Thin air encompasses me as I commence the final day of skiing at Vail, Colorado. Seven days of skiing elapse rather painlessly; I fall occasionally but an evening in the Jacuzzi soothes my minor aches. Closing time approaches on the final day of our trip as I prepare myself for the final run of the vacation. Fresh off the ski lift, I coast toward the junction of trails on the unoccupied expert face of the mountain. After a moment of thought, I confidently select a narrow trail so steep that only the entrance can be seen from my viewpoint. A blast of adrenaline charges throughout my body as I experience the initial drop. My body's weight shifts mechanically, cutting the snow in a practiced rhythm. The trail curves abruptly and I advance toward a shaded region of the mountain. Suddenly, my legs chatter violently, scraping against the concealed ice patches that pepper the trail. After overcompensating from a nearly disastrous slip, balance fails and my knees buckle helplessly. In a storm of powder snow and ski equipment, body parts collide with nature. My left hand plows forcefully into ice, cracking painfully at the wrist. For an eternity of 30 seconds, my body somersaults downward, moguls of ice toy with my head and further agonize my broken wrist. Ultimately veering into underbrush and pine trees, my cheeks burn, my broken wrist surging with pain. Standing up confused, I attempt climbing the mountain but lose another 20 feet to the force of gravity. All alone, I glance downhill and notice my left ski ensnared in distant undergrowth. One of my ski poles lies casually near the summit, trapped in a mogul crevice. The lonely winter atmosphere bestows little comfort; I am aware that the trail will stay empty until eight o'clock the next morning and therefore undertake immediate action. As I painfully peel off my left glove to inspect the damage, the monotone drone of the ski lift ceases. I stand up and detach my right ski, then ascend the powdery snowdrifts that flank the trail in search of my missing equipment. Upon attaining the altitude of my missing pole, I re-enter the steep slope. Digging into the snow with my boots while stabilizing my body with the uninjured arm, I inch across the hill, lose my foothold, and plummet downward.
After a great night of sleep we headed out to the world renown mountain of Jackson Hole. It is known for being the steepest mountain on which a ski resort is set up. It is also know for having a great view of Grand Teton, one of the highest peaks in the Rocky Mountains. We could not have asked for a better day of riding. there was a fresh 14” of snow under our boards and after a little bit of exploring we found some great out of bounds and woods riding.
He judged the distance to be about a mile from the lodge to the waterfall, and crept slowly past the spiders. Careful not to make a sound, he trudged only on the dry land whenever he could and had to take off his shoes sometimes to avoid a squelching sound. He almost reached the water when suddenly a spider changed direction and came for him. Losing all sense of sneakiness, he ran to the waterfall and hid behind it. Although he lost the spider, his clothes were drenched and he had lost his shoes during the run. Now that he’s made it to the actual waterfall, it's time to climb. Now as a child Jerry’s dad always made him practice climbing, in case he got trapped somewhere in the mountain and had to climb out. Those punishing practices left blisters and limbs that ached for days, and Jerry hated them. But now, faced with an life-or-death moment he was glad for having them. The only problem was the shoes being missing. The distance vertically from the bottom to the top of the waterfall was about a hundred feet, easily accessible for someone without a fear of heights and good climbing skills. But Jerry had two major liabilities; the absence of shoes and the mossy slippery stones. Then Jerry realized that his strength was waning as the cold of the water seeped into his bones. And so without a second thought, he began to climb. The toes and hands fighting for whatever room they had on the smooth rocks and moss. Jerry was about half way up when disaster struck. It was a particularly smooth section of the rock and when his right foot tried to gain purchase, the left foot slipped, causing Jerry to plummet. The sensation of falling was almost relieving to the exhausting climb, during which he was shivering. Right as he began wondering when the fall was going to end, he landed back first into the bog and slammed his left arm into a small piece of sharp rock. The pain
I rush toward the mechanical clanking and rattling of the ski lift and collapse into the chair. Exhausted, I use this time to restore my energy. I begin to form the image of the steep route that I plan to attempt on my next run. Its nearly vertical face, large jagged rocks, and rough terrain send shivers down my spine and adrenaline into my veins. I painfully recall my previous attempt, where I did not perform the necessary technique in order to survive the run without a crash. This time,
The next story is of Colby Coombs, a 25 year old, who was vacationing in Alaska. He and his two climbing friends were caught up in an avalanche in Mt. Foraker. They were knocked 800 feet down the mountain. Coombs was knocked unconscious and woke up 6 hours later dangling from his rope. He had sustained a fractured ankle, a broken collar bone and two broken vertebrae in his neck. His 2 friends did not survive the avalanche. The next four days he struggled to climb down to their base camp and then traversed another five miles to cross a glacier before being rescued.
