Skiing

When I was 11 years old my neighbors invited Josh and I to go skiing with them. Living in Utah we were obliged to accept this request and I really did look forward to it. My dad took us down to Deseret Industries (a Salvation Army-type of store) to buy us some skis. The skis that we got were at least 15 years old with old bindings and boots and none of the new fandangled features that skis had. The bindings were old with strap leashes that would prevent runaway skis from jetting down the hillside if separated from the skier- rather than the new fork system if the boot became unbound (see picture).

So, with our new old skis and a desire for adventure we set out with our neighbors to the ski resort Solitude up Big Cottonwood Canyon. It was mid morning and the slopes were just opening up for the morning. Josh and I followed our friends to the lift. Having no idea what to expect we hopped on the high speed quad.

As we got off lift I was quick to discover that even dismounting the lift would take some practice. It is hard to remember but I think I might have fallen down there too- it all seems to blur together now. There was a nice map that showed the various routes we could take to the bottom of the mountain. Apparently the lift we were on was the largest lift and provided the rider with the most skiing/lift time. The trails were all blue, black, or double-black lines (which meant nothing to me at the time). My friends pointed out that since it was our first time we would go down a blue trail since blacks were for experts. I must have fallen a dozen times in the first 200-300 yards of that blue trail- my friends weren't much for teaching as they only instructed us to stop falling down. The blue trail turned out to be harder than I had anticipated but I figured I would be able to make it down to the bottom. After all there really wasn't any other alternative, unless I wanted to ski down on a black diamond slope.

After about half a mile of what other might not call skiing we came to a fork in the trail. This fork was marked by a sign designating which trail was what on the map- HOLY CRAP!!! The only trails we could continue on were black diamonds! There was no turning back. My friends, knowing that we were struggling, gave us the only instructions they could think of . . . “just use your 'snowplow' [method].” We just hunckered down and headed down the hill.

These new trails were MUCH steeper. Josh and I were inching our way down the hill, which happened to be pretty icy as well. Our friends, tired of waiting for us, decided to just go down the hill and ditch us for the day- we never saw them again! Pretty soon I took a pretty good fall and I didn't stop for about 100 yards of tumbling. I looked back and saw Josh tumbling down the trail just to my left. He had hit and taken out another skier and was on course for taking out a ski patrolman- and sure enough he did. In the tumble my skis had come off but were held to me by the ancient leashes made of mammoth or sabor tooth tiger hide. Josh was no so fortunate with one of his skis which in the chaos become separated and was zooming down the mountain at 100mph. It disappeared into the soft power of the trees never to be seen again.

The ski patrolman (Josh's new friend) was livid. He threatened to kick us out of the resort (which honestly wouldn't have bothered me much at that point) but instead he just instructed us to walk the rest of the way down, which we were happy to do- besides- skiing was actually slower for me than walking anyway. Josh spent a bit of time searching for his ski. We spent the rest of the day on the bunny hill, which actually was good for us as we started to actually learn the basics and we didn't hurt ourselves doing it.

Years later now black diamonds are no longer a scary prospect for me and I actually enjoy them the most. I took some friends skiing for the first time a couple years ago . . . the first trails I took them on were blue and black!