Wait a second!
More handpicked essays just for you.
More handpicked essays just for you.
The impact of skiing on the environment
The impact of skiing on the environment
Don’t take our word for it - see why 10 million students trust us with their essay needs.
Recommended: The impact of skiing on the environment
Essay of Observation My family had arrived at the ski resort situated high in the rocky mountains the day before and the only thing on my mind was skiing. The rush it gave, the feeling of my skis gliding over the snow and blissful solitude it provided. After waking this morning I had quickly dressed and eaten before beginning the hike to the chairlift. My equipment was heavy in my arms by the time I reached the chairlift but the scenic views of the early morning mountain were incredible.
Furthermore boarding the lift I clutched my ski poles in one hand and reached behind me for the chair. At seven o’clock the ski lift had only just opened and I was the only person on my chair. Snow was pounding down the mountain and combined with the fog, was lowering the visibility. I shivered as a particularly strong gust of wind blew in my face. The lift with a load mechanical click took off from the base. I shifted my ski poles to rest against my lap and removed my thermis from my pack. The thermis had been a blessing to find and I smiled as I pulled it to my mouth. The coffee it held had a closer resemblance in taste to water but the heat was heavenly. No matter what direction I looked all I could see was snow, it was almost a
…show more content…
My music was blaring and my heart was racing. I pushed my way to the first black diamond run in sight to warm up. I froze and excitly looked at what was before me. Exquisite mountains coated in snow surrounded me and I could barely make out the quaint village town. The scent of the pine and snow was memorizing. The summer pine trees native to the region were transformed into the dangerously beautiful winter snow ghosts. The rocky landscape with steep cliffs and massive boulders and rocks was stunning. Clouds littered the sky the sun even at summit of the mountain the was barely visible. With that last thought I leaned forward slightly pushing off the curve of the run and began to
He fig-ured that the normal half hour walk home might take as long as two hours in snow this deep. And then there was the wind and the cold to contend with. The wind was blowing across the river and up over the embankment making the snow it carried colder and wetter than the snow blanketing the ground. He would have to use every skill he’d learned, living in these hills, to complete the journey without getting lost, freezing to death, or at the very least ending up with a severe case of frostbite be-fore he made it back to Ruby.
To do this, she paid close attention to the things in front her, such as all of the skiers zooming and gliding past the trees, which now began to look like ants from above. Sally thought, “This is easy, all I have to do is look straight ahead.” As time progressed, they got closer to the end of the ride. Since Sally felt comfortable with being on the ski lift now, she built the courage to look down to the ground that was now around 200 ft below her. She looked down and she saw a group of skiers looking up and pointing at the ski lift. Sally was confused, and wondering what she was missing out on. She looked back up and noticed that the ride had stopped! In an instant, this comfortable state vanished, as this was the exact reason why she was afraid of ski lifts. Little did she know that this was not a malfunction; the technician that heard the previous conversation stopped the ride on purpose, in order to scare her. The technician’s plan was not a secret, though, as there were cameras right near the controls, so anyone who checked the recorded footage could see it. This event was about to get a whole lot worse for Sally, her parents, and the
Dani and I stand in the sun waiting for the “men” to catch up. The view was worth Quill’s whining and navigating through the snow. The breeze catches in the bright green and gold of new Aspen leaves whispering around the lake. The Pine trees scent the air and bask in the sun to steal its warmth from the forest below. The trees are a dark canopy along our path permitting only a few patches of the raised finely mulched trail to a beam or two of sun. Framed like a photo three pencil lead gray peaks rise above a lower sweeping curve of pines. They look close enough to walk over the ridge and touch them. Boulders precariously cling to the side of the mountains. The perfect deep blue early summer sky is the perfect backdrop.
I rush toward the mechanical clanking and rattling of the ski lift and collapse into the chair. Exhausted, I use this time to restore my energy. I begin to form the image of the steep route that I plan to attempt on my next run. Its nearly vertical face, large jagged rocks, and rough terrain send shivers down my spine and adrenaline into my veins. I painfully recall my previous attempt, where I did not perform the necessary technique in order to survive the run without a crash. This time,
The arrival of winter was well on its way. Colorful leaves had turned to brown and fallen from the branches of the trees. The sky opened to a new brightness with the disappearance of the leaves. As John drove down the country road he was much more aware of all his surroundings. He grew up in this small town and knew he would live there forever. He knew every landmark in this area. This place is where he grew up and experienced many adventures. The new journey of his life was exciting, but then he also had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach of something not right.
As we were climbing up the hill, I looked around to notice how green the lightly damp grass was, how beautiful the tall trees were, and how fast those snow clouds were moving above us. We got one elk on this adventure, so we decided we would pack up our stuff and head back home. As the white GMC reached the summit of Red Mountain Pass, I looked back to Silverton to see nothing but snow falling from the nearly black clouds in the sky, and I thought to myself--let it snow.