“Throughout many years I have gained skill sets that got me to where I am today” Rob has looked upon his life as learning process. Rob explained that in his earlier years, during his quest for a sense of adventure and meaning in his life, he worked as a ski instructor in Park City, Utah. Rob’s day consisted of running the slopes as many times as he could while training people of all ages how to ski. At one point Rob set the world record for the downhill ski slalom during the time. However, the day after day tasks of skiing had gotten repetitive for Rob, as he began to lose insight on what he wanted to accomplish in life, and Rob knew he could not be a ski instructor forever. The countless days he had been sleeping in his car he started to think more and more about how Rob wanted to change his life. One day as he was looking upon the Wasatch Mountain Range contemplating life, Rob thought to himself “It’s time, It’s time to make a difference in my life, for better or for worse I need to change.” Rob felt like his adventure was just beginning with the many different challenges on the horizon that were about to face
The freezing wind had chilled my hand to the bone. Even as I walked into my cabin, I shivered as if there was an invisible man shaking me. My ears, fingers, toes, and noes had turned into a pale purple, only starting to change color once I had made a fire and bundled myself in blankets like ancient Egyptians would do to their deceased Pharaohs. The once powdered snow on my head had solidified into a thin layer of ice. I changed out of the soaking wet clothes I was wearing and put on new dry ones. With each layer I became more excited to go out and start snowboarding. I headed for the lift with my board and my hand. Each step was a struggle with the thick suit of snow gear I was armored in.
I tried to crouch down and pick up some speed and ended up doing an aerial front flip with a two point header right into a patch of ice crusted snow. I lay there for several minutes, wondering if the cold I felt was my body going numb. I had thought that that fancy trick had killed me, but it wasn't my time. It only left me with a bloody nose and a cut chin. I was very disappointed, I thought that at least a cracked vertebrae was deserving of my efforts.
My legs ache from this long, treacherous hike. As I walk up the rocky, steep trail, my feet start to slip, but I regain balance before I fall. I shiver from the extremely cold temperatures, and my body starts to go numb. Soon I realize, my body can not take this hike for much longer. When I find a nice place to rest and make camp, I pray that there are no bears or other predators that are looking for a feast. Just as I was about to get some sleep, I hear a loud noise, coming from the mountains. I look over and see an avalanche coming down straight towards me. I grab all my stuff and start running the other way, trying my hardest to get away from the rocks tumbling towards me. This extreme place is located in the Rocky Mountain Range, and is the highest point in Colorado and the rocky mountain range.Mount Elbert has an impact on animal's, temperature, and the steepness and extremeness of the mountain.
