Ski Blogging

We interrupt our regularly-scheduled programming to bring you an update from the slopes of Utah.  I'm pleased to report that Mother Nature has awoken from her slumbers, realized that she had forgotten the ski season thing, and is making amend.

Our season started for real on Christmas Eve when Canyons opened the Ninety-Nine Ninety and Peak 5 lifts. the highest terrain on the mountain.  FNBF* Bob, Mitch, a friend of Mitch and I bombed lines off Ninety-nine Ninety for as long as the legs permitted, through deep soft snow.  

Bob, as usual, waiting for your truly.

Mitch eyes his line through the pines.

A glorious day after our early-season struggles.  Though not one without incident, as the photo below indicates:

I hate when that happens:  Mitch shows off the core shot to his skis from an ill-considered line through the rocks.

Don't fret too much for Mitch, as any gouge on the center of the ski is readily repairable.  It's the ones on the edges that cause long-term problems...

For Christmas Day they promised and delivered a powder day, the first time Christmas has been an actual religious experience for your humble correspondent.  Canyons reported a total of 10" for the day, the bulk of which was on the ground when I strapped on my boards.  It was a windy day, so we had to work around some lift closures 

The view from the bridge: We love when we can only see the tips.

Alas, the day took a rather turbulent turn, as right before lunch Mitch and I ducked into Grande, arguably the gnarliest, steepest tree run on the mountain.  He took a line further left than usual and i naturally followed...  but that left us in tight trees left of the open glade.

Here's what it looked like before it all went bad...  

I hit either a rock or a stump, and while one usually just bounces off of such impediments, it's all a blur after that.  I ended up airborne with a tree heading directly at me, and I've never seen a tree moving at such speed.  I hit it on my left hip, caromed off and continued a steed descent.  Mitch later estimated that I carried some 100 feet after impact, and who was I to argue?  My mouth filled with snow so not only was I hurtling towards immovable objects at speed, but I felt like I was suffocating.  Let the record show, I've been water-boarded and gave up NOTHING!

After assessing that nothing was broken, the next issue was to find my gear.  One ski was a few feet below where I came to rest, and I was able to grab it.  However, climbing was difficult, as the snow was hip-deep and provided little traction, even using the ski for leverage.

Mitch was 25 feet higher than I, and did the truly heavy lifting.  He was able to climb to ground zero, and described a trail of broken branches and debris down the face of the slope.  After poking around for a while he ultimately found both my poles and the all-important second ski.

Mitch making the arduous climb.  Trust me, it's far steeper than the two-dimensional camera makes it appear.

My Savior:  Mitch isn't an especially tall man, but he's not THAT short, it was quite deep in there.

Mitch really saved my bacon, because I don't think I had that climb in me.  And that, kids, is why we don't go into the woods alone.  In fact, FNBF* Bob and I bonded two years ago on a chairlift when we discovered that we each need a companion with whom to ski the woods.

Not surprisingly, I ended up with a huge bruise on my hip....and by huge I mean like the size of Rhode Island.  Bob wouldn't let me ski yesterday until we went to the local walk-in clinic to have it checked out.  I was pretty sure it was unnecessary, but, you know, friends watching out for friends, for which I'm very grateful.  I was cleared to ski, though Doctor's orders were groomers only, as she doesn't want me falling on the hematoma.

Bob and I went out and took a couple of loops without incident yesterday afternoon, but as I draft this I'm seriously considering taking today (Saturday) off.  The body hurts everywhere, and we're supposed to get more snow tomorrow...

* Former New Best Friend.