As a certified ski instructor I’m required to take a biennial clinic in which we upgrade our teaching and skiing skills.

The Professional Ski Instructors of America, or PSIA, offers a broad menu of topics to focus on. Having just turned 71, the “Senior Skills” clinic at Vermont’s Sugarbush resort naturally caught my eye. I was hoping to pick up some tips to combat fatigue and get ideas for my own adult students at New York’s Windham Mountain Club where I teach part-time.

But I wondered. What special skills or techniques exist for senior skiers? Aside from, hopefully, a greater degree of common sense and a more acute awareness of one’s limits, what can seniors do on the slopes to soften those inevitable aches, pains and tired muscles that emerge toward the end of a ski day?

As it turns out, there’s no silver bullet for senior skiing proficiency, but there are adjustments one can make in technique, as pointed out by our course conductor, Killington trainer Keith Hopkins.

He started out the two-day clinic by reminding us of the basics, that there are three moves or skills involved in turning a ski. 

Those are pressure, or the amount of force being exerted on a ski; edging or the act of tipping the ski or skis on edge and rotation or steering of the skis by applying a twisting motion that starts with the feet.

Many skiers, Hopkins pointed out, especially older ones who grew up before shaped skis were on the scene, tend to start their turns with pressure. That can be by upweighting or the up movement at the start of a turn.

Instead, Hopkins had us try starting our turns by tipping our skis on edge earlier, that is before the pressure and steering starts.

There’s a lot of physics and technical detail involved here, but the bottom line is that can help us extend our outside leg sooner and with less effort. And it lets the ski, which is designed to turn, do more of the work. 

Most of the participants in the clinic were like me in their 60s and 70s who started skiing back in the day when we were on longer often stiffer skis. While shaped skis have now been around for decades, old habits, especially those connected to muscle memory, can die hard. This move toward engaging our edges sooner was a good reminder of how to best use modern ski design.

There were other moves as well. Along with edging, Hopkins had us working to extend our outside leg earlier in our turns. By keeping one’s legs extended a bit longer, there’s more time for the blood to carry fresh oxygen to the muscles. That can combat the inevitable “burn” one gets during a long or non-stop ski run. Those are just a few of things that senior skier can think about to minimize fatigue and maximize fun.

The days are longer, the sun is brighter, the temperatures are warmer and the snow is softer.  Ah, yes, spring skiing is special, when you can shed layers enjoy such end-of-season silliness as pond skimming contests and leisurely  sun-soaked apres.

Spring skiing also needs some special attention, both to the condition of the snow and the condition of your equipment.  Here is some sensible advice from a trio of ski and snowboard instructors at Whistler Blackcomb –

Understand spring conditions: 
Nights are still cold on the mountain, so the snow can be firm in the mornings. Wait for the sun to soften the snow if you’re looking for that spring slush.  Spring powder conditions can be slower and harder to ride through, depending on how deep it is. This can require making bigger, straighter turns.

Debate beauty sleep vs early bird: 
Spring skiing means relaxed mornings and softer snow in the afternoons, but prime conditions for laps are in the morning.

Adjust your body language:
Make sure your weight is evenly distributed along the downhill ski (or along the inside edge of the snowboard) at the end of the turn. If there is too much weight, too far forward, the back of the downhill ski (or snowboard), can slide out.  Skiers should make sure you don’t have your weight forward at the end of the turn. Instead, what is needed is pressure on all parts of the foot from the toe to the arch, to the heel. This allows the edge to dig in.  Tighten your downhill ankle by rolling inwards to put the ski on more of an edge, and tighten your muscles so you have more control.

In powder and deeper slush, push your feet a bit forward through the end of the turn. In deeper snow, it is common for a skier’s feet to slow down due to the increased friction of the snow. The wetter the snow is, the more likely it is for this to happen. This can result in a skier being thrown forward. To counter this, skiers can push their feet forward through the end of the turn.

