An old memory came back to me recently. It was a combination of the local ski season opening this weekend, and watching an old Beverly Hills 90210 rerun. The particular episode featured Brandon and his girlfriend skiing out of bounds and calamity ensuing (as it always does in televised melodrama).

I am not an experienced skier – I have probably only gone downhill skiing on 7 occasions, and cross-country maybe 5 or 6 times. In school I did participate in field trips to local mountains, during which I learned the basics. I did really enjoy skiing, and I often think I would like to take it up regularly, but it’s expensive and now I have a toddler and I never seem to find the time. Plus, even in my relatively limited skiing history, I managed to have a rather hair-raising experience.

This happened in early 1989 when I was in grade 7, rife with adolescent angst. Along with many of my classmates I spent the day on a local mountain. We participated in lessons during the first part of the day, and then we had some free time to go skiing on our own. I was hanging out with 6 or so girls, one of whom had a pack of cigarettes (I am terribly anxious writing this, since I didn’t share this tidbit with my mother at the time – sorry Mom! ). While I had no interest in smoking myself, and have still never taken a puff, I was also eager to fit in and therefore participated in their plans to find a secluded location so several of the girls could light up. We tried ducking behind some trees on a ski run, but other students kept finding us and ‘ruining the fun’.

So, one of the girls suggested skiing on a closed trail. We were certainly not the only skiers on that trail, but we were well aware that we were passing a sign indicating that we were out of bounds. We were also fairly inexperienced skiers for the most part, so ill-equipped to deal with the more demanding terrain. The snow was slick and icy and the trail was steep, and one of the girls took a tumble about 10 or 15 feet down a steep incline. In a chain of events that can be no surprise to anyone who has been a 12 or 13-year-old girl, we somehow all managed to follow suit in a panic-induced comedy of errors. In the process someone twisted her ankle, and the conclusion was that we couldn’t make it back onto the trail, and we were stuck. Someone had to go for help.

I volunteered. I had a fair bit of outdoors experience, spending my childhood weekends with my family tramping through every forest within driving distance. And, in an emergency, I can keep a clear head. I had my doubts about my friends. My doubts turned out to be well-founded when the other person selected to head for help was terrified, impeding my process and giving up within a few minutes.

By now the sun was hanging low in the sky, although it was clear and beautiful. I climbed down feet first, stomach pressed tight against the sheer incline. I used my boots to punch footholds into the slope, that I then hung onto with hands like the rungs of ladder. I sang songs, took the occasional breather to take in the view and collect my thoughts, and just kept going. By the time I made it to the lighted run under the ski lift it was completely dark. I tried walking down the slope but ski boots have no traction, and instead I half slid down, people around me yelling that I was supposed to be using skis. My estimate is that from the time I set out until I got to the lodge took the better part of an hour, although it’s hard to remember exactly.

Once I reached the lodge I ran immediately to find my teachers, who were all in the bar. (Side note – what were they doing in the bar during a school outing? Surely they’re not allowed to drink on the job, are they?) The waitress nearly prevented me from seeing them, since I was so clearly underage, but my yelling and flailing got their attention. They took me to talk to the first aid and rescue people, and I explained approximately where my friends were, how many of them, and their condition. Thinking back it must have been pretty scary for those girls, alone on a completely dark mountain, with no idea where I was, when help was coming, or if it would come at all. By that time I was safe and sound, but their ordeal was still in full swing.

Once I had passed on the necessary information to the relevant authorities I had the pleasure of spreading the gossip to my classmates, and cooling my heels to wait. It took the better part of another hour before the rescue team arrived with my friends and all of our gear on their snowmobiles. We were all stripped of our lift passes, and by then it was pretty much time to load on the bus and go home.

When this memory came back, it struck me. At the time I don’t think that I took it as seriously as I probably should have. I wasn’t worried, for example, about the cold or the chance that conditions would make a search difficult. I wasn’t even really afraid at all, that I can recall. I had a job to do, and I did it. Plus, I was full of youthful bravado. Hannah, on the other hand, had better not do anything about this. Because that sort of thing would give me nightmares for years. I can face danger when my butt’s on the line, but my kid better follow the rules and play safely.