Karen M. Kumor-Skiing The Blues

The trio met the others for lunch at the Alpine Meadows base lodge. Their friend, Inger, would be there with ‘Mikey’, her favorite ski instructor. According to her, he was an instructor wunderkind. She crushed on him since one of her trips to Valle Nevado, Chile, a few Augusts ago. The three women had heard her gushing about Mikey for a while now.

Mikey was maybe 27 while the women were all in their 60’s. Effusive, energetic, Danish Inger was an excellent skier. She had been an instructor herself. Though no longer young, her hair was white-bleached blonde and she always cut a sleek black ski silhouette in her gear: her face always made-up.

The other three were Kerri, a medium tall, heavy, married woman, know-it-all type. Jean was a short, plump, quiet woman who owned 3 cats and who, nevertheless could rise to a combative posture if you annoyed her. Rounding out the trio was Lynn, a slender wise-cracking divorcee with a long-distance lesbian lover. These three had skied together for years, thrown together by age, skill and compatibility.

The plan that day was Kerri and Jean would take a half-day lesson in the afternoon with Mikey. Lynn had demurred on the lesson because of a conservative financial philosophy and because Inger endorsed it. She did not tolerate Inger’s over-the-top personality. Kerri idolized Inger for her skiing. Jean mostly tolerated Inger.

Inger was out of their class. She was at the cool skier table. The trio were merely intermediate skiers. In truth, they were mediocre skiers. Actually, they were what duffers in golf are to skiers. They skied the blues and only the easy blue trails, cruisers.

The Connecticut Ski Council ran the trip and the group of 20 had flown into Reno and were bussed into Tahoe to stay at Incline Village.

The others on the trip were polite and cordial to the three musketeers, but generally avoided their company being that they were both old and mediocre skiers. No one skis for a long period with inferior skiers unless they are your children. You don’t even ski with your lover for long no matter how passionate you are if they cannot ski the same terrain.

The three ‘girls’ planned to take some runs before the afternoon class. They were not eager early risers. They preferred a more leisurely pace. The usual routine was mild chaos.

“Where’s the coffee in this place? Ouch, I just stepped on a shoe, blast it.” Lynn, her skinny frame, was draped in long undies and tee shirt. “I need a cigarette. Where did I put the thing? Oh jeezus! I stepped on it again.”

Jean, annoyed, commented, “Well, watch where you’re going. Your eyes aren’t half opened.”

Kerri rummaged around in the living area of the condo. “I gotta find my glove inserts. I don’t remember where I put’em. Did I dry ‘em?”

Jean looked under the table and reached down. “Here they are. You just threw them under here. You lose everything.”

Jean wore a bra and fussed with her first layer sweater. “What’s the weather like? How many layers are you guys putting on?”

“Dunno. Supposed to be lower to upper 30’s. Lemme check.” Kerri stood up and surveyed the wreckage of equipment and clothing in the living area. “Oh, hell. Where’s the phone? It’s buried somewhere.”

“No, no, no. I need those for after. Sides, I don’t smoke much these days.” Lynn pulled on her pants. “So you guys taking that class with Inger’s ski buddy? What’s ‘is name?”

Kerri added, “Inger says he is the best. We don’t need the best. We just need a lesson with someone who skies better than we do. But Inger insisted. You know how she is.”

It took them just this side of forever to get their act together and move out to the bus to the lift. At the base there was additional adjusting of boots and jackets and hats and gloves and gaiters. And then another readjustment and a tapping of the boots before clicking into the skis.

Finally, they were ready to saunter out to the lifts and take some easy warm-up runs at what was then Alpine Meadows in the early 2000’s. They cruised down easy lanes, stopping often to gather together. Lynn and Kerri skied much faster than Jean who threaded the slope back and forth like it was a loom.

Kerri skied the fastest, picking up a lot of speed because of her weight. Slender Lynn could ski lightly with little edging, never picking up too much speed but moving pretty fast on the groomed trails.

After one run, the three surveyed the mountain to decide on the next trail. Kerri looked longingly at the sun bowl named Alpine Bowl. It looked so beautiful in the sun: shining white, wide, wonderful.