The ground moved farther away from me as I went higher up. I nervously swung my legs back and forth and placed my ski poles next to me. When I looked down, everyone looked like itsy-bitsy specks in the vast, white snow. Whoa…, I thought to myself, the sight made me feel disoriented. As I went up the lift shuddered, shook, and occasionally swung side to side which made me feel jitterish. I couldn’t believe I was doing this though, but there was no going back now. After a few minutes, or what felt like hours, I could see the end of the ski lift coming closer. I prepared myself by getting ready to stand up by grabbing my poles and tensing my legs. There was a bright red line printed on the snow a few feet ahead and when I reached the line, I quickly stood up and got off. “Phew, at least half the journey’s done”, I thought to
I wondered if they left for a reason (Which I later found out they did). As far as I knew, they just left. I sat back and the cold bar gave my neck a chill. I could see the guy at the end and I waved to him. He wore a black hat and a green jacket like most ski lift operators do. He waved back and I thought to myself “At least he’s nice.” The hill under me started to shrink as I got closer to the platform. When the platform was in sight I lifted the cold bar with my glove and I could see the mark were my hand had melted the snow on it. My poles were in my hands and my skis up ready to get off. It looked as though I was about to attack someone, which is the normal way you get off the lift, legs raised, poles at 45 degree angle, and head straight ahead. My skis were on and I inched my way forward down to the small hill, onto the main one. After I was on the main hill, there was a neighborhood of other trails, to my left was Mardi Gras, the biggest and main trail of Holiday Valley, in front of me was two more, one led to a terrain park and the other was just another trail of Mardi Gras (or Mardi for short). I swung my skis to the left and passed a few snow boarders strapping up and said to one with a board that had LEDs, “Nice board!” He replied with “Thanks man!” I continued down the trail going slowly while the trees and the snow were grasping my eyes. I came to the part of the hill were it
I was the first person to ski off of the chairlift that day; arriving at the summit of the Blackcomb Mountain, nestled in the heart of Whistler, Canada. It was the type of day when the clouds seemed to blanket the sky, leaving no clue that the sun, with its powerful light, even existed anymore. It was not snowing, but judging by the moist, musty, stale scent in the air, I realized it would be only a short time before the white flakes overtook the mountain. As I prepared myself to make the first run, I took a moment to appreciate my surroundings. Somehow things seemed much different up here. The wind, nonexistent at the bottom, began to gust. Its cold bite found my nose and froze my toes. Its quick and sudden swirling movement kicked loose snow into my face, forcing me to zip my jacket over my chin. It is strange how the gray clouds, which seemed so far above me at the bottom, really did not appear that high anymore. As I gazed out over the landscape, the city below seemed unrecognizable. The enormous buildings which I had driven past earlier looked like dollhouses a child migh...
The story began on a sunny September day, when two hikers were traversing a mountain pass at the 3210-meter (10,530 foot) level and saw a brown, leathery shape protruding from the ice amidst running melt-water. Examining closely, they found a human body which they thought might be the victim of a past mountaineering accident.
Many people think of skiing of a fun sport and a good activity if you have a free day in Colorado. But what many don’t know is that skis are older than most countries. The reason us humans know this because of a rock painting that showed a man skiing down a mountain with food and through many tests this painting
During winter vacation, I usually take a skiing trip to a cabin in the Washington State Wilderness. Loaded with everything from Monopoly to a waffle iron, my backpack shields me from snow dripped by evergreens. It never actually skis, but my backpack wouldn't dare miss a downhill ski trip in the Rockies of Idaho. I leav...
He arrived at his first destination after about an hour of hiking. After a short while he figured he had looked over his new found haven enough, he was ready. He started down the grade with a small arsenal, consisting of a shovel, about ten granola bars, two bottles of power-ade, his snowshoes, and what was left in his hydration bladder in his pack. After descending about two hundred feet he came into the clearing he was hoping to find, it was as smooth as silk, twenty inches of fresh powder under his board. Up ahead he say a small but formidable drop off on the mountain, he knew if he was going to escape this with his dignity he was going to have to work some magic, to his success. The drop was approximately eighteen feet, but he was ready for it, he landed perfectly, it was like a dream the poof of snow exploding out from his impact, and the gentle flakes hitting his face. As he continued down the slope he did not realize that his gentle landing had severely weakened the physical structure of the mountain’s blanket, and that any moment he could bring the mass down upon himself at impossible speeds.