butter or jam that always somehow lands face down. In some cases, when something can go wrong, it always goes wrong.
That creates an opening for a handy trick with zero scientific backing, though: if the ski season’s coming to an end but you’re hoping for one more storm, take the snow tires off your car. If everything goes to plan, a foot or two of snow will fall. You might not be able to get to the mountain with your bald all-season tires, but you can at least be content as a martyr, sacrificing your traction so others can ski more powder.
Skiers, for the most part, ride symmetrical skis. That means that they can swap their sticks from foot to foot at leisure without altering performance. Yet, a strong contingent doesn’t take advantage of this flexibility, instead assigning one ski as “left” and another as “right.”
The rationale you’ll hear regarding this behavior varies. Skis now have cool top sheets, some skiers will say, so why align them the wrong way? Don't you want it to be obvious your skis have a squid monster on them? Others, like myself, might be dealing with a deep-seated, maybe undiagnosed anxiousness that masquerades as superstition. To us, putting the wrong ski on the right foot feels wrong. That’s it.
A tradition and superstition beloved by kids everywhere, stuffing a spoon under your pillow before going to bed is supposed to make it snow, cancelling school in the process. This mystical technique applies to skiing, too. Who needs the weather report when you can rely on cutlery?
Similar snow and ski day traditions include wearing your pajamas backwards, flushing ice cubes down the toilet, and putting a penny in the freezer. The jury’s out on the effectiveness of these rituals (and doesn’t seem to be returning anytime soon), but when it comes to snowstorms, anticipation and the silliness that comes with it is half the fun.
A favored custom in many ski towns, pre-season bonfires were meant to waken Ullr—or whichever snowy deity you ascribe to—so he would deliver plenty of powder when winter arrived. Old skis were a key fire starter at these parties, but variations exist. One has even included throwing Twinkies into the blaze.
Of course, the terrible irony is that burning skis loaded with metals and plastics belch noxious gas, which isn’t something you want in the atmosphere if, like most skiers, you care about the environment. That’s probably why you hear less about people setting their forgotten skis on fire these days. Breckenridge's famed Ullr Fest, for instance, kept the bonfire but has since done away with the melted skis.
Clicking your ski poles together before dropping in is a common skier’s tic that could be elevated to superstition status. It’s like assigning specific skis to specific feet. Materially, the pre-run routine does nothing. But after making some things a habit, skiing without them feels just as bad as forgetting your jacket or goggles at home.
Along the way to Mt. Hood, Oregon, on Highway 26 stands Silent Rock. The humble, unassuming geographic hunk could be compared to a place of worship. When skiers drive past, they’re advised, as the rock’s name implies, to stay completely silent. That involves shutting off the radio. Some even hold their breath in the presence of Silent Rock.
What happens to skiers who don’t stay quiet? Certain calamity. Pouring rain. Failing gear. Torn ligaments. A broken-down car. The worst ski day of your life. Or something along those lines.
Speculation about the roots of Silent Rock abounds. One rumour says that a construction worker died there. Another recalls a supposed accident on the road where a truck and several cars plummeted into the valley below. What isn’t mysterious, though, is that if you have overly chatty friends who you wish were quiet sometimes, Silent Rock will provide a brief reprieve (exhausted parents are likely appreciative of the rock, too).
At least one regional permutation of Silent Rock exists in Utah's Big Cottonwood Canyon. There are likely more. There was bridge that I used to drive past on the way to my old home mountain. Legend said that you were supposed to honk as you drove under it for good luck. Or, at least, that's what one of my friends told me—they might've been pulling my leg.
These are some of the best-known superstitions associated with skiing, but given the size of the sport, it’s impossible to create an exhaustive list. Every one of the millions upon millions of skiers out there is liable to have their own personal superstitions or weird preferences.
You might have a meal you have to eat before going skiing. Or, maybe, there’s a song that needs to be playing on your car stereo as you pull into the ski resort parking lot, lest a terrible, snowy event strikes. Having to put your ski boots on in a specific order is a common one, too. As for myself? If I have too many things in the wrong pockets, I’m convinced that I can’t ski well. We all have our quirks.
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