Creative Writing: The Ski Jump

We were all encouraged to choke down as much food as possible. Any kind of energy was essential. A melancholy atmosphere hung heavy as the journey progressed. Minutes walking slowly progressed into hours, the sky seemed to darken steadily. All of us were oblivious to the danger shrouded by the dim evening. Only moments after scaling a rather steep ledge did nature dice to turn sour. A deafening rumble made each climber perk up. Snow began to descend at an alarming rate. Thunder began to mic the steady beating of a drum, causing more concern among the ranks of climbers. The powdery snow became more of a risk than ever, climbing under pressure and leaving nothing to stand on. Third base was more than three hours away. Three hours wasn't possible at the rate. Snowfall this bad could be detrimental to the climb’s success. Snow obscured vision and numbed faces. Shouts and orders deemed lost in the screaming wind; people’s figure became shapeless blurs frantically shifting, hoping if they struggled against the wind hard enough, they might find someone. Of course, this was to no avail. Not a single person doubted their demise would come at this point: the stakes were high and no-one could play too well against Mother Nature. The snow crept up to knee-level, making it harder and harder to travel. Death and I were face-to-face. To some, they couldn't bare the idea of dying up here; they had families and friends, children who need parents and

"Wake up, partners," the trail boss, James called. I sleepily looked up , shivered, and saw I was the only one not up. "Here," James said, giving me the horses' bridles and saddles. "Take these and get the horses ready. We have a long day today." I groaned in reply and set up the horses for the day's long drag. I was the horse wrangler and this was my everyday job but I still couldn't get use to the idea of waking up before the sun and working. We drove the cattle into open plains against the winter's cold wrath.

As I heard my alarm clock go off at two in the morning, feeling prepared mentally but not physically. My mind,at that point in time raced with thoughts and expectations, although my body felt like it wanted to die. Finally dragging myself out from under the soft covers, I pulled my gear to the bed of the truck and threw my bag up over the side of the truck's bed,-- hearing a giant thud from the heftiness of my pack. I felt mixed emotions coming from my body, my mind ready and my body said: “go back to bed hate you, I hate you, I hate you”. As soon as I plopped myself into the truck squished with three people in the back seat, after about five minutes of driving all three of us passed out fast asleep. The moment I woke, pulling into the parking lot of Mount Washington, New Hampshire I felt ready. When I stepped out of the car, I threw my hands in the air, the best feeling of stretching after a car ride. I look up to see this mountain completely covered with snow and only one round part completely treeless; that's where we hiked too. Strapping my fifty-pound pack on my back containing ski boots, skis, poles, winter gear, and food felt more tiring than it should have.

Tires squealed on black ice and the engine backfired as she swerved around a narrow edge of the cliff. Jennifer Lesniak is traveling from Wisconsin to Oregon in a six ton truck through treacherous mountains and endless plains. It was three days of almost non-stop driving, only being able to sleep when she gave the wheel to her husband. Just when she was about to give up she thought the extreme weather in Wisconsin and about why she was moving to Oregon in the first place. She carried on willed by the warmer weather that awaited her on the west coast. The snow fell like ash from a volcano, building up on the road to the point where they had to get out of their truck and shovel the road clear. “Clearing the roads were extremely difficult” She said. “We were so close to the edge of this mountain standing on slippery ice trying to shovel the snow out of the road with little to no safety guard between us and the drop.”

Jon Krakauer’s group, on April 16th, began their 2nd acclimatization starting from base camp and climbing up too camp one. Hall, the group leader decided that he would like the climbers to stay at camp one for two nights, camp two for one night, then after that, go back to the base camp. The next morning they left for camp two, which is about four miles above where they were at camp one. On his way up, Krakauer sees a dead body. The dead body stuns him for a little while but then he continues on up the mountain towards camp two. The group makes it up to base two. The altitude greatly affected Krakauer he mentioned how all that he could do was rest in his tent with his head in his hands. The next day, after feeling a little nit better, climbs a little higher than camp two to work more on his acclimatization. While on his climb he comes across another dead body but this one does not affect him as greatly as the previous one. Jon’s group began to climb; the wind chill was forty degrees below zero. Jon, before he left, expected the sun to heat him up so he underdressed and then during the hike, became too cold to continue as his hands and feet were completely numb. Everyone from Jon’s group, except for Doug who is injured, make their next attempt to reach camp three. Jon Krakauer makes it to camp three, finally. Camp three is about one mile, vertically, below the summit of Mt. Everest. Jon’s group then descends down to the base camp again. Every on in his group is physically

This morning some locals found a person lying in a ravine. From the looks of it he has been there since the first snow fall because he body was frozen. The person known as Mr. George Harvey from Pennsylvania he is suspected to be a part of many murders of young women. Detective Len Fenerman says “ Now that Mr. Harvey is found dead hopefully the sports of the ones he killed can now finally be put to rest because their murderer is finally dead.” Mr. Harvey had fallen of the ravine by getting hit in the head by something, and since it was winter the police thinks it was probably hit in the head by an icicle then lost his balance momentarily which lead him to fall to his death. “A moment later, the icicle fell. The heavy coldness of it threw him

