Adrenaline is a weird thing. It can either make you run screaming or make you literally scared stiff. For me, It. Maybe that’s because I had more time to take in my surroundings, or it might just be that I was more scared in those situations. In any case, I can recall few times as scary as when my buddies and I came across a field of snow snakes.

My troop takes a ski trip every year, where we find a long weekend and spend the entire time skiing. We always have a blast, but inevitably, at least one person gets hurt every year. The first year I went on the trip, that pour soul was Adam. Adam was a young scout at the time, and the little brother of my good friend by the name of Dave. Now these two guys were the youngest of five with three older brothers preceding them, so they both could certainly take a hit with some grace. With that said, Adam was probably not prepared to do multiple flips mid-air and barrel roll about ten yards. Luckily, he was generally okay, but he was out of commission for the rest of the trip.

On my second trip, however, the inevitable injury was not borne by one individual. No, I’m afraid it happened to an entire patrol. My patrol.

That year we had two full days on the slopes. Our first day was great. Dave and I conquered every slope with ease and did many of them twice. Frankly, I was rather proud of myself for keeping up with my more experienced friend, but one of the tougher challenges that day was a slope called Center Stage. It was a straight shot down to the lodge. A completely uninhibited, seemingly vertical drop. Dave went first. I gave him a little bit of a head start and then began my own descent. Dave was taking it slow, with by-the-book technique. As he weaved around the entirety of the slope, I did my best to imitate his form. It wasn’t working for me. I kept gaining more and more speed, and every time I changed direction I felt more likely to fall. I came to the point that I was trying to regain my balance more often than I had it, so I yelled “Screw it!” and french fried down this enormous slope.

Dave went first. I gave him a little bit of a head start and then began my own descent. Dave was taking it slow, with by-the-book technique. As he weaved around the entirety of the slope, I did my best to imitate his form. It wasn’t working for me. I kept gaining more and more speed, and every time I changed direction I felt more likely to fall. I came to the point that I was trying to regain my balance more often than I had it, so I yelled “Screw it!” and french fried down this enormous slope.

If you happen to be unaware of what french frying is, it is when you straighten your skis so they look like two french fries. This is how you gain speed, and, not surprisingly, I gained quite a lot of speed. Within five seconds of that decision, I shot past Dave reflexively screeching like a pterodactyl, and continued that battle cry until I reached the bottom of the hill.

I was wide-eyed and smiling when Dave pulled up out of breath from laughing. Apparently, he wasn’t aware of my struggles at the top, so all he heard was “Screw it!” followed by an astonishingly Jurassic war cry while he saw me become smaller and smaller.

The following day we had a slightly larger group, but the same goal: hit all the slopes. By mid-day our group consisted of the six guys in our patrol, and we only had a few slopes left. We finished up the blues and decided to move on to the two black diamonds, which included Center Stage.

We all peered over the top with more confidence than skill, but that stratagem had worked for us in the past, so we weren’t really concerned. One by one, we all took the leap off the top and began our descent.

We all started off pretty strong, but soon things went downhill. The first to fall was John. Weighing in at a whopping 120 lbs, the scrawny-looking John had no difficulty doing multiple flips before he landed and his gear exploded around him. It was the kind of sight that we professionals would call “impressive”.

The second was Shane. Shane was a much larger fellow with shaggy hair and a determination to care the least, and to be the most punk. For the record, he was the only one competing for those titles. Due to John’s yard sale in the middle of the hill, Shane swerved and created a theatrical experience out of his fall. The sheer number of flips, rolls, and crash test dummy-like flailing was astonishing at the very least. It was like watching a movie with an intriguing plot, good conflict, and Oscar-worthy falling action. Somehow he landed on his back at the bottom of the hill leaving his gear about 100 yards behind him, and his helmet cracked halfway in between.

The third and fourth to go down were a couple of guys called Xander and Ryan. Neither of their experiences were as comical as Shane or John’s, but they definitely fell all the same.

I was the last to fall. I had made it past the minefield of wriggling scouts and their scattered equipment and thought I was past the worst of it. Then I caught some air. I don’t remember much of my brief experience with solo flight, but I do remember hitting the ground hard. My skis popped off, as they are supposed to, and flipped back to give me a pretty nasty welt on my arm. I rolled a little. Then a little more. I eventually stuck out all my limbs to keep me from moving, but it was slick enough that I kept sliding. I looked like a starfish that didn’t know which way was up. When I finally stopped on a drift, I didn’t move. I sat there outstretched scared out of my mind. I couldn’t feel multiple limbs and my arm hurt like it was broken, so I began taking inventory. First my feet, then my legs, then my torso and arms, and finally my neck and head. I appeared to be in working order, including my incredibly painful arm. I crept back up the hill a little way to grab my skis and slid the remaining thirty yards down to where some troop adults were watching the entire event unfold.

Dave was the first to go down the slope and also the only member of our group to complete Center Stage successfully. When we all got back down the hill, Dave suggested that we try it again.

We all kinda looked around at each other. The adults were shaking their heads as if to tell us not to do it. The slope was finally getting back to normal with skiers who knew what they were doing. So we figured…

Why not?

So we went down the hill again.

And we all fell again. Except for Dave.

The first meeting after we got back from the trip, our patrol was called up to the front of the room. Mr. Hauser, one of the assistant scoutmasters who watched the entire show from start to finish, gave a full recount of that fateful day’s events. The room was in stitches laughing at us, but Mr. Hauser defended us saying,

“It wasn’t their fault. This domino effect was due to the rare and elusive snow snake. A creature of much destruction that camouflages itself perfectly in the snow and lashes out at the last second to trip skiers.”

He then commended us for being brave enough to take on the army of snow snakes and gave us an award that we were instructed to pin on to our patrol flag immediately for all to see.

I’m not sure if I believe in the snow snake, but it makes me look a little less pathetic, so I guess it’s a story I’ll stick to.

 

-Nickel