A Skiing Accident

By Bryan

A historic drought struck South Australia, and it hadn’t rained for months. The sun slowly baked the yellowing grass, and the air was dry and smoky. Plants were wilted everywhere I looked, and it felt like a wasteland. Near the two-month mark of the drought, I received an email with a title of ‘Would you like to participate in a holiday skiing trip deep within the Australian Alps?’ I immediately pressed on it and was very surprised to see a picture of snow in Australia. How on earth does this scorching country have snow? I always thought of Australia as a place of endless deserts, beaches and sunshine. Seeing snow here completely disproved my expectations. My heated brain instantly turned on and I signed up straight away for the trip. The weather outside became more dreary and rainy until the day finally came to go on the trip.

It was a very long bus ride and after a long night. As the bus slowly crept up the highway, the serene sunrise slowly peeked over the snow-covered peaks. Seated beside me was Mr. Harper, my geography teacher. I met Mr. Harper at the start of Year Eight. He was usually quite strict, known for his sharp gaze and punctuality. For instance, as soon as his lesson began, he locked the door, making it clear that punctuality was non-negotiable. If someone arrives even a second late, they find the door firmly shut, and upon knocking, they can expect a serious conversation about the importance of being on time.

But as the warm sunlight hit his face, I saw a different side of him. I remember glancing over, expecting to see him immersed in his notes, but instead, he was quietly observing the landscape with a hint of a smile. "Beautiful, isn’t it?" I murmured, unsure if he'd like small talk. To my surprise, he nodded, his eyes reflecting the golden hues shining on the mountain. "This range," he began, his voice softer than in the classroom. “Was formed millions of years ago through tectonic shifts. The way the light hits the ridges reveals the texture of Earth's history. It’s like looking at a painting that the Earth made.”

Seeing this as an opportunity to improve our relationships over the next week, I decided to move deeper with the conversation. The initial iciness that had lingered between us began to dissolve with our conversation. What used to be awkward chats now flowed effortlessly. The beautiful scenery around us seemed to help soften the boundaries. I carefully tapped him on the arm with a grin on my face, “Did you ever think that there would be snow like this in Australia?” He chuckled softly and turned around looking at me. “Yeah, even after six years of skiing, I still could not believe my eyes every time I see this. Every time I visit this place, there is always something to be discovered.” His words echoed in me as the bus climbed higher. This trip was no longer just a simple ski trip, it was now a journey of discovery.

We began to see snow just after our sea level reached 1000 metres. At first it was just a few patches here and there, but then as the elevation got higher I noticed the trees were covered in snow. Before long we were above the clouds. The picture from the email was definitely real, but the snow-covered mountains looked even better in person.

I progressed very fast during the week as a beginner and was confidently doing medium-level runs. Having had a very successful rock-climbing experience before the trip, I believed I could handle the hard runs with ease. The focus and determination from facing the rock faces gave me my confidence on the slopes. The day before we headed back home, I was tempted to try ‘Gotcha’, one of the steepest runs, but unfortunately, the visibility dropped to zero and I was terrified to go down a slope being basically blind.

On the final day, everyone in my dorm seemed to be very excited when I woke up. The dorm was shared by six of us in Year Eight. As the seven o’clock alarm buzzed, it was met not with groans but with a commotion of excitement (great details here that offer context); it was apparently a ‘bluebird day’, which meant crystal skies and great visibility. Sunlight streamed through the snow-covered windows, hinting at the perfect weather outside.

There was this guy in our dorm named Conner who was a passionate snowboarder. He told us legendary stories about his great adventures and how the amazing weather always meant the best skiing. Fueled by his stories, we gathered our gear with anticipation. The dorm buzzed with energy, laughter, and the zipping of jackets and boots. The promise of adventure was in the air as we stepped outside into the crisp morning.

It was astonishing to see the whole mountain range without even a single cloud in sight. The sun reflected brilliantly off the snow and cast an array of sparkles across the pristine, mountainous landscape. I decided to try the steep slope again with a few of my friends. On the ride up the ski lift, I thought about why the slope was named ‘Gotcha’, but soon I forgot all about the reason as we were off the lift and skiing down the slope. My friends whizzed past me, and I was left by myself on this bare drop with a thick forest on one side and a hundred-metre cliff on the other. At least 20 skiers overtook me and shredded down the mountain like they were floating on the snow. My instructor told us to make quick and sleek turns to slow down, but I hadn’t exactly mastered the move. The terrain seemed to get steeper and bumpier, and my skis kept on getting tripped up bump after bump. I struggled to get down the mountain and fell a couple of times, but that didn’t stop me from trying to get down to the bottom. But then, there it was. The orange slow sign at the bottom beamed through my goggles, and I was locked in. I was so focused on how close I was to the end that I wasn’t concentrating on my skis at all. In a fraction of a second, my knees buckled as the terrain unexpectedly dropped away. I was flying through the air with my arms wailing around my side, completely helpless, tumbling down the hill.

Crunch!

I landed on my stomach with my head buried in snow. All my breath was instantly squeezed out of my lungs. Every inch of my body felt like it was beaten and lit on fire, like bellyflopping into a pool. Snow gradually seeped through my gloves and the taste of snow stung my tongue. I lay there for a few seconds, eyes closed, feeling like someone had just punched me in the stomach. I slowly looked up and had to almost instantly duck down. People sped past me, and I suddenly realised that I was blocking the exit of the slope. and that Sooner or later someone who wasn’t looking at where they were going might knock me out. I sluggishly crawled back up and towards my stuff splattered across the whole hillside.

The snow shone bright through my eyes as I peered across towards my skis. It was right at the narrow passage at the end with everyone flying past at their top speed. I took a deep breath and wobbled slightly as I stood up, the coldness soaking through my wet clothes. I quickly shuffled over to the side, dodging skiers as they zoomed past, their skis spraying snow all over me. My heart raced faster with each near miss. Finally reaching my skis. I hauled onto my shoulder and stumbled down towards the ski lift line, avoiding the other skiers as they sailed down.

I stood at the bottom of the ski lift, catching my breath. Reliving the fresh scenes off the mountain. I waited for a few minutes until I got up a ski lift with my friend who had just done the same run again. As we slowly swung higher and higher on the chairlift, my friend suddenly turned around and said with a hint of surprise. “Weren’t you skiing down after me? How did you overtake me?” And so I told him all about my traumatic experience, to which he only responded with a few words. “Don’t worry, you will do better next time.”

Later that afternoon, we boarded the bus once again for the long journey back home. I thought about Mr. Harper’s words about a journey of discovery that lingered in my mind. It was the quiet wisdom of Mr.Harper that guided me, giving me courage to conquer my fear. I realised that each turn and improvement carved into the snow wasn’t just a technical progress; with every tumble and slide, it was also a symbolic journey. Long after we left the snowy mountains behind us, Mr. Harper’s words stayed with me.

That day, the mountain taught me something about undertaking risks and exploring new heights: bravery isn’t the lack of fear; it’s the courage to overcome it, to carve through it one turn at a time, and eventually conquer it.