The fountain is frozen and icicles hang from the rooftop. The grass is bright white, covered in ice crystals. The sidewalks are frozen and the cars look like monstrous marshmallows. The entire family gathers for breakfast in the Mess Hall, which is an enormous room with a table shaped like a horseshoe and over two dozen chairs. Mounted deer hang on the wall, too numerous to count. A chandelier made of antlers hangs down in the center of the room. People gather around the burning fireplace for warmth. I hear pots and pans clanking together; I can smell the bacon and biscuits cooking to perfection. The smell of the brewing coffee engulfs the room. After breakfast, the kids go to our cabins and find the warmest clothes we can. We walk out the Mess Hall and everything we see is frozen. These polar temperatures are just like the ones when our family went skiing. We drove eighteen hours up to Wintergreen, Virginia for a ski trip with our cousins from North Carolina. Since it was our first time skiing, it took some practice and falling on our faces before we got the hang of it. Every night after the slopes closed, my cousins, my two sisters, and I brought sleds onto the slope and slid down part of the mountain. I can feel the arctic temperatures blowing on my face. My ears and nose turn shades of red and blue. My vision is blinded by snowflakes falling in my face. I cannot see where I am going until I hit a fence face first. I suddenly feel

The cool winter air stung my face as I exited through the ski lodge door. Board in hand, I stepped onto the powdery snow. After each step I took all I heard was crunches and crackles from the snow compacting underneath my weight. I nervously made my way over to the top of the bunny hill where a tall, beat up looking man named Dave stood. He looked as if the cold weather had made him age quicker than the rest. The earnest look on his face caused me to shudder in fear. His eyes pierced through my soul as if warning me not to go through with this. I took a deep breath as I realized how

Jonas and Gabe made it back to the house safely with people waiting on them. The cold,rushing wind was freezing them to death. Gabe,wrapped in his blanket was shivering, and silent in his seat. All he could see for miles is snow. The wind was bitterly cold.

The man knows the temperature is colder than 50 below; he has no experience traveling in such weather yet continues absentmindedly to meet ‘the boys’ at their camp in Henderson Creek. A dog followed at his heels, “It’s instinct told it a truer tale than was told to the man by the man’s judgement” (Anderson 28). The man was aware of the dangers of his trip, including thin ice skin hidden beneath pockets of sunken snow. Several times he avoids these traps wishing not to be delayed and even compels the dog to lead when he is unsure himself. The dog’s instinct screams no but the man shoves it forward anyway and the dog’s legs are soaked briefly before turning to ice. The dog quickly bites and licks at the ice to remove it from its fur. After a swift lunch and a small fire the dog again reminds the man of the dangers that lie ahead, “…it knew that it was not good to walk abroad in such fearful cold” (Anderson 30). Regretfully, the man saw no signs before falling through a pocket of snow and ice which left his feet wet. “He was angry and cursed his luck aloud. He had hoped to get into camp with the boys at six o’clock, and this would delay him an hour, for he would have to build a fire and dry out his footgear” (Anderson 31). Ignorant to his surroundings, the man’s fire is put out when snow falls from the boughs of the spruce above his fire. He finally acknowledged

Dad (broke-backed knee-torn, I love him but I live in his ruined shadow) is with me

Stepping into the warmth of the house, she started to stomp her feet on the carpet in an attempt to get the snow off of her shoes, not that it would matter because they were going back outside soon either way. Once her parents made it into the house the conversed shortly, catching up with each other. Soon they were all ready to go back out into the cold and try their new invention. A homemade sled made from thick white plastic, holes drilled in the sides where ropes go, the sides and front folding up to make sure you stay inside.

The man learns his lesson the hard way.The man encountered many internal warnings that it was too cold to be outside. First, his nose and cheeks went numb. His face, feet, and hands followed. His beard and mustache grew icy from his breath.

It was a cold day, so cold that your arms start to sting as if a needle is impaling the surface of your skin. The wind applies a force which feels as if your face is oozing with thick crimson red blood. The gray puffy clouds covered the sky and dropped small snowflakes onto the road’s surface. A man stood there, freezing, clearing the coat of thick white snow from the concrete road. His nose runs with a river of snot that floods out when the cold wind strikes. His sense of smell is heavily clogged by the slimy snot, but he can still smell the scent of the steamy hot chocolate which sits on the top of his snow covered car. His feet start to numb because of the cold flood which soaks through his boots to his white, silky socks. His feet feel as if he stepped into the freezing cold ocean. As if he fell through ice and he was stuck standing there. The vast pile of the ice white snow feels almost like a quicksand around his black rubber boot. Foggy figures of people shovel the big piles of snow off the sidewalks. They scrape and pick at the glossy white ice which sticks to the sidewalk like a little boy clinging to his mother's side. His feet still sting as if he was stepping on pins and needles. His hands are damp with sweat from grasping the curved metal shaft attached to a socket which holds the blade. The blade cuts holes into the thick powdered snow which is removed from the endless pile. The jet black shovel is filled with slushy snow and crystal shards of ice. The end of

It was a frigid day in December. I wore so many clothes that I looked like a penguin. Every breath I took makes a small cloud and scattered. The gloves I worn seemed to be mildness like paws. The buildings behind me were covered by the thick snow. The wall became more brick-red because of the spotless white snow. Some snowflakes drift down on my hair gently. The snow was heavy, but not much wind. My friends bounced from worm house and laughed to me. “We should build a snowman. The snow is heavy enough.” One of my friends advised. We all cheered and started to pile the snow together.