Rob Scharf at Sierra At Tahoe

Editors Note: This article comes from SeniorsSkiing subscriber Rob Scharf

I have been on two skis 55+ years, including as a patroller and volunteer mountain host.  So trying a monoski was a challenge that became exhilaration  – and just plain fun.

I learned to ski at Mt Lassen Ski Area in northern California, where there were two rope tows and one Poma lift and a season pass for my parents and four kids was $100 total. As a high schooler in the 1970s I was intrigued by monoskiing, but didn’t know anyone who did it, or how to find out about it. I had seen it on TV, in magazines, and probably in Warren Miller films. I tried snowboarding in the 1990s and hated it.  So I stayed on my two skis.

I learned to ski when it was a status symbol to keep them close enough so the inside of the boots rubbed against one another, and it was a real status symbol if the duct tape you applied to your scraped boots was also scraped up. I have had ski instructors tell me I ski with my skis too close together, but when I ski patrolled and had to pull a toboggan, my skis automatically separated for a more stable base.

In the spring of 2021, I was a volunteer mountain host at Sierra At Tahoe Ski Resort, working at the bottom of one of the lifts reminding guests to put on their COVID mask, when I saw someone approaching the lift line on a monoski. It turned out to be an enthusiast loved to talk about skiing while your feet were locked side-by-side on one board. Towards the end of our conversation, he offered me to loan me the spare SnowShark monoski in his car.

After so many years on two skis, the monoski was a struggle. On two skis, much of your weight is on your downhill foot pressing on your uphill edge. On a monoski, that shifts to your uphill foot to get the uphill edge weighted.  Clearly, this old dog would have to learn a new trick or several.  It was a struggle, but eventually I felt more comfortable.

In March 2022 I went to Monopalooza, an annual event that attracts about 100 monoskiers from all over the US and beyond. The first day was a demo day. I found strong contenders from each manufacturer, but chose to go with a WhiteKnuckle All Mountain ski, and ordered one that summer.

Most monoski manufacturers are small operations, so they can provide almost unlimited customizations. They suggested a website to order fabric. I found one I liked and that green malachite fabric became the topcoat of my new ski. We agreed on the graphics “WK” on the shovel and “WhiteKnuckle” at an angle just in front of the bindings, which were mounted to fit the boot sole length I provided.  Now, I had my own monoski with custom graphics, for less than most pairs of skis cost.

At the start of the 22/23 season, I was probably more excited than I had been in many years. I was also nervous. Am I doing the right thing? What if I don’t like it and I have this very nice custom monoski? What will I tell my wife about the money I had spent just to have a wall decoration?

That first day on the slopes on my new ski was wonderful, exciting, scary, uncomfortable and just plain weird. For the first time in a very long time, I felt like a beginner, and I suddenly had a whole new appreciation for all beginners on a ski hill. I couldn’t control where I might slide to or whom I might slide in to. Stopping under control was iffy at best. I also got a better appreciation for snowboarders who only have one edge to hold them on a slope and for use when turning.

I am getting better on my monoski. Groomed runs are no longer an issue – as long as it’s not too icy. I tried some powder and the ski floated so well I quickly found myself sitting in the powder. Just imagine trying to get up in powder when both feet are securely fastened to one ski and your side-to-side balance is next to zero. As we all know, pushing a pole down in those conditions is not much help as it sinks down to the handle. I was able to struggle to sit on the back of my ski then stand up. Small moguls are fun but large ones are something I need to work my way into. Steep slopes with moguls will require more experience than I have right now, but hopefully one day.

One day recently, I was skiing at Alyeska, Alaska. I reached the bottom of a run when I heard someone just getting on the lift yelling in my direction. It was another monoskier “in the wild” waving at me. He waited at the top for me. 

He was a ski instructor at Alyeska. He taught on two skis, but was having fun on his monoski between teaching. He skied with me and my buddy for a couple of runs, giving us a quick tour. We would have never met that local if it weren’t for me monoskiing at the right place at the right time.

Standing on a monoski in a lift line is always interesting. “What is that?”, “Is that a training tool to keep your skis together?” “Cool board dude.” “Wow, a monoboard. I haven’t seen one of those in a long time. That thing must be ancient.” “Mommy, look at that funny  ski.” “Did they forget to cut your skis apart?”

My responses: “It’s called a monoski.” “They mounted my snowboard bindings incorrectly.” “I have yet to cross my tips.” “I snow plow one side at a time.” “I do have trouble skating on this.” It’s quite the conversation piece.

If you ever have the opportunity to try a monoski, do it. They are fun, scary, exhilarating and just plain fun. Did I mention they are fun? Will I try the monoski where the feet are one in front of the other like a slalom water ski? No, because I would automatically lean back and grab for a rope out of habit.

If you see a group of monoskiers in late February or early March this season or a future one, you’ll know there is likely a Monopalooza nearby. And, if you see just one or two monoskiers you can now refer to it as a monoski, not a monoboard.

 MONO, MONO!