It is important to also push their hands forward as well, otherwise, you will be leaning too far back. This puts extra pressure on the quads. When skiing, we always want our shoulders over our knees. Snowboarders can also accomplish this feeling by pushing the front of the board forward if they feel that their board is being slowed down by the deeper, wetter snow.

Get a wax: 
You’ll definitely want your skis or board to be waxed to avoid getting stuck in slush. A good sign that your equipment is running out of wax (besides not gliding properly anymore) is a white cloudy effect on the edges of the base near the metal – this is where the snow is causing friction burn against the p-tex base.

Tree runs and spring conditions don’t mix: 
As the snow melts, obstacles can emerge in forested areas that are hazardous to skiers and riders and damaging to your gear.  Tree wells are also a hazard, so stay away from the trunks of trees, especially if they have low-hanging branches.  And always ski with a buddy.

Dress properly: 
Layer with breathable, quick-drying fabrics, wear sun protection, and pack a small backpack with essentials like water, sunscreen, and extra layers for changing conditions.  The jury is still out on whether goggle tans are considered cool, but there’s no doubt that if you want to avoid a nasty burn, sunscreen is a must. With high altitudes and UV rays reflecting off the snow, it’s easy to get sun damage.  And don’t forget the lip balm with SPF.

Have fun and be safe. See you on the spring slopes!

Whistler is really a combination of two large areas – Blackcomb, Whistler, and a small village called Creekside. Each has a gondola that will take skiers up the mountain. Getting off any of the gondolas, it is an easy ski down to

Blackcomb has a vertical drop of 5,280 feet, and Whistler Mountain has only 5,020! In practical terms, if, at so2me time in the day, you are at the top of the Blackcomb Gondola at 5,784 feet and decide to ski to the bottom, be aware that Whistler Village is only 3,660 vertical feet away!!!

Blackcomb Peak tops out at 8,000 feet, but as a practical matter, unless the Showcase T-Bar is open, the top of Blackcomb’s skiable terrain is 7,449 feet. Over on the Whistler side, the quad Peak Express will take you to the top of Whistler Mountain, 7,160 feet above sea level and the intermediate Peak to Creek will take you down to the Creekside Gondola, 5,020 vertical feet below.

Skiing the mountains. Whenever my brother and I ski at Whistler, we joke about the trail markings. At most ski areas in the world, what Whistler marks as an intermediate would have diamond or double diamond ratings.

For example, the intermediate runs Ridge Runner and Rock ‘n Roll off the quad Chrystal Ridge Express are narrow for a Western area. They are full of twists and turns, changes in camber, and steep pitches that lead you to a waterfall!

The good news is that most, but not all, of the beginner and intermediate runs are well-groomed. The expert runs like the Dave Murray Downhill may be groomed, but you can expect lots of moguls on those that are not.

How and where to ski the two mountains is an article unto itself. Suffice it to say, Whistler has enough terrain and long, thigh burning trails to keep skiers of all levels entertained for months. And, BTW, all the chairs except the triple Magic Chair have footrests.

Paper trail maps are available. At Whistler, they are appropriately called Mountain Atlas!

Food and bathrooms. There are restaurants and bathrooms all over the mountain. Glacier Creek has the most variety of food, but the food court is upstairs. The bathrooms are on the floor you enter.

Rendezvous and Roundhouse are often crowded from 11:30ish to 1 p.m. Bathrooms on the entry floor. One of my favorites is Chic Pea, which makes cinnamon buns to die for and has no stairs to climb.

The huts – Raven’s Nest, Crystal, and Horstman – all have limited menus, but again, no stairs. For those of you who like to be served lunch on the mountain, there’s Steeps and Cristine’s.

Food prices are comparable to most U.S. resorts, and show your Epic Pass and you get a 20% discount. The Canadian dollar was worth about US$.73, which makes it even cheaper.