Lynn stuffed one pole into the snow to adjust a glove, “Yeah, but once you take that lift there’s no other way down. It’s steep.”

Lynn kicked the snow off her boot. “Never mind, you get us into trouble whenever we go off with you. You’re as bad as Inger.”

Lunch time rolled around and the trio headed into the base lodge and shortly found Inger and Mikey sitting at the long picnic tables. Greetings went all around. Inger enthusiastically related stories of experiences that she and Mikey had skiing in Chile.

Mikey was a young, handsome, short young man with an Irish sort of coloring. He was affable but quiet and polite. Inger did most of the talking.

Just before Kerri bit into a sandwich she commented, “Whoa. It is so nice out there. That Alpine Bowl looks awesome.”

Kerri looked down and took a bite of her sandwich. She knew she had just stepped in it. The other two looked away and kept silent. Then after a pause, Lynn piped up mischievously. “No. Kerri thought it looked good but we didn’t think we were up to it.”

“Well, it is a beautiful run. I think we will have to do it together,” he said.

After lunch Mikey took them on an easy blue run to assess their skiing. Without much discussion or instruction, they were ushered toward the Summit Six lift. Kerri and Jean tried to head off this decision, but Mikey was ahead and had already entered the lift entrance. By design they had no opportunity to head him off. Docilely they followed him without entertaining the possibility to renege on following him on the next chair.

On the chair the two women were quiet, looking to the left as they were lifted up past the Alpine Bowl, a beautiful, steep, glistening, expanse of white. Each of them reviewed the next move. Kerri felt her heart rate racing and stomach reflux in her gorge. Jean looked grim.

When they exited the lift, they found themselves alone on a flat shelf perhaps 15 feet wide and nestled against the rise of the mountain behind them. They ski-walked to the edge of the Alpine Bowl slowly behind a cheerful Mikey with Jean just behind him. Kerri let Jean precede her despite the fact that she usually led. Kerri felt the delay to the edge would allow her another minute before injury or death that flashed through her mind. The two were scared. The entrance to the bowl was a perilous, sharp edge, above a vertical drop of 30 feet before a somewhat less steep opened up. Kerri looked around for some way out. But there was none. The only way down was the Alpine Bowl or to the right, the Wolverine Bowl, a black diamond, even more steep.

Mikey turned to them cheerfully. “Just follow me. We are going to slide down a little traverse over here before we take off. This will get us down about 20 feet from the top before we take off. “

The sun, which had illuminated the slope, suddenly became covered by clouds, darkening the white slope and casting an ominous, flat light across it. The sudden darkness seemed to presage a catastrophe.

Mikey could see that the two women were terrified. Though googles masked their eyes, their lips were tight and they were silent with foreboding, preparing themselves for a horrendous wipeout. Before they could think of any useful response, Mikey found the little traverse.

“Just slide down this little traverse here. I will take off when it disappears. You follow me down. We will make big wide turns. You guys can do this.”

The traverse was a small horizontal cut into the slope, about 2 feet wide leading downward gently. Mikey went first. It was difficult not to slide forward because the traverse was too narrow to pizza the skis. It left no room for maneuvering. Kerri followed Jean and managed not to collide with her by grabbing the vertical wall next to her shoulder. This wall rose vertically 6 feet above her head. While grasping the wall assisted her control on the traverse, it also reinforced how steep the bowl was. She was standing on a tiny ledge, with a vertical, wall inches from her shoulder, steeling herself to ski down. Her legs shook as she tried to slow sliding down and colliding with Jean.

Mikey briefly waved to them as he took off. Jean hesitated only a short moment before she zoomed off the shelf. Kerri could only briefly see them before she found herself at the end of traverse with no choice but to launch.

Kerri let go. It was monstrously steep but she kept her body poised forward, weight on her toes, eyes focused forward. On the top of her visual field, she could see Mikey and Jean ahead. She took a slightly left path and made some turns. She shook violently but her knees held on absorbing the vibrations. She was traveling faster than ever she had before. Deep down a vision of a fall at this speed flashed through her, yet she held onto her form if too stiffly. More turns, shaking legs, but still up.

