Captain Pike's Ship Log II

My pal, Kizpaws has inspired me to attempt a positive viewpoint toward the coming of winter. My physical condition precludes the many activities I used to enjoy in the winter. This is complaining. But there is another side to this.



I'm really glad that I was able to have all the great experiences that I did have, when I had them. I was reading about a young man with a fairly high up spinal cord injury (the higher the injury, the less function the victim will have). This kid is 17, he can't really even sit up for very long before he begins to pass out due to low blood-pressure. It's a common malady for persons with SCI's.

Looking back now, it was almost as though I had some sense that something was going to happen. I don't mean that I had a feeling of impending doom. I just went really manic with the cross-country skiing, refused to be plowed out -- opting instead, to shovel.

When I was a kid, some of my buddies and I decided we'd learn how to ski. Too cool to take a lesson, I read all I could on the subject, bought some equipment and headed for the mountains. I remember my first run down the hill. I tried to get into the position for the "stem Christie". Now, skis are pretty close to a frictionless surface when applied to an icy hill. It was surprising how fast I got going in no time, I crossed my skis and did a perfect forward one half; a face plant for several feet until I finally got the rest of my body to fall on the ground. Just about then, an old-timer just kind of shushed up to me and perfectly stopped, right along the long imprint of my face. "It's great, isn't it?", was all he said, smiling. Oh yeah, it was great all right, I told him, deciding right there, never to ski again. I saw one of my buddies coming down, completely off-balance, careening along on one ski, polls, arms and other leg all held out to full-length in the air. He looked like some kind of a broken hood ornament. The trouble with learning to ski at a facility is that you've got to get all the way back down the hill again before you can go home. I guess by the time we made it down, we were hooked.

I got to be a pretty good skier -- I could go down the double black diamond trails without too much mishap. You'd think all this experience would stand a man of 40 in good stead to try snowboarding. Not so. I volunteered to be a chaperone on my sons class trip to the ski mountain. Checking up on some of the boys, I wound up sitting in on a snowboarding lesson. It seemed pretty obvious: either you are leaning back some turning one way, or you were crouched somewhat, on your toes, turning the other.

In actual practice, however, it is much more difficult than it looks. For one thing, you are attached to the snowboard, so there's no way to, put your foot out for balance. All that day, I was either on my knees or on my butt. Being a cool dad, I had only worn Levis. On the way home, my wet and frozen butt and knees throbbed terribly. Later that spring, however, my son and I cut school on Tuesday and went back to the mountain again. This time, we both got the hang of it. All that afternoon, we were carving perfect S-turns all the way down the slopes on a beautiful bright sunny day. That day, karma allowed that we both had the same ability throughout the entire day. We drove home, victorious, talking about various aspects of advanced snowboarding. It was a great day.



There's something very satisfying about being out there, all bundled up, a blizzard swirling all around you, all sound is deadened and you can only see a few dozen feet once in awhile. I remember one such evening, not long after my first marriage broke up, my young son and I were all alone in the big old house that he grew up in. His clothes were wet so he had to stay in and stay warm. I felt I had to go out into the blizzard, to at least clear away some of the snow so that it would be possible, ultimately, for me to shovel us out, the next morning. My boy was only about seven or eight and the power had gone out. We had the wood stove roaring and a couple of nice Coleman lanterns going.

I know he wanted to be tough but it was dark and cold... and there was no TV! Luckily, we had a set of these little headset walkie-talkies. This was back in the day when walkie-talkies weren't very practical -- you could talk to someone upstairs or across the yard but that was pretty much it.

We got the idea of pretending we were space travelers on a strange and forbidden planet. I was the unlucky astronaut who had to go outside of our spaceship to fix the landing gear, so we could take off. So, outside I go, all bundled up in my spacesuit, complete with gloves and goggles, and a little antenna, projecting upward, from the headset, through a little hole in my hat.

As I flung the nearly knee-high snow, first this way, then that, inching along, millions of dry powdery snow flakes, swirled all around me. The staticy sounding voice he could hear added to the authenticity of our play. He was my commanding officer, checking up on the status; I was his first mate, out there clearing away the strange material on the surface of this hostile planet. It seemed almost real to me -- the guy who, theoretically, had moved beyond make-believe long ago. I would report into him all the progress I was making. If too much time went by, he would "raise me", on the two-way radio, making sure I had ample oxygen and that things were going okay. It was one of those times that I'll never forget. Somehow, we found both walkie-talkies and incredibly, had half decent batteries to go in them!

It wasn't that long before the power came back on and we were able to snuggle into bed that night, knowing that the storm would be over in the morning. I think that was the year we got enough of the right kind of snow for igloo making. We actually spent the night in that igloo: both of us had blow up air mattresses. I remember waking up around 6 a.m., in a wet trough -- my air mattress had had a small hole, apparently. Looking over at my son, I'm glad to find him curled up in his sleeping bag, high and dry and warm as toast.




Daddy, can you hear me,
on this two-way radio?
Don't think my waves will reach you,
your job makes you travel so.

You'd tell me I'm your big boy,
that it's OK to be scared.
There're no such thing as monsters,
hiding way upstairs.

I wouldn't want to bother you,
I think I'll be all right.
It's just so very dark outside,
and something's gone wrong with the lights.

You said your love will find me
and tuck me in real tight.
Our secret star so high above
will save me with its light!