BRAMBLES!

The past week or so has been fairly uneventful. We’ve all just been working and hitting the slopes whenever possible. We’ve all seemed to have aged around 60 years though, come 8pm we’re all fed and showered, in front of the telly, Robyn and I knitting, Zane and Adam having a nightcap and then in bed by 9pm!

Work has been going great; I really love it up there at Lost Boy’s. My workmates are all really nice and we all get along really well. It’s so funny though, Zane and I originally showed an interest in working in Fernie as opposed to other ski resorts, as we assumed there would be fewer Australians and we could have a more Canadian experience. So you can imagine how I felt when I first introduced myself to my new workmates and heard four other “howyagoin?”’s in return! Yes, including myself, there are 5 out of the 7 Lost Boy’s staff that come from the great land I have left behind. It’s sort of nice though, because we all immediately had something in common. Two are blonde surfer types from Sydney, one from FNQ (Fucking North Queensland, as he refers to it..) and one from Darwin.

The other two of my workmates are both French speaking. I try to have a bit of French chat with them but I get lost after bonjour. One is from Belgium and we call him Belgium and he wears a hat with cowprint on it and little horns and ears and he comes up to you and says ‘moo’. The other is from Sorel in Quebec and is THE most Canadian person I have ever encountered. He doesn’t say “oot and aboot” as all self-respecting Canadians do (they have a funny accent when they say their ou’s so south is sooth and so on) BUT he goes hunting and hiking and ice-fishing, he thinks -25 degrees isn’t really that cold, his Grandmother is a Native Canadian Indian AND... the most compelling evidence, his family makes maple syrup!

I have found that this year, I have been noticeable slower on the slopes. I’m not sure whether I am still getting the hang of it or if I have lost my youthful exuberance and thirst for jumping off stuff, but I have gone down nary a black run and ripped through scarcely a mogul or two. After some thought, I decided to invest in a helmet. This is not a decision to be made lightly. I have never worn one while skiing and have, quite frankly, scoffed at the idea when it has arisen in the past. But now I have one.

I call it the cone of silence. As you might know, I am not very good at hearing. I’m not sure if it is a oracular issue or if I’m just really vague and have the uncanny ability to block people out when they’re less than a metre away from me, yelling my name. It is quite an issue at work. I feel sorry for my workmates who have to repeat everything they say to me, as after the first time they say it they are either met by a vacant stare or a “huh?” or an “excuse me?” if I’m being a good girl and remembering the manners my mother taught me.

So, after considering that I am now getting on in age, with the knitting and whatnot being persuasive indicators, I am now a helmet-wearer. And I have found that there is quite a transformation in my skiing prowess. I am still uncoordinated and unstable on my feet but now my brain is encased in loving, caressing, sound-proof foam! And now, with the confidence that only a half-price helmet can give, I am throwing myself off 20cm high cliffs and speeding down the green runs like there’s a nice cold beer at the end of it. I jest. I have noticed that I am getting faster and I am not so scared to push myself anymore. Still avoiding the black runs, but I’m sure with time comes confidence.

I did, however, have an unfortunate experience the other day. I was going along through the Cedar Bowl, and I was traversing along trying to get to some nice tree runs. There is always really great powder in between the trees if you can get to it before it gets skied out. So there I was, crossing a relatively clear space to get into the trees. All of a sudden, in front of me, was a patch of brambles. Adam calls them brambles and out of habit so do I, but I suppose they’re like a bush of twigs that stick up out of the snow. Every time I’ve encountered them I’ve just skied through and it’s been fine. Adam, on the other hand, seems to stack it, spectacularly, every time he comes within 10 meters of a patch of brambles but I guess it’s just the luck of the draw.

So I mustn’t have been concentrating because all of a sudden POW brambles right in front of me!! For some strange reason, out of all the possible reflexes that could’ve kicked into gear (maybe turning might have been a good one?) my body decides that the best option is to close my eyes. And that’s what happened. I can’t explain it. So I ski straight through the brambles, wincing, with eyes shut tight, open my eyes and BAM! there’s a tree right in front of me! By now my reflexes had clearly been used up for the day so I just skied straight into the tree. I should state that the tree was barely a metre in height but it had already developed some good branches, one of which gave me a good whack on impact. Somehow I ended up with one leg either side of the tree and then I’m not really sure what happened, I was just lying there gasping and moaning a lot. I think I must have skied over/around it, as I have a massive bruise running all down the inside of my right leg. And that was my tree encounter. I’m sure someone watching would’ve been like “why’d that boy ski into that tree?” (ski suits are very androgynous) as they would assume that any normal person would have their eyes open to distinguish oncoming hazards but not me! I live life on the edge! I wear a helmet!

Santa comes soon!!!
Much Christmas love and best wishes, Z and T