Short moments later the slope gentled out and Kerri searched for Jean and Mikey and slid up to them. The two women were out of breath but smiling. They were both alive. They had survived intact.

Mikey cheerfully quipped, “I knew you could do it. Let’s go again from the top.”

They followed Mikey to the lift and went up again. This time they perched on the sharp edge at the top. Doubts began to collect in their minds.

“Okay. So, with this ledge here, just tip forward in position and you will be all set for the rest. Just tip over forward. Focus on your wide turns. Piece of cake, yeah?” and off he went speeding down the slope.

This time Kerri took off first. It wasn’t much difference from the traverse experience; just a tip forward onto the slope and keep forward on the skis and see if you can cushion the terrain with flexible knees. Kerri loved the exhilarating speed at the same time being frightened.

Jean breezed down far faster than ever she had. She wasn’t threading the loom but making big turns, slowing herself.

At the bottom they met up again. Kerri said, “That was great but my legs are getting tired. I don’t think I can do that again.” Jean nodded. “Yeah, I spent a lot muscle on that.”

Mikey nodded agreement. “OK, let me show you some nice runs on the back of the mountain. We will take the same lift again.”

Kerri and Jean exchanged glances. “But there’s only the two steep bowls to get down,” questioned Kerri.

“Nope. There’s secret traverse to the back of the mountain but few people know it.”

The traverse to the back was not simple. They cross-countried and trudged through piles of ungroomed, off piste, snow traveling over the ridge. It was exhausting. Finally, they found themselves at the top of a blue run made for their kind of skiing.

Mikey imparted some tips and skied down. They made two more runs and sat down at the picnic table at the bottom where a little wooden hut served some drinks and food and played only reggae music. The sun came out and a gentle breeze cooled them as “No Woman, No Cry” played. It was wonderful. They reveled in a feeling of youthfulness and cool.

After skiing more easy runs, the two met Lynn in the bar at the hotel. Lynn and Jean ordered beer. Kerri, not a beer drinker, went to the bartender and requested a coffee with Bailey’s. He told her ok but recommended coffee with butterscotch schnapps.

“Ok, coffee with butterscotch schnapps. What the hell. I’ll try anything today.”

“Butterscotch schnapps!” Lynn spritzed a little beer out before getting a napkin to her mouth.

Jean said, “Lemme see that,” but she smelled it instead before tasting it squeamishly.

“Hey, that’s pretty tasty. Yeah, maybe I want one too.” With that she went to the bar and ordered one.

“Wow, one day skiing with Mikey and the two of you are friggin’ nuts. Butterscotch coffee!” Lynn grabbed Kerri’s cup and sipped. “Hmm. That’s not half bad but maybe later. Gotta finish my beer first.”

Just as Lynn said this, Inger, in her stylish après ski clothes joined them. “So, how’d your day go with Mikey?” Her Danish accent bestowed a decent imitation of Marlene Dietrich.

“See, I told you he is very good. He’s on a special team of ski instructors.”

“I’ll drink to that,” as Kerri took a slug of coffee. Her body suddenly pooled into a relaxed, somewhat drunken slouch.

Roy D, or Royo as he was commonly addressed, a swarthy, fifty-something year old with a beard eating his face, joined them. He addressed Inger. “We’re heliskiing tomorrow if the weather holds. Are you joining us?”

“No. Not going. Got plans with Jeff and Claire. We’re goin’ over to Heavenly.” Gesturing to the three sitting at the table she said, “These guys did Alpine Bowl today. It was wonderful. They had a lesson with my friend from Valle Nevado.”

Royo glanced at the women sipping their coffee. “That’s a nice cow trail. Did you all have fun?”

Royo drawled, “Ok, ok. Don’t get in a bother. It’s a nice run. Now Wolverine, that’s a bit steep if you are looking for steep.”

Dan, a thirty something fellow with unruly hair and a goggle-shadow strolled over and draped his arm over Royo. “So’s Inger comin’?”

