Sunday, 10th September, 2000

extract from an email to Dad...

I was very happy with myself the previous w'end at Hotham as well. The bottom part of Brockhoff (which is an old T-bar line) had extremely brutal "race" moguls - not the sort of free-flowing mogul you find on the open slopes, but the sort where the transitions are just vertical walls and the top of the moguls are about waist high when you're in the trench and you have to stretch up as far as you can just to plant the stock for the next turn, the sort you see the mogul racers going down with their legs pumping like steam pistons and you marvel at how they can possibly take the punishment. Anyhow I hit this patch whilst moving at speed from the easier moguls further up, and didn't have any choice about running the gauntlet. I can't cut a long story short because it was all over in a matter of seconds, but I recall a moment of unadulterated fear as I saw what I was sailing into, and the adrenalin squirted into my bloodstream, then just "bangbangbangbangbangbangbang!!!" with legs pumping from full extension to full contraction, arms feeling the shock as each swing of the stock slammed into the next mogul, eyes locked onto the terrain a few bumps ahead, and the only concious thought being "shiiiiiiitttttttt!!!!!!!". I stiffened up as I hit the last run-out mogul, ripped through the air for a number of meters, landed cleanly, and screamed into the lift queue area just below, where I pretended I meant the whole thing.

Then I went up the chair and did it again, just to see if I could. This time I was conscious of whistles and cheers from the chair as I thumped my way through the moguls, adding to the excitment and tension.

That was the last run on the last day. A pretty good note to end the trip on, I thought!