Bottom line is that the best recommendation for a destination resort is how often a skier returns. I ski at Whistler every year. ‘Nuff said.

A piece of fiction by Ann Schissler

At Alpine Haven Resort, everyone knew when Edith “Edi” Farnsworth had arrived. Usually, it was the jacket that gave her away—something puffy and reflective, as if it had been stolen from a ski patrolman in the 1980s and then dunked in a melted box of crayons. Other times it was the helmet, a shiny metallic green number that looked more like it should be worn by a freestyle skier like Wayne Wong. But more often, it was the sound of her voice drifting through the frosty air as she spoke to her skis like old friends. “All right, Micky and Lindsey,” she said one crisp morning, tightening her boots with the stubborn precision of someone who had learned the ritual late in life. “Let’s try to behave today. And by behave, I mean let’s try to not break anything.”

Edi was seventy-two but carried herself with the mischievous energy of someone much younger. She hummed 70s rock songs as a kind of “pre-slope meditation,” which she insisted improved her balance and scared away bad weather. Teenagers adored her because she challenged them to races she had no business winning—and often did. Beginners adored her because she handed out unexpected hand warmers or pocket snacks from her ever present backpack that she got from a retired ski racer friend and offered advice like, “Lean forward, dear. Gravity is trying to help you, not kill you.”

What most people didn’t know—at least not until they warmed up to her unusual sense of humor—was that Edi hadn’t started skiing until she was over fifty. Before that, she’d worked three decades at a desk job processing medical invoices. “One day I realized my body was more adventurous than my life,” she liked to say. “So, I retired and let it choose a passion.” And it turned out that was skiing.

That morning, the air smelled faintly of pine and distant woodsmoke. A light dusting of new snow gave the mountain a softness that promised good runs and maybe a few surprises. Edi touched her lucky left glove—mended with duct tape in three places—and started toward her favorite lift.

A young family was ahead of her, moving like an unruly mob. The mother looked exhausted; the father wore that wide-eyed expression of someone who had realized too late that skiing required actual structure and a small level of basic skill. Their little girl, bundled up like a burrito, stared solemnly at Edi’s helmet decal. It’s an owl,” Edi explained, bending down. “A very wise owl. He helps me make good choices on the slopes.” The girl blinked. “Does he talk?” “Only when the snow is listening.”

They all laughed and just like that the tension melted. Edi boarded the lift feeling the anticipation. She glanced down at the trees drifting below her, remembering the story she had told the little girl’s mother—a story the locals still whispered occasionally but that Edi rarely spoke of unless someone asked directly.

It had been twelve years earlier on a February morning not unlike this one. She’d been skiing alone, enjoying the reckless freedom of someone who had only recently learned how thrilling it felt to fly solo. A wrong turn, or what she had thought was a wrong turn, had taken her far off the groomed trails. The snow had deepened, the air grown quiet. Then she’d seen him—a young snowboarder half-buried near a fallen log, pale with cold, barely conscious. He had been missing overnight. She still remembered the jolt of terror, then the clarity that followed. She talked to him the entire time—her instinct, as always—telling him silly stories and encouraging him to keep breathing as she bundled him in spare layers from her backpack. She fed him a pocket treat and used knots she’d learned from an old mountaineering book to brace his injured leg. She then poured hot chocolate from her thermos into a cup and placed it into his cold trembling hands.

The ski patrol later remarked that her quick decisions—and her eccentric but useful habit of bringing far more supplies than necessary—had kept him alive long enough for rescuers to save him. They called her a hero. She had called it “just following the snow where it took me.”

The lift bumped gently as she reached the top. Edi slid off smoothly, inhaling the crisp air like a promise. She paused to take in the view: endless slopes, sun catching on ice crystals, pines dusted with new snow. This, she thought, is why I keep skiing. At any age, the mountain has something new to teach you.

