The Prang

Coops says:
Kylie was very excited about her shiny new boots and skis, which luckily were available to pickup Wednesday lunchtime. There was no option then but to head into Quebec for a bit of night skiing.

Needless to say if was bloody cold. A beautiful clear night, no wind, great snow. Miss Halden, once she had negotiated the high speed chairlifts-of-death and complete lack of dexterity due to her Kid sized mittens (another story) was cruising down the slopes refining her technique from a continual snow plough (dorky beginner) to parallel turns (snow bunny).

We would occasionally stop, I would stop first and she would grind to a halt in her own particular style, and once my teeth had thawed I would occasionally offer advice to try to assist her in her aim of reaching snow bunny status.

After a few runs Kylie as doing some nice parallel turns, and looked to be in control of her new toys. So I headed down the slope a bit quicker than usual, then pulled up to watch her progress. Little did I know Kylie had chosen to try to keep up, and when I stopped, she was close behind and decided she would also stop. Just how she decided to stop was a thing of beauty.

At no point did she use the techniques of the previous days, either dorky or otherwise. Her technique involved turning at high speed towards the snow covered embankment at the side, and smacking into that. The embankment turned out to be a vertical snow covered rock some 8 feet high.

It was like watching a car accident, in my mind it happens in slow motion. The banzai charge towards the rock, the sudden halt of skis as she explodes onwards and upwards, the arms outstretched towards deliverance, the impact with the top of the rock, an explosion of snow, then the mass of debris and girlfriend trickling down the rock face.

In the brief silence that followed it crossed my mind she may have killed herself.

Then I hear a giggle.

Not a scratch.

It’s kinda unfair.

Kylie says:
Coops rings and says "I have skis in the car."
"Are we going Night skiing?" I hold my breath.
"Yup."

Edelweiss is about 40 minutes from Ottawa, and has long clean runs. I was excited to get out there on my new skis, buoyed by the fact that I'd been skiing blue runs (intermediate) on Saturday at Mont Ste-Marie, and going OK til fatigue got the better of me and I started stacking all over the mountain. But this was my gear. New boots that had not had anyone else's foot stinking them up but mine. Poles that were measured to the 90deg angle of my arm, not just randomly picked from the banged up selection in the rental shop. And skis that my ability would grow into, and we would bond in such a way that a person can bond with any inanimate object.

As a Halden there is some element of wanting to perfect something immediately in the core of my very being. As unrealistic as this is, the determination is in no way diminished by the prospect of a steep hill covered with ice while standing at the top on wax-polished wood that knows no other purpose other than to get to the bottom as fast as possible. We were to be skiing green runs (beginner) so I was positive I'd get an invitation to join the Olympic team by the time I finished the first run. Alas, I was on my ass about 100m in.

By my 3rd run, I had gotten used to the patchy lighting, and was feeling OK about things, getting more comfortable, working out that my skis are fast and if I don't get things right on my turns they're gonna catch and try to trip me up - something I'd previously been getting away with on rentals. Subsequently Coops and I started working on what I like to call the shussh stop, probably better known as a parallel stop. Coops would ski for a bit, stop and I would follow, and stop. We did this for a couple of runs, and on the next run Coops stops and I think, "Oh better stop" but there seems to be some partial blockage in my neural function telling me to stop, and I just turn and ski directly into a large bank of snow, hiding a large wall or rock.

Now, I know that some of my thoughts were computing. I knew that it was going to stop me. And I thought that it would be soft and cold. And I knew that it was going to look funny as hell. I think I even remembered to close my eyes and hang on to my poles.

My skis plunged into the snow and stopped dead. As I felt the bindings release my feet, it was like they propelled me upward, like a set of ejector bindings. However their strength was not enough for me to clear the snow covered rock face that loomed ever closer, closing ahead of me.

I stuck there for a few moments - evaluating damage. I wondered if this was how cartoon characters felt when their arch nemesis suddenly moved the position of the door on the wall and they completely star fished into it with momentous force. I slid back down the snow and giggled. I wish I'd have seen it all in the third person. There was a perfect indentation in the snow. My knee was slightly tender and initially diagnosed quite damaged, but after some thorough testing its condition was upgraded, with relief, to perfectly fine.

We dicide that it might be a good idea to head down for a break and a hot chocolate. Coops explains to me that I wasn't supposedto stop when he did, yet he'd neglected to tell me this. Obviously my lack of control has nothing to do with my stack - it was all due to his lack of clear communication skills...But I did get back on the proverbial horse and made sure that I didn't have a repeat for the rest of the evening.

What I like about the whole experience is that there are no new bruises, and I can parallel stop a bit, and felt really good by the end of the evening (lowered core temperature aside). Despite the biggest stack of my skiing career thus far, I feel the best I have about skiing, and am quickly becoming quite addicted.