I started out the day wrecking on my second run. I dropped down onto a trail, caught an edge, and then tumbled about 50 feet. My skis, not to be outdone by me, slid another 20 feet past me after I managed to stop by hitting a rock. That's when I remembered, oh yeah, I have a broken hand.
Skiing with a broken hand is not as much fun as one might expect. For one thing, it hurts to hold a ski pole. Not that I ever use my ski poles, but since I decorated them with little stars and they match my boots I always end up bringing them with me. I am supposed to some day learn to stick them when I turn instead of just using them to wave around when I'm about to fall. I guess that will have to wait until next season since I think the slopes will close before my left hand does.
Since the wind was blowing really hard and I was inadequately dressed we started traversing the mountain trying to find a protected place to ski (I should mention here I also forgot my ski mittens and was wearing some mittens I keep in my car for emergencies). We ended up finding this really cool area that had a bunch of jumps. I've never done a real ski jump and decided I wanted to try. I did accidentally ski off a small cliff last year in a snow storm at Winter Park, and stuck the landing, but then fell over and tumbled about 100 feet down the mountain, with some snow boarders on the lift shouting "you suck!" for the last 40 feet of that particular fall but was informed that didn't count as a jump.
We decided that Clint would go off the jumps to make sure I wouldn't kill myself, and then I would follow him. The sum total of coaching I got for going off a jump was "point your skis towards the jump and then jump". The first jump was an easy drop off of a cornice that had formed on a rock. I didn't bother to look where I was jumping since Clint made it look so easy. I launched off the cornice, stuck the landing, realized I was going kind of fast, flailed my poles, and then slid into a pine tree. It took me a few minutes to get out of the tree because my skis had gotten stuck.
Feeling kind of cocky, I decided to try a more challenging jump. I followed Clint down to a little snow cliff and stayed about 10 feet above him while he dropped off the ledge. For some reason, it seemed like it might be a better idea to get a rolling start for the jump, and so instead of stopping at the lip of the jump and then easing off I got a running start and had pretty good speed when I hit the edge.
Had I rolled off of it the way Clint did I would have gotten a little air, hit a bump in the snow and continued down the hill. Instead I was going so fast I missed the bump entirely. It seemed like I was in the air for a half hour although I'm sure it was just a few seconds. Part of my brain was going "wheeee!" and part of my brain was going "do you really think you can afford to break any more bones?" My skis finally hit the slope, I stuck the landing, slid a few feet, and then wiped out in such a spectacular manner that Clint asked me if I was okay in a worried voice, rather than laughing at me like he usually does. Some how I got snow in my helmet and goggles, although I don't remember my face being anywhere near the snow.
We did a few more easy jumps, and then I tried to do the rock jump again but ended up going off the wrong direction on accident so I landed on an uphill rather than a downhill, but I didn't fall. Clint tried to get me on the scary jump again but I chickened out.
The next day we went back to the same area and he took some films of me going off different jumps. I used to wonder how bad of a skier I am. Now I don't have to wonder anymore. I'm pretty horrible. But I stuck the landing on the scary jump, even if I looked stupid, and I'm heading back up on Friday to practice some more...
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