“Think so.” Royo tipped his head toward Inger and the ‘girls’. “See you around, if not on the slopes,” he grinned.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s full of himself. You know, last trip he skied into the woods and found himself in a tree well. He was there for 3 hours before one of the guys found him and got him out. He’s not as cool as he thinks he is.” Inger briefly surveyed the room, waved to a friend. “Well, you have a great day tomorrow.” She paused and added, “Kerri, your family is coming up for a couple days?”

The weather did not hold out the next day. Heavy sleet coated the slopes of the old Squaw Valley Resort where the three women planned to ski. A large group had gone up to Squaw on the bus. The Funitel tram and Emigrant Lift took them up to the Gold Coast lodge and some cruiser blue runs.

The slopes were cloaked with light fog, the light was flat. Light sleet drizzled. They exited the lift and found themselves negotiating a sheet of clear ice. They slid to the side to clear the lift. Fortunately, the lift was not fully occupied so there was some time to move away carefully.

Lynn balanced carefully. “Jezus. Oh, shit! Can you see this? Ice. Clear ice.”

Jean fussed with her jacket. “Damn, I got ice down my neck. Shoulda’ wore a gaiter. It’s so cold.” The three lined themselves up and waited. They watched as some other skiers launched. It did not look good. No one looked even mildly competent.

“What should we do?” Kerri pleaded. “This is awful and I am already soaked.”

“Yep, just slide across it. Don’t try to turn, just lean a little,” Lynn advised.

Kerri studied the slope for a better way down. “Yeah, but without a turn we are in Lala land.”

They three crouched down with their hands nearly touching their knees trying desperately to control the speed. At one point Lynn stood up and just glided straight down picking up speed. Luckily, the area surrounding the lodge was broken up a little, gifting the area with something to use the ski edges against.

They all made it safely though Jean went down and slid on her butt the last 20 yards. “I needed to stop,” she offered as an apology.

The three sheltered in the deserted lodge. The fog thickened and the sounds were muffled both inside and from the outside.

“Agreed. When is the bus coming back? We can take the Funitel down but the bus?”

They stayed there warming and drying but it was not hygge. It was damp and uncomfortable. The three huddled together quietly.

Very soon, groups of skiers, in twos and threes, trudged into the lodge shaking out their jackets and hats, jettisoning their gloves. Each new group felt compelled to explain to their companions, to people sitting at the tables and anyone who was listening, or not, why they came in. They felt compelled to declare, “It’s very icy out there” or “God, the fog. I can’t see a thing,” as though this was news to anyone.

Sometimes one would say, “We tried the back of the mountain. It was just as bad. Ice, sheer ice.” They each had to make an explanation to others, even people unknown to them why they came in.

Later Inger explained to them that she did not ski that day either. “I don’t want to injure myself, especially at my age. I want to keep skiing.” Even Inger, expert skier, needed to explain.

The three women spent the time in lodge purgatory until they could take the first bus back. Back at the hotel they rested and put together their gear. The Council trip ended the following day. Lynn returned to Connecticut with the Council group but Kerri and Jean stayed on as Kerri’s son would join them for a few days.

John, 25, a big guy, soft-spoken with buzzed blonde hair and gentle demeanor arrived the next day. He skied more difficult terrain alone but joined the women on a few blue runs each day.

On the last ski day before going home, the group returned to Alpine Meadows. It was overcast but the light was decent. Kerri and Jean skied the easy runs with John but both looked longingly at the Alpine Bowl.

Kerri turned to John who smiled. “Of course. Sure. You guys bragged that you skied it. It doesn’t look too bad. Come on.”

So, the three took the lift. They tipped over at the edge of the Alpine Bowl and took the slope skiing like experts. The old women were exuberant. They glowed with the experience. John smiled and they high-fived, laughing. They were high on adrenaline and full of confidence.

At the base, John suggested, “How about the other bowl, the one to the right.”

“It doesn’t look much steeper than what we just did. But it’s up to you. I’ll stay with you for another run.”

Kerri studied Wolverine. “Um, Jean, let’s try it. It just looks longer, maybe. John will be with us.”

“Don’t worry. If you fall you’ll slide all the way down it’s so steep.”

The two women stood looking at each other while John waited. “John?” said Kerri.

