“Follow me!” Wm shouted over his shoulder, and he dropped onto the downhill run.
“You have got to be . . . “ I started to reply, but he was already gone.
What followed was one of the most exhilarating and terrifying things that I have ever done. Leaving myself no further time for contemplation and rationalization, I pushed off and started my run. At first the hiss of the skis in the snow was oddly comforting. Soon, however, as gravity and the ski wax took hold, my speed began to increase. Faster and faster I went, and soon I was hurtling down the logging road. My balance was terrible; arm and ski poles waved uncontrollably. As I gained speed I began to lean farther and farther over my skis, a sure-fire recipe for a tumble. Stopping and turning as controlled exercises were out of the question. I concentrated on holding as straight a line as possible as I rocketed down the mountain. You can imagine my relief as a county road appeared ahead of me. It appeared as open and inviting as a putting green; at last my heart-thumping trip was almost completed . . . almost.
When passing from deep powder to plowed dirt road there is a subtle change in the consistency and temperature of the snow. What previously served as a smooth and slippery glide path turned suddenly into a ski-grabbing, ankle-breaking leghold trap. My downhill run was abruptly terminated as my skis grabbed and held firm. I pitched face-first on to the road – right at the feet of a grizzled old bobcat hunter.
The man wore a ragged old hunting coat. from his should hung a Winchester .30-.30, with a hank of clothesline for a sling. His hunting dog was similarly attached to the man’s waist with another length of line. He paused at the apparition in front of him, all legs and skis and poles intertwined in the late afternoon sun.
The bobcat hunter looked towards the sky, then at me at his feet.
“Well, that sure looks like a lotta fun,” he finally said.
And with that, he left as quietly and abruptly as he had arrived.
I picked myself up, dusted snow from my clothing, and said nothing. Neither did Wm, either, and we headed home.