The freezing wind had chilled my hand to the bone. Even as I walked into my cabin, I shivered as if there was an invisible man shaking me. My ears, fingers, toes, and noes had turned into a pale purple, only starting to change color once I had made a fire and bundled myself in blankets like ancient Egyptians would do to their deceased Pharaohs. The once powdered snow on my head had solidified into a thin layer of ice. I changed out of the soaking wet clothes I was wearing and put on new dry ones. With each layer I became more excited to go out and start snowboarding. I headed for the lift with my board and my hand. Each step was a struggle with the thick suit of snow gear I was armored in.
The ground moved farther away from me as I went higher up. I nervously swung my legs back and forth and placed my ski poles next to me. When I looked down, everyone looked like itsy-bitsy specks in the vast, white snow. Whoa…, I thought to myself, the sight made me feel disoriented. As I went up the lift shuddered, shook, and occasionally swung side to side which made me feel jitterish. I couldn’t believe I was doing this though, but there was no going back now. After a few minutes, or what felt like hours, I could see the end of the ski lift coming closer. I prepared myself by getting ready to stand up by grabbing my poles and tensing my legs. There was a bright red line printed on the snow a few feet ahead and when I reached the line, I quickly stood up and got off. “Phew, at least half the journey’s done”, I thought to
All alone, I glance downhill and notice my left ski ensnared in distant undergrowth. One of my ski poles lies casually near the summit, trapped in a mogul crevice. The lonely winter atmosphere bestows little comfort; I am aware that the trail will stay empty until eight o'clock the next morning and therefore undertake immediate action. As I painfully peel off my left glove to inspect the damage, the monotone drone of the ski lift ceases. I stand up and detach my right ski, then ascend the powdery snowdrifts that flank the trail in search of my missing equipment. Upon attaining the altitude of my missing pole, I re-enter the steep slope.
Unsure of his exact location, cold and growing weary he started his tedious climb up what he thought was the northern side of the peak, he was unsure how he got to where he was, but his best guess was that when he was the origin of a small avalanche. His last memory before his startling awakening in his would be snowy grave was snowboarding. It had been just after lunch and he thought he would try some new terrain. He laced up his snowshoes, and proceeded to climb to the highest point of the mountain.
The year was 1992; a cold December arctic wind had brought a chance of snow to the area. It was the weekend and time to relax after a long hard week at work. The weather service had predicted several inches of snow to blanket the region by the next day. Not to worry: it was the weekend and traveling was not a necessity.
As the two men hiked, they came upon many rugged trails and hills that were difficult to overcome, however they did it together and kept moving on. The view from the trail was beautiful with many places to stop and admire the view, but they couldn’t seem to get above the canopy of the trees to truly take in the whole view. The man that strove to see the beautiful scenery from an unobstructed viewpoint was trying in every way to get above what was around him to see the true beauty of the mountains.
I was the first person to ski off of the chairlift that day; arriving at the summit of the Blackcomb Mountain, nestled in the heart of Whistler, Canada. It was the type of day when the clouds seemed to blanket the sky, leaving no clue that the sun, with its powerful light, even existed anymore. It was not snowing, but judging by the moist, musty, stale scent in the air, I realized it would be only a short time before the white flakes overtook the mountain. As I prepared myself to make the first run, I took a moment to appreciate my surroundings. Somehow things seemed much different up here. The wind, nonexistent at the bottom, began to gust. Its cold bite found my nose and froze my toes. Its quick and sudden swirling movement kicked loose snow into my face, forcing me to zip my jacket over my chin. It is strange how the gray clouds, which seemed so far above me at the bottom, really did not appear that high anymore. As I gazed out over the landscape, the city below seemed unrecognizable. The enormous buildings which I had driven past earlier looked like dollhouses a child migh...
I will never forget how a number of mundane occurrences created such a wonderful memory: my mother’s dislike of heights, my father’s horrible driving, the scenery, and the arrival at the top. My father parked the car, we all bundled up, and then we climbed out of the car. There was a lovely gift shop next to the Pike’s Peak sign. My family and I separated as we searched for souvenirs.
As I walked I let my eyes close and my feet feel the groove in the gravel. My mind, still asleep, dreamt of breathing. The lining of my father's old coat escaped inside the pockets and caught my fingers, which were numb from the cold. I would have worn gloves but the sun would be unbearable later in the day. The clouds would rise over the mountains and disappear and the birds would slowly become silent as the heat settled in. But for now it was just cold. I tried to warm my neck by breathing down the collar. It smelled like diesel and sweat.