She pushed off and began her descent, carving beautiful turns down the fall line. Her legs moved with practiced confidence; her body felt light, the world simple. A pair of teenagers zipped by, shouting her name. “Race you later!” she hollered, knowing full well she would. Midway down, she stopped near a family of beginners struggling with their poles. She quickly adjusted their stances and sent them off with a cheerful reminder about using chairlifts carefully, keeping aware of other skiers and minding the responsibility code.

By midday, the sun shimmered at the peak, and Edi paused again, resting on her poles. She imagined the little girl, who liked her owl decal and the parents who would now smile at their child’s new skills. And she imagined the man she had rescued years ago—now a father himself, who sent her a holiday card every year. She tapped her skis lightly. “All right, Micky and Lindsey. One more run. Let’s see what story the mountain has to tell us today.” and with that, Edi Farnsworth—lover of retro gear, rescuer of lost hikers, unofficial queen of Alpine Haven Resort—glided back onto the snow, leaving behind a trail as quirky and wonderful as she was.

By Susan Sims

It had been more than thirty years since I last skied. Thirty years. That’s a long time for skis to gather dust, memories to fade, and fears to creep in. But when my husband and I planned our winter getaway to Park City, Utah, I knew it was time to dust off my ski gear—or rather, let Deer Valley provide new rentals for both of us—and rediscover what I loved so much about gliding down snow-covered slopes. What followed was nothing short of magical: a perfect bluebird day, exceptional instruction, snowy wonderlands, and a renewed passion for skiing—all without breaking a hip.

First Day Nerves and Private Lessons

We started our adventure with a private, half-day ski lesson, tailored for two “returning skiers” who might also be considered slightly over-cautious. Deer Valley is famous for its exceptional ski school, and our 70-year-old instructor , Michael, immediately made us feel at ease. I have to admit, the first thing I noticed—and feared—was my balance. Thirty years is a long gap, and I wondered if my muscles remembered anything at all.

To make matters even more exciting (or terrifying), this was the first time I ever wore a ski helmet. As I adjusted the snug strap, I felt a tiny thrill of both safety and novelty. And then there were the skis. Deer Valley provided rentals, and for me, that meant the first experience on short, easier-turning skis. Suddenly, the idea of making turns didn’t feel impossible. I started to remember, slowly but surely, why I had fallen in love with skiing in the first place: the sheer freedom, the crisp mountain air filling my lungs, and the exhilaration of moving with the snow beneath me.

Michael guided us patiently, focusing on posture, turning, and controlling our speed. I kept reminding myself: relax, breathe, enjoy, don’t fall. And the lesson worked. By mid-morning, I was turning with confidence, feeling the skis beneath me, and laughing with joy—glad I hadn’t broken a hip in the process. My husband, too, found his rhythm, and together we carved gentle arcs down beautifully groomed trails, soaking in the panoramic mountain views.

The weather was perfection itself: a deep, crisp blue sky stretching endlessly above snow-covered peaks. Sunlight sparkled on the powdery trails, glinting off icy branches and casting shadows across the slopes. I remembered exactly why I had loved skiing in my youth. The sensation of moving freely, of controlling my path while gliding over glistening snow, felt like coming home after decades away.

Skiing after three decades was both nostalgic and exhilarating. The short skis, the helmet, and the private lesson all contributed to a safe, confidence-building reintroduction. More than anything, I was reminded of why skiing had captured my heart in the first place: the joy of movement, the beauty of winter landscapes, and the sense of freedom it brings.

By the time we left, I felt rejuvenated, joyful, and grateful. Skiing had given me a renewed sense of adventure, reminding me that it’s never too late to embrace old passions, try new things, and make memories that last a lifetime. Thirty years away, and I left knowing one thing: I will be back.

Susan Sims publishes FIDO Friendly, the Travel  Lifestyle Magazine for you and your dog. Along with her husband Greg and dog Honey, she travels across America sniffing out properties for purpose of review. She started skiing in high school in 1968.

