Bright Idea

Was it Robert Burns that wrote, "The best laid plans of both mice and men, often go awry"?
     I don't know what prompted me to decide that a night ski would be a good idea; heck, the last time I skied at night, ended abruptly with a concussion and me almost loosing my eye. It was my idea, but I was coerced by the fact that there would be a full moon.

We arrived at the trail head  right at dusk. We had planned to ski the 6 miles in, under the light of the moon which peaked it's fullness the night before. A last minute change of plans was the addition of "The Greek" to the trip. He begged to bring the snowmobile an KJ couldn't say no. As those two readied the sled I cinched up my pack, all 65 pounds, and headed up towards the cabin.
     It seemed like I was skiing for quite a while before I even heard the sled. Finally. I moved off to my right to allow the sled to pass and for a brief moment, I thought I was at Bush Gardens, watching the glamorous girls water skiing. KJ was driving the sled with The Greek in tow,literally. I chuckled and kept on skiing. I knew the first 2.5 miles was all up hill and as I skied in the darkness, I saw the reflection of the sled coming into view. The guys were waiting for me. As I got closer, I noticed the hood was up on the sled.

Evidently, the brakes had been stuck on for the first part of their cruise. The rotor was cherry red and the brakes were seized. With a small pack of tools, we were able to remove the the caliper. Who needs brakes anyhow? In the process of wrenching on the sled, I jumped in to muscle off a stubborn bolt and when the bolt freed up, it introduced my knuckle to a sharp edge of metal and I bled like a stuck pig. As those two continued to work on the sled, I dug out my first aid kit, which was buried, you guessed it, at the bottom of my pack. Well, I had so much fun cramming my pack full, why not undo it and do it again.
An hour and a half, two new spark plugs and 2 feet of  parachute cord, and we were ready to go. I decided to strap my back pack to the back seat of the sled, figuring someone could ride all our gear to the cabin and two of us would ski the rest of the way in. Evidently, I was the only one thinking that. As KJ fired up the sled, The Greek grabbed the tow rope and they were off.

Great! I did a quick assessment of my gear, on me, as my backpack was not, and I had my knife. No water, no extra light, no matches and my lever gun was strapped to my backpack. Just me and three and a half miles to go. My good friend, The full moon was late to the party, he had not shown up yet. Oh well, ski on.
For the most part, the trail was ice, and if you remember, I mentioned the first 2.5 miles was up hill, well the last mile is down. When I finally arrived at the cabin, my GPS unite told me I made the trip in 1 hour 40 minutes. It also told me my maximum speed was 34.5 miles per hour. I was sure I achieved that mark during the last mile of the trip. The snowmobile wasn't the only one with no brakes. Did I mention I was not wearing a helmet?

I made it to the cabin just as the moon was popping up over the mountains and clouds. It was so dark, my two buddies, drove past the cabin and we actually showed up at the same time. We went in, started a fire, drank a cold beer and cooked some antelope tenderloins I packed in. Life is good!

As if we needed just one more adventure before turning in, we set out for a few turns in the snow. We skied across the small meadow and up to the knoll, not far from the cabin. As we made our way up the knoll, I mentioned to KJ there was a strand of barbed wire sticking out of the snow only an inch or two. There was about a four foot base of snow and that wire was the top strand across a fence line that was peeking out into the free world. As the two began climbing higher and higher, I heard a small voice remind me of my last wreck, and I chose to turn around and head back to the cabin. I had already pressed my luck getting in. I skied back to the cabin and sat on the porch, delighting in my day and waiting for the boys to get back.

As I sat watching the meadow, I could hear the swooshing of someone making turns in the icy snow and watched the guys come into view. KJ slid into the meadow first and turned to wait for The Greek. As he roared down the hill, unbeknown to him he clipped the wire with his right ski, an all I could see were sparks as the wire must have sawed across the metal edges of his skis like a bow across fiddle strings. When the sparks stopped, so did The Greek. He sailed through the air and crashed hard. He was shaken up a bit but not seriously hurt. After all was said and done, we were able to joke about it.

     I got up early the following morning and skied out to look at the crash site.

The picture tells it all. Direction of travel, right to left.

What a day!