I seem to recall power skis from Selection, a 1964 story by Ursula K. Le Guin:
JOAN strapped on her power-skis and straightened up. Behind her Dome Kappa gleamed in the milky sunshine, a great bubble reflecting the feeble sunshine and the white, cloud-furrowed sky. In front of her her husband stood erect on a low hill, impermasuit shining silver, heat-gun slung over his shoulder, a tall, gallant figure facing the sinister desolation of an untamed planet . . . “Damn showoff” Joan growled, skiing laboriously toward him.
“What?” said a polite, arrogant voice in her earpiece. She had forgotten they were hooked up.
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