About 15 years ago I was skiing on Vancouver Island. I had decided to go to Forbidden Plateau instead of Mt. Washington that day, to try it out and because I had a "feeling" I had been pushing my luck a little too much and something not nice was going to happen, so I chose a smaller hill where I would maybe generate a little less speed.
On the first or second run of the day I somehow got crossed up and did a serries of cartwheels from about 30 mph into about 12 feet of soft snow. Absolutely no damage! This accident emboldened me. I was indestructible! Boy oh boy, what a change from the ice out east!
On the very next run I checked the trail map and chose my route to coincide with the downhill they held there once a year (not very fast for a downhill maybe 75 mph). There was hardly anyone on the hill. I waited for 10 minutes for it to clear. I pointed my tips at the bottom. And shusshed it!
I saw a slight rise approaching after a fairly steep section which was I expected to be followed by a drop (I hadn't even pre run it
: ). I didn't have my trusty Scott tint goggles. When I was about 4 car- lengths away from the "rise" I realized it was a ridge that went all the way across the hill, and that it had the shape of a volkswagon beetle
: ). I turned my skis sideways and dug both 208-cm edges into the snow in full brake mode until I was about 10 feet from the bump. Then I pointed the tips forward, extended my legs as high as I could and still have some angel in them. I remembered from my hay-loft jumping days, not to bang my chin on my knee when I absorbed the bump...........
.........I hear a wushing noise, and am trying to figure out what it is, then I see, a beautiful shade of blue. I put two and two together and realize that I am flying through the air. I experience an extreme joy. Then I see a little bit of green out of the corner of my eye. It is the top of a very tall evergreen tree. I then realize where I am; I am flying on my back at tree-top level without a plane.
I was able to get the skis under me, but did not have time to get them pointed straight down the hill. They were crossed at the back. One ski has the top sheet cut through near the tip of the tail to remind me not to be reckless anymore. The Tyrolia 490 let go as per design. I remember distinctly that even though I didn't even have time to point my skis, I had time to consider in concise detail how to angle my feet forwards so that I didn't stick into the snow when I landed. I touched feet first three more times before I stuck into the snow. When my feet finally stuck I went over sideways and forwards.
I got up, I was up to my chest in soft snow. No broken bones, but I felt a bit woosy. I decided the day was now shot, as I was in no condition to do any exciting skiing. So I took my very first ski lesson. I learned a lot that day.
The next day my head had cleared up, but I did something to my back putting on my sock the next morning. It was an uncomfortable drive back to Ontario in my chevette.
That, my friends was the last time I skied a fast run absolutely as fast as I could.