Skis for Me! 



by Frank Elkins . . . photograph by Bob and Ira Spring 



MY COLLEAGUE and antagonist, Neuberger, states that "the 

 skier is the dude the part time (playboy) inhabitant of 

 the mountain ranges. . . . No pay check from Uncle Sam or the 

 Hudson's Bay Company inspires his (the skier's) presence in the 

 great outdoors." 



Now, wait a minute! Didn't Uncle Sam fashion a whole divi- 

 sion of troops out of this sport of skiing for the last war? Remem- 

 ber the loth Mountain Division? Its pay checks came from 

 Uncle Sam, didn't they? 



But that is merely Point One for the boards with bindings. 

 Let us lead gently into more scintillating comparisons, starting 

 with the theory that fifty million Americans, Swiss, Norwegians, 

 Swedes, Finns, and Minnesotans can't be wrong. That is a rough 

 yet realistic estimate of the number of snow-tanned characters 

 buying or using skis. Thousands upon thousands of the gleam- 

 ing hickory blades grace the sporting goods stores, while a pair 

 or two of webs gather dust alongside old boxes of black powder 

 cartridges. It's really that poignant! 



Let me now make a concession. It is true that the slow-going 

 shoes give stability and maneuverability in deep snow, and in 

 dense, closely wooded country. But they are the plodders, the 

 pedestrians, and they lack the one thing most essential to all 

 sport glamour! This little item is practically built into skis. 



To use symbols, the ski is to the snowshoe as the seagull is 

 to the snail. Riding the waxed timbers, speeds of 85 m.p.h. are 

 attained downhill, while the snowshoer goes uphill at best at 

 4 m.p.h. and downhill about 5 m.p.h. a startling gain of i (one) 

 m.p.h. 



And as far as can be determined by this writer, there are few 

 if any jumping records for the snowshoe. On the other hand, on 



