I had an "AHA" moment lately while doing some reading ... I'm a Gusher.
Emotional Type 4: The Gusher
Gushers are virtuosos at knowing their emotions and were born to share them. The gusher unloads stress by verbalizing it. However, some gushers get antsy when there's no one to tell. (Thus, the blog :).
THE GUSHER'S UPSIDE
- You're emotionally articulate.
THE GUSHER'S DOWNSIDE
- You're a candidate for becoming a drama queen.
Okay, so I like to express myself in a dramatic fashion ... sometimes I embellish ... make things bigger or worse than they really are. BUT, this story .... THIS one ..... is true.
Sunday I was skiing at Vail with Carrie. Typical day, black and trees and powder. It was a perfect day and I decided that since it was our last day of skiing ... we should end it with something new - something special. I had heard the Pump House was awesome. It's double black. No problem. I have skied more double black runs than green runs. I didn't hesitate. At 3:30 PM, Carrie and I are peering over the edge of a short, but very steep section. We drop this quickly and notice the "pump house". I started down the next section which was very easy and heard Carrie say, "Ummmmmm, I'm going to go this way." Well, I was too far down to go THAT way and told her that I was going THIS way. Well, I went the WRONG way.
What proceeded was an hour of pure nightmare for me. I can ski anything. Anything. I have NEVER taken my skis off. EVER. However, I skied into a situation that was impassable. I took my skis off and found myself post-holing up to my thigh in a section of snow that had formed on a downed log over a creek. Falling through would have certainly broken something. I managed to get through this and put my skis back on ... only to find myself in a section that was so steep that it was exposed with roots and rocks. No snow. I took my skis off AGAIN. I strapped my skis and poles together with a band. I was perched on top of an icy drop that plummeted into the creek filled with dangerous, potentially suffocating snow at the bottom. Kind of like an avalanche waiting to happen. I used the binding side of my ski as a brake and grabbed a branch to slow myself down. I had my foot on a huge pine tree. Trying to dig a hole into the snow with my boot. I was sweating. I was scared. I considered ditching my skis at this point. Just letting them go into the ravine. I asked myself, "Are you skis worth your life?" Then, I realized I might not make it out without my skis. The idea of walking on those snow ledges with my boots terrified me. So, I decided that if my skis dropped ... I was going with them. Finally, my leg was getting tired. I moved my foot and started sliding quickly downward. OUCH! OUCH! Rock. Tree. Rocks. WHAM! I landed 20 feet down with a thud and almost vomited. But, HEY ... I'm not in the creek.
I couldn't put my skis back on. It was too slick and dangerously teetering above the creek. I start walking again and found myself on an icy snow ledge about 2 feet wide. I threw my skis on the ground up above me. THANK GOD they didn't slide away. They stopped immediately. Now, I look down at the deadly, soft snow below me. I was sitting there. Sweating bullets. Panic attack. I had to stop myself and encourage myself to breathe. At this point, I'm thinking about the time. It's about 4:30. I have another hour or so of daylight. It's supposed to snow 2 feet that night. I have no water. I have no food. I have no extra clothes. No cell phone signal. This is bad. I considered sitting there until Ski Patrol came through on a sweep. But, at this point, I'm pretty sure that I'm off the map. Ski Patrol isn't coming.
I'm sitting on this FREAKING ice ledge in the middle of Vail ... on the FREAKING FRONT SIDE of the mountain. How did this happen? I'm so angry. I start thinking that I'm going to die. For real. I'm thinking THIS is it. I felt so sick. Sweat running down my back. Okay. Time to move. If I fall, I fall. I have to do this.
It was so slick, I was afraid to move. I took my glove off and started digging a hole in the snow beside of me. Finally I was comfortable with the idea of moving a few inches. I lifted myself up and moved into my new "seat". I dug another one. Moved again. Dug another one. Moved again. Dug another one. Here we go. This is the crux. I knew the next move would be "it". I moved and started sliding forward slightly. I thought for sure I was going down. I stopped. I swear ... I was one heartbeat away from launching down this bank into the creek. But, I stopped. I crawled up to my skis and had another moment of panic. Pure panic. It's getting later and later.
I started walking again. No voices. No people. I finally got to a section that I could put my skis back on. THANK GOD. At this point, I'm skiing standard black terrain. It's dangerous, but doable. I'm skiing on a 3 feet wide trail with frisbee-sized holes dropping 8 feet to the creek. But, at least I'm heading down. I think I can see a trail above me, but it's too steep to climb to. I try and find myself flirting with a tree-well. I start thinking about somebody finding my body in the spring. I'm so upset. A few more turns, a few more holes ... voices. Lots of voices. I see people through the trees and WHAM ... I spit out at the bottom of Riva Ridge. I started crying.
From now on ...
I will have water in my bag.
I will have food.
I will have my bivy sack.
I will have a light rope.
I will a have a headlamp.
I'm still upset.
Can you tell?
Off The Map ... Between the Pump House and The Narrows
I was so rattled that I wrote a letter to Vail the night that this happened. I was contacted by the director of Vail Ski Patrol, Julie Rust. She apologized to me and said that they are the first team to step up and admit when they are wrong. She told me that they had made a mistake on this one and thanked me for bringing it to their attention. She said that the patroller that was sent to check that section of the mountain was unnerved. She said she couldn't tell me his exact words but that I should know that he had to remove his skis to get through there as well and said "We have to rope that. NOW." She said my ego shouldn't be touched on this one. I'm sure they realize I'm lucky that I made it down ... at all. The Vail Skil Patrol have a huge job. I can't imagine keeping an eye a 5,200 acre playground.
