The Bunny Slope

It is an imposing and almost frightening sight for a beginning skier. Even the beginner slopes, as I learned on my first attempt on skis, seem more akin to vertical cliffs than what the trail map would have you to believe. There is a sanctum where pride and ego are set aside, skill is rare, and the birds of that feather are flocked together -- it is the bunny slope.

Peachtree, as it is known on the mountain, is the place where beginners go to protect themselves from themselves while gaining some mastery over the skis. As bunny slopes go, it is not the easiest of beginner slopes and actually has some incline along with a short run that requires a little work to navigate. Because it is a short slope, it's not altogther uncommon to find people, either too frustrated or too tired, carrying their skis to the bottom. It also the place where a beginner (like I was) can observe other beginners and start making sense of the mechanics of the skiing process.

After a morning of trial and error, I went back to the ski lift where my first misadventure in skiing took place to try again. Armed with the new knowledge of how to read a trial map, a knee brace, and a resolve to get to the bottom by myself, I lifted myself from the ski lift chair and began my descent. It was slow, but with each fall, the next attempt seemed to be a bit smoother and a bit easier.

I made a new friend briefly after one of the many falls. Lying in the snow trying to catch my breath, I looked up hill to see a young lady heading directly at me. Judging from the speed at which she was approaching and her comment "I don't know how to turn" confirmed she was also a beginner. The look on her face was probably just as surprised as on mine as I replied back "I can't get out of the way". The ensuring crash was cause for more than a little laughter. After exchanging our 'beginner' stories, we parted company never to meet again.

As the day wore on, I continued my onslaught against the mountain. Just a little more than one hour after embarking on this journey and after numerous falls, I finally reached the edge of the final hill. To be able to look down on the ski lodge was the mark of success I'd hoped for the entire day. Not long thereafter, I made it to the bottom and walked off to find the shuttle bus. Sitting there on the bench covered in snow with icicles dangling from the edge of my knitted cap, the slow realization overtook me that I'd actually done it -- I could ski.

In the years since, I've made trips to other locations as well as a return trip to Crested Butte, but nothing will ever beat that first trip where the Butte and I battled. Like so many things are in life, there's nothing like the first time.