Bean's Babbletorium: Sugarloaf - 1, Scott Family

Heading off to our mountaintop adventure Saturday morning.

I wondered if you could feel the broken bone wiggle from time to time inside your body.

I now know that my suspicion was correct. You do feel the broken bone wiggling around.
Mom, Dad and I drove up to Maine with Dan, who owns a home made from a barn near Solon. He owns it with his wife, Jody. Dan rode with us and we met his wife who had been up here for a few days already. My brother CJ and his wife Jodi met us there a few hours later. It's a beautiful place with lots of room and dramatic high ceilings. We felt quickly at home.
Another reason for coming to Maine, aside from visiting our friends, was to go skiing at Sugarloaf mountain about 40 minutes from where we were staying.

My Dad has always skied, although not as frequently as he'd like over the years. My brother took-up skiing a few years ago, and during that time has regaled us with stories elaborate falls, big bruises, broken-down cars, and how it once took hours to get down a slope with a friend who wasn't advanced enough for the slope that they ended-up on when they got on the wrong ski lift.

One of the things I have been looking forward to since moving back up north was giving skiing a try. So, early Saturday morning Dad, CJ, Jodi, Dan and I headed off to Sugarloaf. Dan stayed with me after the massive project that was renting boots and skis, etc. and the others went on their way. Dan taught me some skiing basics. He was very good teacher and it wasn't long before I was moving right along, snow-plowing (or pizza-pie, as they now call it), and turning and whatnot. I even successfully rode the ski lifts a few times with him. This is important because it was a ski lift mishap that mortified me as an adolescent.

We all met for lunch and shared our stories from the morning. Jodi took a few falls and really walloped her head, so she was nursing a migraine at lunch. Dad was doing fine, but was "skiing blind" because he had given his goggles to me and as such, his eyes were watering all the time. I wasn't on my skis for more that three minutes before I fell; It was a good lesson; by all means necessary, stay vertical! Getting back up was a real bitch.

After lunch we all went together to putter our way down a green hill. These are supposed to be the easy ones. Even though we were surrounded my tiny kids with huge helmets whizzing by us,
I was a bit intimidated by the length of the mountain. I don't think it was steeper than what I was learning on in the morning, but I was still a bit hesitant. So, I wiped-out almost immediately, even though I was moving nowhere.

Dan coaxed me like a good teacher, and I was focusing on my turning. Big "S"s was the goal. I was not moving quickly when I took a turn to the left. I continued to turn and ended-up facing completely up hill. Then, I began to slide backwards on my skis. I couldn't figure out how to turn myself around, but I tried anyway. I'm not really sure what happened at this point, but one ski came up, I fell back while turning to my left. I landed square on my left shoulder and heard two good CRACK!s in the process. I continued to fall and made a very conscious effort to make the rest of my body go limp, so I wouldn't strain something trying to stop my momentum. Which, as witnesses reported later, was very little.

When I stopped moving I knew something wasn't right. Dan made a big "X" with his skis above us on the hill so no one would run over us (I learned much of this later) and I could hear commotion around us. "Has anyone called ski patrol?" I heard a woman ask. My Dad was at my right but I couldn't see him, really. Someone took my skis off me once I clarified that I was sure that only my shoulder was hurt. My goggles, which were keeping my face warm, completely hindered my peripheral vision, which added to this weird sensation of feeling like I was inside a bottle.

I tried to get up, but it was clear that I wouldn't be able to. I don't remember the last time I cried such big fat I'm-in-pain tears. I leaned against my Dad and while we waited for ski patrol and some stranger came up, "I'm just gonna check her pulse" he said taking off my glove, "I do this all time". You ski around checking people's pulses? I thought. He said my pulse was good, replaced the glove and got up and left.

I could hear a small child crying and Dan saying, "Well, it sounds like someone else isn't too happy either." Jodi and Cj told us later that a woman who offered to call ski patrol was teaching a class of half-pints. One of whom was not pleased to be skiing. Cj's description of the little girl was hilarious; she was skiing really well, listening to her instructor and following along with the class, but bawling the whole time.

Ski patrol showed up and, Jodi told me later, a little boy in the ski class with the cry-baby kept trying to help from afar, speaking up, "It's hew ewbow! It's hew ewbow!" while elaborating by patting his shoulder.

After checking my back and knees and whatnot and we slowly tried to figure out how to get me on the toboggan. Once in, I was wrapped in a blanket and strapped down. I could see most of my body on the sled, reflected in ski patroller Chris' goggles and all I could think was what a cool picture it would have made. Chris skied down the hill. It was freaky.

In an effort to not panic at feeling totally out of control strapped into a sled going down a long mountain, I would concentrate on wiggling my toes and breathing. And I'd cry. I did that too. Cause, oh my god, what did I do to my shoulder?! If I tore my rotator, I'll have to have surgery and it will be forever before I could shoot again. Not to mention it's my left arm, which is the arm that bears all the weight of the camera when I use it. Although, at least it's my left arm and I'm right handed, so that's good. Plus, I'd way prefer this over a knee. This is what goes through your mind when you are trying to keep your shit together while riding in pain on a sled down a ski slope at the mercy of a stranger.

As we got closer to the first aide station I could see people looking down on me through my framed goggle vision. They'd pass in my line of sight, then out. Strangers looking down on me, thinking the same thing I thought when I saw someone on sled that morning, "sucks to be them!"

Once in the station, my hat and goggles were removed and this revealed, from my point of view, three very sympathetic looking people leaning in on me. We carefully peeled some layers off to have x-rays done. In the meantime, Cj and Jodi were collecting up my stuff and returning my boots while Dan went and got the van. As I waited for the x-ray results, an older gentleman came in, guided by someone, "He got hit in the head with a lift chair" they reported as he sat down to have his bloody head cleaned and wrapped.

The x-rays returned. I had broken my collar bone out by my shoulder. I felt a bit redeemed for being such a cry baby. Plus, a break wasn't so bad. It will heal better than rotator damage would have.

So, I hope to be brave enough to take on skiing again sometime. Although they went back the next day and kicked the mountain's ass, Jodi said it best later that day of my accident when she said, "Sugarloaf Mountain - 1, Scott Family - 0".