Editors note: A version of this article appeared in the March-April 2025 issue of Skiing History magazine.

As governor of a southern state, Lamar Alexander was nobody’s guess to help spread cross-country skiing into the Southeast in the 1980s. 

Granted, southern governors in the 1970s and ‘80s (and since) have promoted downhill skiing, but Alexander took it a step further, striding off into the natural snow of Nordic. In the process, he helped popularize what is still today one of the region’s best Nordic ski sites.

A big part of that story is Roan Mountain, among the East’s highest peaks at 6,285 feet. Just a few feet shorter than Mount Washington, New Hampshire, “the Roan” towers on the Tennessee and North Carolina border more than 4,000 feet above foothills. That orographic lift delivers 130-plus inches of annual snowfall, making Roan the epitome of the surprisingly snowy Southern Appalachians. The mountain’s renowned summer rhododendron bloom is a highlight of the Appalachian Trail.

Discovering the “Southern Heights”

By the late-’70s, ski resorts in North Carolina were attracting crowds and locals started exploring peaks loftier than the downhill mountains. More annual snow falls on some of those summits than sifts down on Buffalo, New York. Roan is one of them.

In the early 1980s, that inspired local Nordic skiers based in Boone to form High South Nordic Guides, rent skis and guide ski trips. They established the southernmost Nordic ski school in the East, training with what was then EPSTI (the Eastern Professional Ski Touring Instructors), and later, Nordic PSIA (the Professional Ski Instructors of America).

Ultimately the Guides—Steve Owen, Jeep Barrett, Ken Johnson, and others—were spending so much time at Roan an idea emerged: Why not propose a base of operations below the mountain at Tennessee’s Roan Mountain State Resort Park? Heck, why not create a cross country ski resort at the park?

Newly elected Governor Lamar Alexander had just dedicated the park in summer 1980, complete with modern cabins.

Formality would be needed for the state to get involved. The park was intended to bring tourism to Appalachian East Tennessee, but prominent locals were key in urging the governor to create a Nordic program.

The Crowds Arrive

By 1982, a Nordic concession at the park was approved. Enthusiastic crowds arrived, attracting attention in regional newspapers, then national magazines. Between the Guide’s rental inventory of 400 pairs of skis, and hundreds more at other shops near Boone and Banner Elk, Roan became a Nordic hotspot. 

A free-for-all ensued. A blizzard of media coverage attracted a horde of winter users, creating a dangerous gauntlet on the snow-choked summit road where pedestrians (mostly skiers) found themselves dodging careening cars, four-wheelers, even snowmobiles. 

The Guides Get Help

Luckily, as an official state park concession, the Guides’ savvy principals partnered with the US Forest Service to manage winter recreation. The agency defused a dangerous situation by gating the road to keep vehicles out and prioritize foot traffic. With mortised vehicles banned, the snowy road across Roan’s crest, and miles of adjacent trails, again offered “Nordic Nirvana’ to skiers.

The Guides were permitted to use a few USFS maintenance and visitor contact structures for safety purposes like distributing summit ski maps, caching rescue gear, offering advice, and even emergency shelter when needed.

People stepped up to help. Herb Roberts, the regional supervisor of Tennessee State Parks, and superintendent of a nearby Revolutionary War park, often volunteered to lead ski tours on Roan in free time from his own park.

Roberts’ nearby park, Sycamore Shoals, not far away in Elizabethton, Tennessee, preserves the mustering ground of the “Overmountain Men,” a patriot militia that in 1780 marched across the Roan Highlands in “shoe mouth deep” September snow to win a pivotal victory against Tories at Kings Mountain, SC. The group’s lofty encampment near Roan, at nearly 5,000 feet, a site now popular with skiers, is likely the highest elevation military movement of the Revolution.

