This one's pretty easy, it was just 2 seasons ago
I was bombing down a run up at Sierra-At-Tahoe, Dynamite if memory serves(it probably doesn't), late in the season, wearing just ski pants, gloves, and a longsleeve tshirt. And goggles, of course. I cut hard around a curve at roughly mach 11, and hit a small dip. So small in fact, that only one of my tips even went down into it. Well, crap happens, and I hear an awful snapping noise, and then the sky was down and the snow was up, and then everything went black.
Well, everything got white again once I got my head out of the snow and surveyed the damage. I had a glove on my left hand, and was holding half of that pole. My right glove and goggles were godknowswhere. Remembering the snapping noise, and noting the pain in my leg, I didn't stand up quite yet, and instead took a look up the hill.
Aha, my goggles were only about 15' uphill from me, and my glove was about 10' off to the side from that. Another, oh, 25' up was a ski, laying on its side, and another 20' or so past THAT was a sight that will stick with me until the day I die, from laughing: approximately 2/3 of a Beta ski sticking out of the snow, straight up, and then I realized that the other third was still on my right boot, and the noise wasn't my noise snapping, it was the ski. So I decided to stand up, and found the reason my leg hurt was because I had apparently kicked myself with my boot during my impression of a tumbleweed, and had nothing more than a bad bruise. I collected my belongings, and after about 5 minutes, found the other half of the pole over in the bushes.
So I walked the rest of the way down the hill and to the lift (had to get to the top so I could get back down the other side, you know).
On my way up the lift, I notice blood all over my pants, and couldn't figure the source. Figuring it was my nose, I touched it. Not tender, no smear on the hand. Strange. So in the middle of literally scratching my head, I notice the cut on the inside of my forearm, presumably from the broken pole, which I later found a bit of skin on (ew).
Up at the top of the mountain, I meandered on over to the ski patrol hut in search of some guaze and a ride down the mountain. The ski patrol guy I found let me bandage myself up (I know first aid, and figured I could take care if it myself), checked out my gear, and deadpanned "Christ, boy, did you play chicken with a rock formation?" before giving me a ride down.
Moral of the story? Um....I can't think of one.