This Month's Story

Last month I told a story about my skiing out west. To tell the truth, for years, I was addicted to skiing. I would take off from work on or about January 1, kiss Stella goodbye, and disappear for a month.

During this time I would wander about the western ski areas, skiing mostly at Alta and Snowbird in Utah. I usually teamed up with another skier as I did with Jim in my last story. We would meet, make a few runs together. If it turned out we were compatible, we would spend the rest of that day or the next skiing together.

As I remember those years, I realize I skied with some very memorable people. There was one person, however, that was a little different than the others. I forget his name, but Tom is as good as any, and Tom it will be here.

It all started early one morning as I was going along a trail by myself, when I heard someone behind me call to give him a hand, he was lost.

I stopped and let him catch up. He explained he had made a wrong turn and now he was on this trail and it seemed a little rough. Could I help him? I looked him over. He was several years older than me and from his rather new ski clothes and general skiing gear; he appeared to be at best an intermediate skier.

The trouble was that the trail we were on led to a very rough slope and there was no easy way back. I felt I had no real choice but to take him with me to the slope and get him back down as slowly as I could to the groomed slopes he should be skiing.

I told him to follow me and we soon came to the top of the slope.

I was pleasantly surprised to see we had the whole area to ourselves. The slope was one of those wide ones so that even though rough, (classified as expert and marked with a black diamond), you really didn’t have to make a lot of turns. Looking about, I thought, if he made long sweeping turns, I could get him down to the bottom safely and from there he could head to less difficult runs.

“I’ll go down a ways and wait for you. Take your time coming down. I’ll come help you if you fall.”

I shot about a third of the way down and stopping, waved for him to follow.

What happened next caught me by surprise.

Instead of taking advantage of the slope’s wide expanse, he came down to where I was with only a few short, quick turns. They weren’t graceful turns by any means; crude would be a better description. But, the fact is, they were sharp turns. Despite being a notch above a novice skier, he evidently intuitively knew how to turn by carving the snow with his skis; something many intermediate skiers never learn.

I began to feel more relaxed about getting him down the mountain.

“I’ll go the rest of the way to the bottom and wait for you. Take your time; be careful. If you fall, I’ll come back and get you. This is fluffy powder stuff, it won’t hurt you.”

I looked at him. He was very nervous, almost trembling. But he shook his head; he was game to try it.

Well, when I got to the bottom of the slope and waved for him to come down, he came down much like he did the first part; not pretty by any means, but considering the slope and its rating as being a black diamond, very well indeed. This second run was twice the length of his first run, but when he reached me he was less jittery and even had a more confident smile on his face.

I looked around us wondering which way to go to get him down. Any way would be time consuming and I would be forced to use part of my day getting back to the top of the mountain where I wanted to ski. For the first time, I noticed the lift ticket on his jacket included taking the tram to the top. That was exactly where I wanted to go and I selfishly decided to take him with me.

It took a few side runs but we were soon aboard the tram, with Tom pressed against one of the car windows staring in amazement at what was below us and where we were going.

When we got to the top and everyone took off downhill, I held Tom back. When everyone was gone, I pointed to the left.

“We’ll go that way. It’s a little away from the crowd and there’ll be more powder.”

What I really meant was it was a gentler slope, but a it was a nice one, and there really wouldn’t be a crowd.

Soon we were skiing alone; moving over a spectacular landscape. I was keeping my eye on Tom and thus missed the ski patrol-made crater in my path. It was a place where the patrol had thrown a concussion grenade to loosen any possible avalanche.

The problem was that the bottom of the crater was filed with rough, compressed snow; snow that was as hard as ice. Skiing over it would be like skiing going over large rocks. I was too close. I had no choice but to go over it. It was indeed rough, very rough.

I pulled up on the other side and, worried, looked back toward Tom.

He had seen what had happened to me and quickly made a turn around the crater’s side and pulled up beside me.

He stared back at the crater. “What happened there? They should put signs up.”