Touring the Governor

Publicity about Roan Mountain’s ski scene surged when Steve Owen got a call asking the Guides to lead Governor Lamar Alexander, his wife Honey, and a few officials, over the summits of Roan Mountain … and teach them to ski on the way. Owen knew he was in for a challenge.

Alexander credits local judge Ed Williams with the invitation. “Ed loved to ski and thought that if Honey and I came to ski, and the state park encouraged cross-country skiing, that would spark tourism.” 

“I’ll never forget that epic blizzard,” says Owen. The state trooper driving the four-wheel drive SUV “did an amazing job driving through the waves of drifting snow.” 

Despite the wild ride in bad weather, Alexander never thought the group was in danger, but as a politician, he may have had second thoughts. A few years earlier President Carter made news breaking his collarbone cross-country skiing on Camp David’s tame terrain, much less tackling the Appalachian Trail in a blizzard. 

Change of Plans

Owen had “to choose Plan B for the tour,” he says. Instead of skiing a gradual gated road to higher trails, the Guides’ were forced into the sheltered north facing spruce forest to ski up the expert-rated, deeply-drifted, and still very popular Appalachian Trail. The wide, wonderfully skiable, albeit uphill trail, is actually an historic road grade that once ferried guests to a late 1800s summit hotel. Skied in the other directions, heading downhill, it’s one of the South’s classic telemark runs. Part way up, Owen’s group sheltered briefly in the now nearly century-old CCC-built cabin, the Roan High Knob AT shelter.

Recalling the tour, Alexander says he kept telling telling his wife Honey, “This is hard to believe!” It was the couple’s first time on Nordic skis, and “there was five feet of snow up there,” Alexander says. “I didn’t know we could even ski in snow that deep.”

At one point, lead guide Owen was breaking trail and Alexander said, “Hey that looks like fun, you mind if I try?” Owen let him, admitting, “I thought that was pretty cool.” 

Lamar and Honey had tried downhill skiing years earlier and found that “hard for a beginner.” But “skiing cross country was easier,” Alexander said, “as long as you had a teacher and guide and were in decent shape.”

The Alexander’s were in shape, and to this day, High South Nordic Guides can take pride in bringing high profile beginners safely through a real challenge. “Talk about demonstrating the value of professional instruction,” Owen says, “which was, after all, the main mission of our entire enterprise.”

The Alexanders found the experience “beautiful and exciting.” Owen recalls, “They all just seemed to be up for an adventure, and boy, we had one.”

More Publicity

Literally as Alexander was “skiing the Roan” on Friday January 23, 1983, Tennessee Senator Howard Baker, Republican leader of the Senate and Nixon-era Watergate figure, was announcing he’d leave office the following year. 

The media was swarming with speculation that Alexander would run for the seat. Owen knew local reporters “were determined to find out if the governor was at Roan. Our job was to keep it top-secret!” 

Alexander’s ski trip leaked. A reporter showed up and found him “ruddy-faced and relaxed” after his ski tour. The next day, the story went national. Some papers ran the news with a photo of the governor and first lady “braving a raging blizzard and howling winds” skiing the Appalachian Trail. It was a media moment made in PR heaven for the governor, and Tennessee State Parks, the South’s increasingly famous Nordic ski site.

Alexander won an unprecedented second term as Tennessee’s governor and later served as senator from 2003 to 2021.

Skiing Winds Down

By the early 1990s, Alexander had moved on and the Guides were ready to do the same. “Our run was coming to an end with the state park,” says Owen. “Our personal energies were flagging after a great decade.” 

Before giving up the concession, the Guides considered installing snowmaking at the state park, now a feature of teaching terrain at some Nordic resorts. The proposal got bogged down, so “the effort just sort of evaporated, went quietly, and we did too,” says Owen.

Roan Mountain remains a nationally significant destination for the South’s cross country crowd. The role Tennessee’s “Nordic Governor” and local enthusiasts played in that process is another example that it’s skiing’s true believers who help spread snow sports, in the South or anywhere else.