The Cliff Story – Why My Family Doesn’t Go Snowmobiling Anymore
My family past time used to include going snowmobiling. We loved it, that indescribable feeling as you are floating along fresh perfect powder is hard to replicate anywhere, or with anything. Braving that hilltop that you were maybe 50-50 on making it up alive, but when you reached the summit and looked over your conquest amid the whiteness, it’s amazing. Again there are few things that compare and replicate it.
There’s also a certain comradery among the sport, among those who sled that if ever someones in a bind, YOU HELP THEM. Why? Because as we all know, it very well could be you next time.
Now before I get to the cliff story, I remember a time when I had jumped my sled into a bowl, not realizing the depth of it and getting terribly stuck. And when I say stuck, I mean buried beyond all recognition. Despite a couple hours of digging we were no where near getting it out. And that’s when the cavalry arrived. Word had gotten back that someone was stuck pretty bad, and no less than 4 additional snowmobiles had been dispatched to help us get out. Four different people who we didn’t know. But the funny part was it was kind of fun, all of us there trying to will this snowmobile out of it’s predicament.
After a little effort we were able to retrieve it, and thanks were offered and goodbye’s said. All of the thanks were responded to with similar answers like “that was me a couple of weeks ago” or “I’ve been there before” and “it’ll be me next time”. I truly do miss snowmobiling for a host of reasons, but the helpfulness of it’s participants is a big part of it.