While we were up at the Lewis' cabin a couple of weeks ago, Debra (Lewis) and I decided that we would try skiing. Or more to the point, Deb decided we would try skiing. I told her I'd be happy to cheer her on. Of course she insisted that I join in the fun. After all, being from Georgia, with plans for moving back home, this might be our last opportunity. I told her that I'd love to join in, except for one thing, there probably wasn't a pair of ski boots in that cabin that would fit my feet. She immediately pointed to a pair over by the wood stove and said, "Try those." Just my luck, perfect fit.

So off we go. Skis and poles in hand, boots laced firmly onto reluctant feet. Out the door, down the steps and up the hill to the road. Allow me to paint the picture for you here. The temperature is somewhere close to 20 degrees. The snow is almost waist deep if you step off the road. On the road we can walk, for the most part, because the snowmobiles have lightly packed the top layer. In places we step where the snow isn't packed tightly enough and a foot goes down in the snow, then it's a bit of a struggle to get back out again. (I'd hate to be running from bad guys in a nightmare, in the snow, they'd get me for sure.)

Anyway, we get to the top of the hill and confidently snap on our skis. By the way, instruction on snapping on the skis was the ONLY instruction that our friendly little entourage chose to offer us before we attempted this little ski adventure. I, being an intelligent and logically minded woman, chose to use logic to figure this out. By my calculations, if it is easier for the snow mobile to run over snow that has been packed, and the sleds run better over the road for the same reason, it stood to reason that the skis would run better over the road also.

Thus, I am in the road, on a softly packed and slick surface, inching my skis, ever so slowly, towards the edge of the hill. I have my ski poles strapped around my wrists and I'm ready to take a tentative try at this new and exciting sport. As I inch, one baby step at a time, closer to the edge...ever so slowly, towards the edge...Suddenly, I begin to slide down the hill. I'm not moving a muscle, actually I moved many muscles, all in an effort to remain on my feet, but down I slowly glide, down. I think to myself, "Well, this is what skiing is, gliding down the hill, so I must be doing okay, I'm not falling", and I take heart, I gain a moments confidence in this new sport, I just might be a pro by nightfall, after all. Then suddenly, SWOOSH, I begin to pick up speed. And down the hill I go, faster and faster. I'm screaming, and screaming; louder and louder. I have the poles held straight up in the air on either side of me, and I'm swooshing down the hill, and I'm screaming my head off. (You may ask why I am holding the poles up in the air. It's simple, I'm terrified that if they touch the ground they'll stick in the snow and stay there and I'll keep going and disaster will ensue. Thus, the poles are held high in the air and I'm screaming.)

My eyes grow even wider and my screams become more urgent as I see the curve at the bottom of the hill. I know in an instant that I have only three choices. 1) I learn to turn corners on skis, fast, 2) I learn to stop fast, or 3) I miss the curve, go over the hill and into the trees. I don't like option 3, I'm not crazy about option 2 and I'm totally skeptical of option 1.

I think fast, I remember reading an article about skiing just the week before. I also remember my eleven year old telling me how easy it was to turn on skis, when his scout troop went skiing. "You just pick up your foot and turn on skis just like you do on roller skates, mom." I remember his saying. I can roller skate a little bit, so I take his advise; I lift one ski gentle off the ground. I put it back down fast and move to the next option because I know now that option 1 is NOT a possibility.

That brings us to option 2. I remember that on roller skates, if you squat down, you will begin to slow. I squat on my skis. Oh ho, opposite effect, swoosh, I go faster. I'm squatting, I'm swooshing, I'm holding those poles straight up in the air and I'm screaming my head off, and my eyes are glued to the curve, coming up fast. I know that option 3 is NOT a good option, I know I need to stick to option 2, if at all possible. The curve is coming faster and faster, I'm still screaming louder and louder. There is no time left, I'm almost there. I make my decision, I lean carefully, towards the snow to my left, hoping that the small mound of unpacked snow, along the trail of the road, will slow my approach toward the curve...

Boom, I lose my balance almost immediately, and I lose my head in the soft snow, almost literally and my feet try to keep going, but finally I stop. I put my hand down through the snow, to try to regain my posture and my hand goes as far as it can and never touches anything solid. Remember that the snow is almost waist deep. Finally I get a ski pole maneuvered around so that I can stick it into the snow and try to pull myself up by it. I twist my head around and look up the hill to see if anyone has noticed that I've stopped skiing for the moment.

Wow, they've all, every last one of them, been stricken suddenly with some sort of serious stomach pain. They are all holding their midsections, doubled over and are making these awful, coughing and gasping, type sounds. Laughing their fool heads off at my expense, is what they're doing. Here, I could have been killed or maimed for life and are they rushing to my aide, "NO" I say, they're laughing!!! Can you believe that? "Laughing", at ME. And what am I doing? I'll tell you what I'm doing; I'm at the bottom of the hill trying to figure out how in the world to stand back up, with skis strapped firmly to my feet, the lower half of my body on top of the packed snow in the road and the upper half of my body clinging desperately to my ski pole which is stuck almost to the top of it, in the soft snow beside the road, and I don't mean that the pole is just poked down there in the snow I mean it's STUCK down there and won't budge an inch. The rest of my body is about two feet further down the hill, and I'm trying to stand up, and my FRIENDS are standing at the top of the hill LAUGHING.

It's amazing how much can happen in a period of about thirty seconds.

And do you know what else? They let me do that a second time before even one of them would tell me that it is best to learn in soft snow and not on the packed, slick snow.

We're supposed to go back to the cabin in the near future. Deb and I have decided that we're going to try this one more time, without the "help" of the men. (smile)

Written by Pamela A. O’Quinn -1994

What a fun memory.