Photo:
Stephen Matera

See also Contest 01: Chairlift Encounter

A Faint Cold Fear
By DENIS BERTHOUD

"Scoop!" I yell. A nickname. I don't even remember where it comes from. I brush a bit of snow off my helmet and continue to scan the trees.

The snow is fresh and deep in this tight, wooded section between runs at our local hill, but my smile has long faded. I can see pretty far uphill, but to my right and left things close off quickly. Below me, it gets even tighter.

A bird breaks the quiet and flies out of a nearby tree, making my heart jump. "Scoop!" I yell again. I train my ears for the slightest shwish of skis, thwack of branch on coat, or a cry of glee.

No bird or human answer. Concern creeps over me like a cold coat. I had the lead, he should be above. The turns were sweet, too sweet to stop, but now I think I should have stopped a little earlier. "Scoop!" I cry again.

I fidget in the snow. How long have I been standing here? Perhaps he stopped somewhere above, to the left or right, out of sight and out of earshot. Perhaps he's still standing there, doing the same as I.

"Scoop!!" I put everything behind it, but still nothing. How did this happen? Is he below me? By now he's had plenty of time to get all the way down, or

Tree well. He's upside down, head under the snow, arms and legs flailing, energy evaporating. New snow is collapsing inside, air getting hard to come by.

He hit a tree. No. Please no. A solid trunk. A heavy branch. A speedy impact, a sickening thud, lights out, snow turning red.

"Scoop!!"

My voice is hoarse and I am paralyzed by indecision. What do I do? Climb up? Ski down and report? Sit tight and wait?

Pray?


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