Ski Trip

Some years ago, maybe it was in the 1970s, I got a chance to ski in the heart of the Pocono Mountains in Pennsylvania. A few of us from our church group went to Camelback Mountain, one of the more popular ski resorts. I had never skied before and I didn’t know if I could if I tried. However, I was game when one of them, Phil, offered to rent the skis for me and I could try my luck at it. I stood in line and picked out the skis and put them on. There was a small slope just outside the door and I took my initial plunge at trying out my ski legs to see if I could even stand on my feet while sliding along. I survived the test. The entire slope was about 20 feet long and I stayed upright. I was now ready for larger slopes to conquer.

The ski lift to the top was a moving rope which you hold onto while you ski to the top. I managed to slide along in a straight line while enroute to the top but then it dawned on me that I didn’t know any of the elementary moves, such as turning and side-stepping. A couple of fellows in the group were from Switzerland and I asked one of them, Peter, how to turn and slide. He gave me a quick lesson in skiing and I was then on my own.

The view from the top was awe-inspiring. You could see for miles and all you saw were evergreen trees. Here and there the solid mat of trees was interrupted by the white run of other ski slopes. I settled down to the task at hand, trying to get down to the bottom of the slope without attracting too much attention to any of my less-than-graceful endeavors.

I first started with the small attempts—sliding for a short distance, turning as I went along, zigzagging down the slope in short runs. I didn’t care if it took hours. I had all day. I was at least going to learn how to turn in these uncontrollable sticks. At one point I zigged right into a thicket. Embarrassed, I struggled to right myself as inconspicuously as possible. Someone spied me anyway and helped me to my feet. It’s not easy for a beginner to stand up from a sprawled-out position, with skis wedged in the bushes while they (the skis) are attached to your feet. I think the bushes were attached to my feet too. I brushed off the snow and my discomfiture and resumed my self-instruction.

At last I made it to the bottom. My turns were adequate and I could stay upright for longer stretches. I was now ready to ski. I nonchalantly took the lift to the top again and positioned myself for takeoff. This time I decided to go straight to the bottom; no turns, no hesitation, no sense.

A hefty push with the ski-poles propelled me forward. The wind almost whistled through my jacket as I gained speed. It felt good to be able to stand upright while moving along at a good clip, knees bent slightly, balanced perfectly as the bottom of the slope loomed ahead. This is neat! I can ski!

Then I was struck with a terrible realization. I had not paid attention on how to stop! I had spent all my time with turns and recovering from falls that I didn’t know how to stop gracefully at a high rate of speed. To make matters worse, there was a line of people across my path, waiting to get on the ski lift. I hollered “Gangway!” and the line parted. I missed everyone but I had no choice but to deliberately fall down, just beyond the crowd of 30 or more. This time my skis were all tangled up in themselves and I had to unhook them off my feet to get out of my awkward pretzel position. The crowd politely ignored me.

My self confidence was beginning to dwindle, but I went back up the slope again and later tried for the more difficult stretch. I was now more at ease on skis and I practiced stops and continued with turns. Falls were less frequent. After a few runs down the intermediate slope I felt daring enough to try the difficult run. There was an additional ski lift which took you to the top high up on the mountain. Here was a decided drop in population on this slope. In fact, there were only a couple of skiers now and then.

As soon as I saw the slope from the top, all the faith and confidence I had in myself, all the learned discipline I had acquired on the gentler slopes, left me. I could turn back, but whoever heard of anyone going down a ski lift. I resignedly set to work. It was no longer play for me. This time I was rather worried. The slope was a steep, twisting furrow which seasoned skiers took on with ease; skiing from side to side down the slope, out of sight around a few turns to the bottom. Here and there were turns which were next to a steep mountain slope. If you overshot the turn you could easily catapult over the edge into the trees below.

It took me a long time to get down. Luckily, very few people used that slope. I didn’t have to save face. But my ambition to go farther was abated and I limped to the ski lodge, turned in my skis, and sat down to nurse wounds, real and imagined, over a cup of hot chocolate.