They took the lift, and on the long ride doubts began to surface, as they studied the trail on the right. This was the same lift as the one to the Alpine Bowl. Previously they studied the Alpine Bowl on left from the lift, now they took in Wolverine. It was steeper and longer. Their heart rates began to rise with their doubts.

Clouds had rolled in darkening the landscape. Snow began to fall: seeing was more difficult. Both women were silent with their thoughts, though their fears cannoned in their minds. John sat to the right on the lift. At the lift exit, he peeled off to the right which was pitched downhill to Wolverine’s edge. Coming off the lift Kerri and Jean stayed straight, hesitating. They could still bail but John was already far ahead. Neither wanted to be the first to bail. It was intrepid Jean who finally hollered. “Ok. Let’s go. Move out.” She motioned to the right.

Similar to the Alpine Bowl, they found themselves on a ledge about 20 feet wide backed to the mountain side behind and above them. They were forced backward against the mountain by heavy wind. The snow came a bit heavier and the wind pushed them around forcing efforts to stay upright and not slide around. To avoid the wind, Kerri and Jean cowered against the cliff face. They felt like dolls in the wind.

They were truly terrified. Overconfidence is a killer. Kerri survey the possibility of hiking back up to the lift to get over to the Alpine Bowl side but the wind was fierce and against them, blowing strongly up and along the edge. No other skiers had joined them on the ledge. The three were alone.

John was calm. He waited. The women said nothing for a time. From their vantage they could not see the slope, it was so steep you could only view it from the very edge. They could see nothing but air and mountains in the distance. The wind was strong enough to blow one off the edge.

Carefully, bracing himself, John side-stepped to the edge and craned his head over carefully. He studied it a moment and signaled thumbs-up. “Yeah, you guys can do it. Just come and take it.”

His words and casual attitude infused courage. Kerri took a deep breath and in a continuous motion moved to the edge and tipped into the slope. Jean followed and John after her.

The slope was very steep, steeper than anything they had done. But mercifully, below the edge there was no wind. Everything happened so fast and focus was so intent that they were halfway down, legs shaking, but upright and skiing it, before they could process what they were doing.

They met up together where the slope gentled out. They laughed and bragged to themselves. John smiled and enjoyed congratulating them. He suggested a second run and they repeated their exploit though still fearful. They met again at the gentle area after the second run. John asked them if they wanted to ski a black diamond trail just off to the left from their position. It was called Three Sisters and led through a lane of trees.

The two women looked at each other. They shook their heads. “We are skiing way above our zone. I was so scared my legs are done.”

John signaled that he would do Three Sisters and ski the back mountain for the rest of the day. They waved goodbye and two women headed to the lodge and to an evening of bragging. It felt so good to have a tale to tell.

They were exuberant and full of happiness. Their thrill and excitement were comparable to skiers jumping off cornices.

In the several years following these events, Kerri and Jean were fond of steep pitches though nothing like Wolverine did they ever ski again. Ski buddy, Lynn, was not happy with steeps and so they did not challenge her too much as the three wanted to ski together.

After those few years Jean began to fear skiing. She became slow and retreated to threading the slopes slowly. It was odd since she had enjoyed skiing more freely after Wolverine. Finally, one day, Jean stopped in the middle of a modest pitch and stood there a long time while Lynn and Kerri waited for her. She seemed confused and perched precariously for minutes looking at the snow in front of her.

Loudly she called out, “What am I doing?” It took a very long time for her friends to coax her down.

This was the first, unambiguous incident, of the onset of dementia. Jean stopped skiing. Over several years her dementia advanced and she lives with caregivers at home. She has very poor short-term memory now. She cannot remember simple things like where they are going on a short trip to a store. But she does remember the Alpine Bowl and Wolverine adventures very well. Those memories are fixed and she revels in remembering them with her friends when they get together.

Karen Kumor is a retired medical researcher and pediatrician. She is an unproduced screenwriter for Fish4HIm Entertainment. Recently one of her short stories has been included into an anthology called, Charlottesville Fantasy. She is in the process of publishing a YA novel.

(Unless you type the author's name
in the subject line of the message
we won't know where to send it.)