They say there is no looking back. But after my mad dash, and inspired by Davy to vanquish the creatures, I turned.
Nothing. They had vanished. Perhaps my deadly stare turned them to stone. Or Bear’s GROWL had sent them scurrying back into the Ocean.
Forget fight.. this was all flight. If this was Survival Of The Fittest, I was going to rely on my homing instinct and track our footprints back to the car and where we last saw the adults.
I heard the crunching gravel as the creatures pursued me on turgid tails and slimy arms. Their putrid, hot breath exhaled with malice aforethought made me choke as I gasped for salty air. At this terrific pace, I did not know how long my adrenaline rush would last. My muscles burned.
I called upon the spirt of Davy Crockett to give me strength so I could outrun my pursuers. After all, I was in my element. They were not in theirs.
Each time I ski along the River Run trail, along the Methow River and across from the rugged Goat Wall, I yodel. I listen for the echo and seem to hear my father’s voice in the mountains yodeling back.
Dad was avid skier and a master at yodeling. He taught me to ski. He taught to yodel, though I have never achieved his power in projecting the voice to resounding effects. When he enlisted with the 10th Mountain Infantry (where he trained troops to ski on Mt Rainier before heading off to WWII), he joined fellow soldiers to form a choral group up at Paradise Lodge. (He went from Paradise to join the “Devil’s Brigade” in Italy.) One of the songs in their repertoire was “Two Boards Upon Cold Powder Snow”. I have the refrain lodged in my memory bank and it pops to the surface when I slide through crisp, cold air along beautiful tracks or plunge down slopes. (And yes, I realize the line “Two boards upon cold, powder snow, that’s all that a man needs to know…” is a bit dated and sexist. I can not cancel a fond link to a man I loved. Others can rewrite the refrain as appropriate.)
We managed to yodel in the Canadian Rockies (on a Canadian Mountain Holidays ski tour), the Green Mountains (at Stowe and Smugglers Notch), in Iran and Afghanistan.
In the photos above, my father is the guy standing in dark blue with me (in the Michelin Man orange coat), and he is making his graceful turns on the slope. You may note, I also inherited his love of Ray Ban sunglasses.
Though Dad became very ill in his late 70’s, he was determined to write an autobiography For The Love of Skiing and have it self-published. He asked if I would illustrate it, and I was thrilled to join the project. I learned later that our conversations about the illustrations by phone between the West and East Coasts, took all his energy for that day.
One of the last times I visited my Dad before he died, we were walking near a small rock face on the shore of Lake Champlain where my parents had built a house. To honor our time together, I yodeled and a small echo returned…and then my Dad tried to utter his booming call…but failed mid-breath. It struck me that he body was failing him and he would be gone soon. It broke my heart. We walked on in silence.
So I continue to yodel while on “two boards”, no matter the snow conditions, so that I may cherish the echoes of the past and present, for the love of skiing and my Dad.
Survival of the Fittest meant only one thing to this intrepid explorer — RUN!
Creatures from the Ocean Depths were certain to find me a tasty morsel. I could be Sweet Meat. I would not be subject to the whims of fate. Natural Selection would not happen if I had anything to say about it!
I was nobody’s fool. If the tide was rising, why stay a minute longer at the water’s edge. Time to find the Tsunami evacuation route and head for the hills!
There were times on the trip when other travelers must have viewed us as a traveling road show. What with the packed boat on a trailer, three out-of-control kids, the two parakeets, two turtles and Suzette, the neurotic wonder dog. When we pulled up to a camp site, the locals thought the circus had arrived. Unfortunately the birds couldn’t talk, the turtles lacked the Unique Features of the Mock Turtle from Alice in Wonderland, and the dog was not endowed with the wisdom of Lassie. So the crowds soon dwindled.
Our expedition seemed to be replicating the task of Peruvian rubber baron Carlos Fitzcarrald as we attempted to cross mountains ranges with our boat. Every pass was a struggle, steam pumping out of the car radiator, yet the boat was not to be abandoned. Dad had made that boat and it was going to the Pacific no matter what! Werner Herzog would have appreciated the monumental undertaking. And I would come to appreciate the insane endeavors to film Fitzcarraldo.
Whittoons 