Skiing Then vs. Now: What's Really Changed?

Cowan goes on to write, “I've overheard people talking about blowtorching everything in those lock-up racks below 200cm, but it was only talk. I think.” His issue was twofold. Short skis created unpleasant moguls. They also made skiing easier, therefore inspiring hordes of newcomers to clog the slopes. “The fact is, it's getting a little close out there,” writes Cowan.

Cowan wisely recognized that short skis weren’t going anywhere, but he may not have foreseen the downfall of his preferred long skis. Today, you’d be hard-pressed to find an expert—let alone professional—skier riding something bigger than 195cm who isn’t a giant. Smaller, adaptable skis, most would agree, ended up being a great idea, even if they did create more bumps.

But as new products emerge, we still sometimes stray toward doubt. What was your first reaction to seeing BOA dials on a ski boot? Did you wrinkle your nose when you encountered those strange ski shock absorbers? Probably. Whether or not either technology makes it big is unimportant. The tech tinkering—and the inevitable backlash—is what fitfully pushes skiing forward.

Other through-lines from the past are less contentious and more fun—a dogged sense of humor among them. One “quiz” column from a classic POWDER issue professes to test a reader's “Skiing I.Q.” through a nonsensical multiple-choice questionnaire.

"What is a Pepi Stiegler?," the quiz asks, “An Austrian fruit drink,” “a high-potency vitamin pill,” or “an east German dance craze,” depending on which answer you select, never mind the fact that “Pepi” was actually the nickname of decorated ski racer and Olympian Josef Stiegler.

Skiing, at its best, can be deeply unserious when it wants to be. Ask a skier when the last time they almost pissed themselves laughing was. It likely happened on a chairlift.

That wonderful idiocy has powered plenty of memorable adventures, including those that involved skiing where you probably shouldn't. Candide Thovex might get well-deserved credit for “skiing the world,” but the absurdity of sliding down snowless surfaces goes back much further.

Decades ago, for POWDER, Bob Jamieson wrote about Muztagh Ata, a towering 24,757-foot peak in China’s Xinjiang region he visited to prepare for an ascent of Mt. Everest. He and his partners completed the climb, and then they apparently had some time to kill, so they hitched a ride to some nearby dunes and went skiing.

“We have no speed and thus, no momentum. Utter balance is required. Subtle concentration in the ball of the foot,” writes Jamieson of what sounded like a transcendental experience. “Floating down through a dreamscape, each turn requiring utmost concentration.”

The word “floating” wouldn’t only be used to describe sand skiing in this magazine. One poem, published in the inaugural 1972 issue, pairs it with descriptors like “choking,” “gliding,” and “falling.”

The subject matter, of course, is powder skiing, a useful anchor to cling to when contemporary talk of traffic jams and corporate acquisitions becomes too much to bear.

You can build a million condominiums, sell a million multi-passes, and pave a million parking lots, but the heart of skiing—the debates, the wisecracks, and the powder—is unflinching. It hopefully always will be.