short narrative essay (avalanche)

Lost but Not Forgotten

It was a cold night in January, when he awoke covered in snow, his board broken and hanging from his left foot, the binding from his right still securely strapped to hit now numb, right foot It was now nearing Zero degrees Fahrenheit he thought, and not a soul was anywhere to be found. Zane Farrell had last seen another creature what he guessed was about six hours ago. As far as he knew he was about thirty miles north of Bull Creek, at the local ski area- Bull Mountain.

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.

He arrived at his first destination after about an hour of hiking. After a short while he figured he had looked over his new found haven enough, he was ready. He started down the grade with a small arsenal, consisting of a shovel, about ten granola bars, two bottles of power-ade, his snowshoes, and what was left in his hydration bladder in his pack. After descending about two hundred feet he came into the clearing he was hoping to find, it was as smooth as silk, twenty inches of fresh powder under his board. Up ahead he say a small but formidable drop off on the mountain, he knew if he was going to escape this with his dignity he was going to have to work some magic, to his success. The drop was approximately eighteen feet, but he was ready for it, he landed perfectly, it was like a dream the poof of snow exploding out from his impact, and the gentle flakes hitting his face. As he continued down the slope he did not realize that his gentle landing had severely weakened the physical structure of the mountain’s blanket, and that any moment he could bring the mass down upon himself at impossible speeds.

Then it happened, he turned too sharply, caught his heel edge and fell onto his backside. He slowly got up and regained his balance, but it was too late. What he saw was like being attacked by the vengeful clouds of the gods. He turned down...

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...of chili and three spaghetti-o’s. After he had finished eating he decided that he had better get some rest, he went to bed in the small cot he found in the corner. He slept well in the warmth of the cabin, but awoke to the sound of a gasoline engine. Startled he looked around and saw a woman rekindling the fire. She saw him looking at her and told him he was ok, and that when he was ready her husband would take him back to town. She had already made coffee and some pancakes, and told him he was more than welcome to have some.

After a while of talking he decided it was time to go home, after apologizing for the broken door, and the food he ate the night before, she insisted that it was no problem and that they were very glad to have helped. She walked out the door to get her husband.

After fumbling through his wallet, he pulled out a fifty and put it on the table, then walked out to find a snowmobile waiting for him.

It was a long cold ride, but he was grateful, when they got to town he insisted that it was far enough and thanked the man with a handshake. Zane Farrell had never been happier to see that small mountain town.