I let the curled shavings fall to the frozen, inky ground, creating a heap of milky white scraps. My blade easily carves through the wood, like a knife going through soft butter. A wolf starts howling in the woods, and distorts my concentration, the blade jams into my finger.
“Verdammt!” I swear under my breath. A carmine liquid seeps out of my wound. I suck on my finger in order to stop the profusive bleeding. I sigh and gaze across the horizon. A cascade of fiery red and flamboyant orange spills out from the sides of the Matterhorn as the sun sinks leisurely below the ice-kissed landscape. I raise to my feet and stretch out my cramped legs. I am standing on a small ledge which juts out from the side of the mountain. It has recently snowed so the snow is powdery and deep. To my right, about ten feet below is a forest and to my left there is a massive skiing area. The view is immense, with a perfect view of the Matterhorn’s snow-capped north side. At the bottom of the mountain lays Zermatt. The mountain is barren, with no skiers left, most locals don’t ski for pleasure during the week, and tourists try to get home before dark. It’s just me on this oasis of the Alps. An arctic wind sweeps throughout the land, and snow is billowed up into the air like a freezing tornado. The sun is now hidden and the shimmering stars have come out. I stoop down to retrieve my scraps and carving which I then cram into my thin wool coat. I latch on my ski’s, wrap my fingers around my poles
The feeling of fear excites me, an ecstasy of joy trickles into my veins. In a quick moment I make a choice and the adrenaline surges as I boost off a massive cliff, with a thud and a mushroom cloud of powder, snow drifts onto my face. With each line persuading me towards the life of a ski bum, living in a van, going from mountain to mountain, meeting new people and experiencing new thrills.
Omg! I am going to have so much fun snowboarding! Today in my life I am at a super cool place. It’s in the UP and it’s called Ski Brule. It has all the snow hills you could possibly think about. I could never stop imagine me going down the hill and be so proud of me. But hopefully I don’t break any bones in my body. Because I still have basketball in the winter. But after I just took a soft energize nap. Then… We arrived. OM to the G! It was exactly what I imagined. The people gliding through the snow with their cool snowboards and their ski’s.
The coat of armor I adorned, made of down feathers and a nylon shell, yielded no protection against the daggers of that cold winter air. As I peered out toward the horizon, I saw nothing but tree tops, and some snow capped mountain tops in the distance. With my feet bound to freshly waxed skis, the only thing stronger than my ski poles was my determination to get down the mountain.
As the soldiers lay in the rat filled trenches, with bullet's whistling overhead. While the soldiers sleep the enemy never stops throwing bombs near the trench, as they try to catch the sleeping soldiers. Every night when they sleep they need to bear with rats biting their wounds caused by the cold. All the while surrounded by the whistling bullets of the enemies. As a bomb goes off feet away from the soldiers, they hear a quit whistle blow signalling for them to get back to the cold hard war that seems to never end.
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
She retraces the mountain of her ancestry every single day quietly. In the wind she can smell the scent of her ancestors made from crushed pale blue leaves of the mountain. The smell is coming from up the mountain side from which her ancestors descended from, where the mountain lion laid down and ate their deer. It is better to be where she once came from, where her ancestors came from, up on that mountain watching nature. The elderly that remember it once are all gone, the old songs of ancestors are forgotten, and the story where it all began died with its memory. The memory of the culture dances in the snow frost moonlight, swam in the freezing mountain water, went through the
Nestled snuggly into the Blue Ridge Mountains was Ridgecrest, North Carolina. Getting there was no joke seeing as the ears popped every five minutes, but the scenery was beautiful.