“Don’t worry. It’ll fill up the next time it snows”

I wasn’t thinking about the crater. I was just amazed how remarkably fast he had reacted. Tom was not just a better skier than he realized; he was one of those strange people you meet now and then that are natural skiers.

As I stood there, letting this sink in, I began to get ideas.

“Tom, you see those trees down there? Let’s go ski through them. It’ll be fun.”

What I was proposing was a difficult type of skiing called “glade skiing.” It meant skiing in the trees. It takes a great deal of skill, but the snow is untouched under the trees, the visibility is always good (never a “whiteout”) and it really was fun!

(Wikipedia: Glade skiing, also known as tree skiing, is downhill skiing through trees off-trail … Glades are variously sought for their solitude, beauty, and caches of ungroomed powder. Woods also tend to hold better snow longer thanks to the shade and shelter trees provide … Glade skiing is inherently more dangerous than skiing on trails and usually reserved for experts,….)

My novice friend was so full of all the adventures he was experiencing, he never hesitated. “Great, let’s go!”

After warning him to be careful, I took off down to where the clump of trees stood. It was not a dense clump and I was soon through the trees and on its downhill side. I stopped and looked back at Tom.

He had done beautifully. The only problem was he followed me too close. When I stopped, he almost hit me.

“Tom, you did great! Let’s do some more. See those trees down there? Only, please stay farther away from me. These are a little denser. It gets dark in there. Pick your own path and yell something like ‘cock-addle-do’ so we won’t run into each other. I’ll make a noise like I’m barking.”

There were more tricks that I told him, as we went on, but he caught on quickly and we went down the mountain going through thicker and thicker clumps of trees. As we went and I started to enjoy myself, I heard nearby the happy cry of ‘cock-addle-do.’

We took the tram one more time. When we got to the bottom of the mountain the second time and headed along the gentle trail that took us back to the lodge, I saw Tom looking up at the mountain in awe. I on the other hand looked at Tom in amazement. It had taken me a month to learn what he had learned in one afternoon.

When we reached the lodge, Tom insisted I join him and his two daughters and their husbands for supper. “Please, they won’t believe me when I tell them what we just did. You’re my proof. You have to come.”

I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but I said yes. To this day, I don’t know whether my decision was a good one or a bad one.

***

Later that evening when I entered the dining room, Tom came hurrying up to greet me. He introduced me to his daughters and their husbands. As I sat down, I was taken aback by the fact that Tom introduced the husbands as Drs. So and So. Good lord! I thought. Don’t they have first names?

The dinner went well at first. Everyone was very polite and the food was good. Then I began to realize the men were not really listening to any of the things Tom was telling about his day’s adventures. Tom’s daughters were equally as bad; giving polite lip service with smiles at whatever Tom said and finally switching to the boring details of how tired they had gotten at noon and how both had gone into town to do some shopping.

I decided to say something and I did it rather loudly; in fact, in the middle of one of the daughter tale of buying a new scarf.

“Your Dad is a remarkable skier.”

Everyone stopped and looked at me. One of the son-in-laws in particular stared at me.

“Oh come now. He just learned to ski last year! How can you say that? Are you a ski instructor?”

“No actually I’m a physical scientist. However, I do love skiing. I’ve been doing it for years. I stop here and catch up on my skiing whenever I go out to the coast on business.

I paused for a moment looking around me at the people at the table.

“In my opinion, however, even if I don’t work here, I think Tom is a very good skier.”

There was dead silence. They stared at me in disbelief.

Tom stepped in with a try at conciliation.

“Look, why don’t we all meet with Paul tomorrow and he can show us the first trail Paul and I skied.”

The same son-in-law that had spoke up answered Tom with a smirk, “Yes, I’d like to see that.”

I smiled, “Great! I’ll be glad to show you the mountain. You’ll like it, I promise. Would tomorrow morning at about 9:30 be too early?”

Tom spoke up, “Yes, Paul. That is very kind of you, we’ll be there.

With that, since I didn’t want desert, coffee, or any more of their company, I stood up.

“Good, Thanks for the supper. I apologize for leaving so soon, but the cams in my bindings are a little loose. I really must tighten them before we ski tomorrow. Good night and thanks again for the dinner.”

