This is the story of me crashing in the Swiss Alps skiing at Adelboden-Lenk. There is a video of the crash towards the bottom. Also, I wanted to let everyone know that there is a big announcement coming in regards to my new youtube channel in a couple of weeks. I think you’re going to be shocked and very excited for the announcement. You can follow my new youtube channel here.
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As the gondola pulls my weight up a steep hill, I can’t help but feel nerves tingling in my stomach. In a failed attempt to ease them, I lean my head out of the window to enjoy the view. Cottages line the lush green Swiss hills while brisk rivers race past them enjoying the full swelling swing of spring. My eyes are drawn, however, not down to the valley but my destination: up to the clouds.
I pull a wrinkled map from the chest pocket of my thin summer jacket and attempt to come up with a plan of action. The map is a labyrinth of lines, dots, and zigzags of which I pretend to understand clearly.
“Ok, well, I’ll just keep going until I get to the top I suppose,” I think to myself completely unsure of what I’m getting myself into.”
I have not been skiing in 3 years, and the last time I had was on a fairly basic slope in Argentina. But I grew up on skis, I try to convince myself, I’m sure that it’ll come right back to me.
The gondola comes to a slow and I exit to the left trying to walk casually in my awkward ski boots which I purposefully rented a size too small. I clip my feet in smoothly and proudly don’t fall despite feeling uncomfortable. Using my poles simultaneously I push hard towards the chairlift that is meant to take me to the top. As I glide towards it, I remember the thrill of skiing: the fresh air blowing in my face, ducking and diving through the trees, and my favourite part hitting the breaks so hard that a stream of snow flies from the blades at my feet.
“Stopping,” I think to myself as I near the entrance to the lift, not realizing that I haven’t tested out stopping yet this go around. “That was always my favourite part.”
Awkwardly, I decide that a child-like “snow plough” stop is probably the safest bet for now, despite the embarrassment that comes with stowing with your skis shaped in a “V”.
Alone on the lift, I can’t help but grin. My legs dangle casually dozens of meters above a wash of snow, and trees which show just their tops. The chair begins to pull through a gust of snow before overcoming the clouds. The majestic Swiss peaks show themselves for the first time. They have a power to them, but they also have a certain cockiness to them as if they are daring people to challenge them.
I tip the toes of my skis to the sky and let my heels hit the ground first as I arrive at the top of Europe. I skate to the edge of a cliff, and a view that normally only adorns postcards. I take my camera out of my bag and snap few photos before making my way to the start of the run.
“I think I’m going to film this,” I think stupidly, as a challenge like this to myself rarely goes unanswered. A grin grows across my face as I again reach for my camera, and dive down the hill which is listed as moderate.
One handed I grip my camera tightly as the wind graces my face gently. After a couple slow twists and turns I begin to feel comfortable, as if the mountain itself is guiding me down the hill. I forget about turning at all as I notice a skier pass my right side. I quickly pick up speed as I begin to laugh and yelp. I look down at the camera’s view and am intoxicated by it. So much, in fact, that I forget I am living the moment and not taking part in some video game.
I hit a bump and the toe of my ski picks sharply into the soft snow. The weight of my backpack and its continents tosses over my shoulders causing me to flip with it. My momentum shoots me down the slope and then off of a small cliff where I land face first in about 5 feet of soft snow.
I quickly check that my camera is ok, before checking myself. Amazingly, it’s fine, and so am I. I begin laughing embarrassingly as a local delivers me one of my skis and poles which I left behind a couple dozen meters ago. I re-clip my skis and set off again, this time without a camera in my hand and a little bit more caution on my mind.
Skiing Adelboden might not be the cheapest activity in Europe, but of all my days on the continent I’m not sure any other gave me more smiles, laughs and thrills.