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11.24.05

Contest 07: Ski Sounds                                         number 5


Photo: Stephen Matera


I Feel Good
By GARRY DAGG

The deep groove of snow rolls out in front of me. A groove, packing the snow down in folds, the strange, rhythmic chaos of a ski touring line—condensed then soft, the rhythms of each traveler before has shaped its course, the pole-holes a constant running either side like a water-ski slalom course.

It is also a groove because my rhythm has a companion: James Brown telling me about his Licking Stick. That rhythmic push forward, the slide, the clack of binding on ski again and then forward, the Soul Generals urging me on with their relentless beat. My legs feel like licking sticks; body and mind in symphony, the mountain itself seeming to sing to me.

Panting breath—both mine and Mr Brown's—drive me on, up, around. It's a regulation day's touring today, a day for James Brown. No doubt there'll be some Fela Kuti later. I wonder what the Black President would have thought about his Afro-Jazz protests against military dictatorships being used to skin up the side of the Alps. Shuffering and Shmiling is the catchcry. "Everyday, all around the world, African people are Shuffering and Shmiling." That solid sound, the drums hitting with the trumpet fits in perfectly with my forward drift, or is it the drift fitting with the beat? My suffering might be self inflicted, but I'm beaming too.

I don't always skin to music, but sometimes, when the mood and rhythm are right, when the sky is clear and the snow is firm, there is no better companion. The clack of binding on ski, the swish of skins on snow, the panting of my own lungs are all there, all a part of the surroundings that come in and out of consciousness between tracks, between brass, a reminder of the world I'm in.

That world is the penetrating vocal of Josh Ritter telling me he's "singing for the love of it, Lord have mercy on the man who sings to be adored." I cast my eye back across to the resort, far off in the distance. The piste crawls with shapes, a mixture of those skiing for the love of it, and those skiing to be adored. I'm smiling again, the Lord needs grant me no mercy, I'm skinning for the love of it.

                                                                                        Next: number 4



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