I smiled and left, wondering as I went out the door where does one find the cams on ski bindings and if they can be found, how do you tighten them?

***

When we met the next morning, I started to have doubts about the whole thing.

Tom’s daughters and their husbands were dressed in expensive, almost gaudy new ski gear and one glance at their skis revealed that they were rentals. The slopes Tom and I had been the day before had been all expert slopes and normally one doesn’t trust rental skis on those type of rough terrain.

Tom’s ski’s had been short, the kind that are called “Bermuda Shorts;” ideal for the type skiing that we had done. I realize now, that they were rental also, but Tom had behaved so well, that I never considered they were not his own.

When we arrived at the top of the ski lift and I started to turn left, the men called out that the trail was to the right. I saw immediately what had happened to Tom the previous day. The trail for intermediate skiers was groomed and lay to the right of the lift. The one that I was heading for was to the left and in no way groomed. Right beside it was a sign giving the trail’s name and a large black diamond symbol.

Tom looked at me and I told him to follow me and we headed down the trail to the left accompanied by the others and cries of, “This can’t be right,” “Suppose we fall,” “Where can this go.”

When we came to the wide opening that revealed the slope that Tom and I had gone down the day before, the group became very quiet.

“I’ll go a little ways down and then Tom will follow me. The rest come after him, one at a time so I can see how you do.”

Without waiting for any unwanted comments, I shot down to where I had waited for Tom the day before. Once there, I stopped and signaled Tom to come down. He came with his usual short, sharp turns and stood beside me all smiles. He waved at his son’s-in-laws.

“Don’t worry about them. They’ve been skiing for years. The girls will have to go slow though.”

They came down one at a time and they were worse than terrible. I realized that it wasn’t them that had been arrogant. It had been me. I should never have led them to this difficult a slope.

It was obvious they could ski, but this slope beyond their class. Now, I realized, we were all committed and I became truly worried on how to get them down to the bottom of the slope without anyone getting hurt.

Luckily they took advantage of the wideness of slope, skiing to one side then kick-turning and skiing to the other side. Still, one of the men and one of the women fell and I had to pole my way over to help them up. Slowly, they made their way down to where Tom waited.

Very little was said. The women looked terrified and, although they didn’t say anything, the men were close to the same condition.

“We are a good ways past the bad part. Tom will go ahead to the bottom and wait for us there. You all will go after him again one by one. I will follow along helping anybody that’s having any problems. Remember I’ll be coming right behind you. Go slow and keep as much to the left side of the slope as possible. That’s the shady side and has the most powder; it’ll be softer and a lot easier to ski.”

I motioned to Tom and he went down the rest of the slope with his usual awkward ease and in seconds stood there waiting for us.

The son-in-law that had sneered the night before was standing next to me. I was angry. I was particularly angry at him for goading me into putting us in this debacle. I couldn’t help myself; I turned to him and said in a low voice, “Let’s see you do that.”

He turned to me and I knew I had scored, but I also knew that I was looking at a man that was terrified. I turned away and motioned one of the better skiers of the two women to start.

And so we went down.

They truly did not do so bad considering. They really were not that bad skiers, they just were not that good. I stayed as close to them as I could, coaxing them, at times skiing backwards, telling when to turn, when to lean on which ski, and helping them up when they fell.

Finally, we were all at the bottom.

My nemesis glared at me.

“How the hell do we get down from here?”

“Well, you’re on a groomed trail now. See way down there to the right where it turns off. That’s the top of an intermediate, well-groomed slope. You’ll find it easy going down from there. After that you are on your own.”

“And where will you be going?”

“See those trees over there?” I pointed to a black shadow line of dense trees off to our left. “That’s where I’m going.” With that I pushed off. But I did hear what was being said as I left.

“Daddy, are you going to show us the way down?”

“No, Honey. You stay with the men. I’m going with Paul.”

A short time later as I shot through the dense woods, I heard, a little ways over to my left,

“Cock-addle-do.”

I grinned and answered,

“Bow Wow, Bow Wow.”