Stranded at the top of the mountain, only one way down. I strap on my skis, and take one last long look at the beautiful, white scenery to all sides of me. I am still thinking of my family, friends, and dogs back home when I take the plunge, and I drop, drop, drop. The slope is long, steep, and powdery, and I know that I can make it down. And then, I see it. There, over to the side, is a nice little patch of fluff. Perfect, just what I need to make my epic run look even cooler than snow flying everywhere around me and the perfect tracks forming behind me. I check uphill, by habit, just to make sure that nobody else is stupid enough to climb up here with me, follow me down, and then try to cut me off on my way to the jump. As I expected, nobody there. I go to the roller, take a deep breath flying through the snow at fifty-plus miles per hour, which is much harder than I thought it would be, and I leap off the fluff. I reach back to perform my routine tailgrab-to-backscratcher when I realize that there is nothing there. The whiteness of the snow, the blackness of my own mind and body betraying me, and finally the pain catches up to me.
I wake up sometime later, one ski a hike up the mountain, and one just a few feet to the left of me. I try to get up, and when I realize that I can't even feel my legs that there is no point. I realize that with the distance between my one ski and my other ski, I must have clipped a rock or something before hitting the jump, something I would have noticed if I did not have the bad habit of looking uphill whenever I turn just a little bit. The thought dawns on me that, as no lift services the glaciers of Mt. Hood, Oregon, in the winter months of the year, since the lift is completely buried, I may be stranded here, at the top of a mountain, with no one to find me, for hours, perhaps even days. I start to envy my old life as a student at a boring old school with boring old teachers, even missing the ennui of a normal life. I start screaming my lungs out, as if my life depended on it. Of course, it DOES depend on it, though. I wait, and pray, and for the first time in my life, I realize that I am truly alone.
Whether I die of cold, of pain, of thirst, hunger, disease, or any number of maladies, I still do not know. Whatever I wish to do with my final hours, I can do. So, when I finally realize that no one is coming for me, at least for now, I make up my mind to try and survive. I, being a seasoned skier, have a survival pack with me, and my coat is warm. So, theoretically, I can survive with the two Nutri-Grain bars in my backpack for at least a week, as long as I have a lot of snow to eat, and drink. I test myself, and realize that I can move my legs a bit. I start my painful hike up the mountain to try and retrieve my ski, so that maybe, just maybe, I can get down the mountain. I grab my other ski that was right next to me first, and then start my climb.
It takes a long time. How long, I do not know, but all I do know is that it was light out when I started, and I am barely a third of the way to my ski, now that it is dark. I understand that my skis are a last measure, as I know that my legs are too weak to ski down this steep, long, and fast terrain, but I could always slide down on them. I want to try to get to them before I freeze, so in the morning, I start as the first rays of light coming from the east strike the east face of the mountain. I do, however, take a moment to stop and watch this sunrise, which, I realize, is possibly my last. It was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, what with the striking orange of the sun's hues and the contrast of the green trees and white snow. Although I may not have a lot of time left, I know that I will never forget that sight. As I start my journey, I can tell that today is going to be easier going than the last. I am not as weak, nor as in pain, and my jacket and pants have protected me from the cold all night. I climb up the mountain, stumbling over rocks and chunks of ice, and slipping along the snow, thinking about how lucky I am to have survived the night. I swear to myself that I will take one of those avalanche beacons with me whenever I ski beyond the mountain's seasonal limits from now on. Those avalanche beacons can locate anyone, anywhere, at the touch of a button. I climb up the mountain, and THERE! I see my ski! I clip it in, and I realize that my legs are, just barely, strong enough for the jaunt down the mountain and to the ski patrol hut at the top of the area maintained in the winter. Stranded at the top of the mountain, only one way down. I strap on my skis, and take one last long look at the beautiful, white scenery to all sides of me. I am still thinking of my family, friends, and dogs back home when I take the plunge, and I drop, drop, drop.