I was surrounded by the sound of graphite moving anxiously over paper. The clamor filled my ears and collided with the dull ticking of the clock that hung over the SAT proctor’s disorderly, graying hair. There were only eighteen minutes left and I still had not written a single word. The prompt reverberated in my head like a ringing bell, but I could not form cohesive thoughts. My heart raced and my fingernails dug into the curve of my palm in panic, leaving small, pallid impressions in their wake. Pleading with myself, I considered the page that lay askew on the on the chipped desk in front of me. I wrote a desperate and painfully arbitrary sentence that I quickly erased. Nothing sounded right. I had studied and prepared for this moment with
As I jump off the pontoon, I feel the freezing water surround my body. I'll slip on the boots of the skis and grab the handlebar. Releasing my grip, I put one thumb up into the wind to signal I’m ready to go. Suddenly there is a tug on the rope, and I’m being dragged through the water. Pressing the skis against the cold water, I can finally stand up above the waves. The boat pulls me around the bend of the lake, and the view of all the enormous cabins is thrilling. The seniors on the campground beach will clap and stand up from their Adirondack chairs to wave or whistle. As my legs begin to feel tired, I wave one last time and let go of the handlebar. I can feel my body quickly sink down into the water; the life jacket on my chest will be
The best thing to ever happen to me was when my parents forced me to join the Loon Mountain X Team. I was an adolescent 8th grader living in the cozy coastal town of Cohasset Massachusetts, knowing that my time in New England, which began when I was three, would soon come to an end as a daunting move to Texas loomed overhead. I knew I wanted to make the most of my 8th grade year, but as the dead leaves dropped from the trees, the idea of my faraway move to Texas ripping me from my home, family, and friends whom I’ve known for the past ten years of my life, sent me into a depression during that fall. However, I still had something to look forward to, skiing. I had been skiing on and off since I was five, and for the past two years, my family
There are many things that make up being a Meridian Hawk. You can’t just expect to be a Hawk after just a few days. Everybody needs experience of how this school district is special and different from the others. There are many reasons for being proud of this school. All of the teachers are greatly understanding to where they make learning fun, the school field trips are amazing ( we are very grateful), and I am delighted about this new building that they made for us. I feel special because it’s as if someone cares about all of the students. Any other school isn’t as different as this one. Things at Meridian are rare and we are remarkably lucky to have a great place to learn.
sharp white daggers. The tearing of tree bark floods through the forest floor as a silky
It is the year 2032 and I am a profile-writer for GQ. This particular year is monumental because it marks the 75th year of GQ‘s publication and my editor, Jim Nelson, plans to do it big for the entire world to see — literally. To mark the occasion, the magazine is featuring the 75 most stylish men of the past 75 years.
While passing between trees, some movements were seen nearby; the land was in snow, so it was easy to notice. I froze and looked around for a moment. There was a possibility that it could just seem to me, yet later I noted a pair of vivid golden eyes staring straight at me from a distance. The creature stood in an assailant posture with smoky black fur and gleams of snow on it. I got scared when realized it was a wild wolf, what was not typical to see in a suburban forest. Going behind a tree trunk, I made an attempt to hide, but how could it help me if the wolf had already aimed at me… I stood moveless though the animal creeped towards me. Not waiting for long, it quickened and began to run; at one moment, feeling both defenseless and doomed got me. Seeing another wolf jumping on the first one and laying it low was shocking. I stayed speechless, as I misunderstood what was going on and watched the wolves’ fight, how one bit and pushed another. Any normal person would have run away already without looking back, but I stayed for no reason. They grinned at each other with evil intent, revealing all their sharp fangs, and snarled loudly, terrifying me. The wolf that defended me for a mysterious cause had dirty, dark-grey fur, yet all blood marks from the bites could be seen on it. All dripped-off blood from both of them got on snow underneath. The scent from it spread all over. It was an eerie sight, which was followed by a loud crack. The defending wolf gnawed through the attacking wolf’s neck killing it; the dead body laid on the ground in a red puddle. The dark gray wolf stood next to it, taking breath very fast. Blood continued to drip from its flesh, and, glancing in my eyes, it walked away. Staying shocked, I looked back at the body and, with no comments, turned in the direction of
You look out across the mountains, taking in the amazing sunset as it reflects off the snow. You are filled with adrenaline and excitement, but you are also relaxed, mind free of any worries. Then you take off, flying down the mountain, and its just you and the slope. And when you get to the bottom, you get back on the lift, ready to do it all again. That’s what skiing is like for me, and I hope to convince all of you to attempt to find that same state of euphoria.