Extreme Skiing and Psychedelic Mushrooms: The Art of Chasing Fear

by Jason Matthews



  Extreme Skiing

  and

  Psychedelic Mushrooms:

  The Art of Chasing Fear

  a short story by Jason Matthews

  Extreme skiing and psychedelic mushrooms don't normally go together, but after Josh agrees to join Sam and Rudy on a backcountry adventure, he quickly realizes the trek is more than he bargained for. When the guys are joined by Tess, a ski instructor and the girl of Josh's dreams, he knows he'll do anything to impress her--even losing his wits on mind-altering drugs as he seeks to ski The Edge, the longest and steepest backcountry slope he'll ever find.

  This is a short story of 8,522 words by Jason Matthews, author of novels, The Little Universe and Jim's Life.

  Subjects include: extreme sports, extreme skiing, backcountry skiing, drugs, drug use, psychedelic mushrooms, marijuana, fear, philosophy of fear, short story.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. © No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author. Copyright © 2011 Jason Matthews. All rights reserved.

  Cover image photographs belong to Andre Charland and Martin Naroznik (runningclouds).

  See more from Andre Charland at https://www.doglotion.com

  Martin Naroznik's photostream can be seen at https://www.flickr.com/photos/runningclouds/

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: The Decision

  Chapter 2: Getting Out There

  Chapter 3: Strange Happenings

  Chapter 4: The Climax

  About the Author

  Other Books by Jason Matthews

  Sample of The Little Universe

  Chapter 1: The Decision

  We stood atop the mountain peak at the ski area, leaning over our poles planted in the snow, supporting our body weight as we stared across a three mile stretch of space to another wilderness, one completely untamed by tracks. Subtle looks to each other confirmed a decision made by Sam, Rudy and me; the season would not be complete until we hiked over and skied The Edge.

  From our resort, The Edge is the last jagged peak the eye catches before thousands of square miles of desolation wilderness. It's a giant mound of imposing rocks that houses one of the longest and steepest patches of untracked snow you can find for hundreds of miles. One can see it clearly from upper elevations at the ski area, our place of work and play. I must have looked at it a hundred times since December, when I first started working as a snowmaker, barely able to imagine myself making turns down its steep face. Legend had it, The Edge got its name for the feeling you get at the platform on top as you look out over the breathtaking vertical drop.

  Sam, Rudy and I worked for the ski area, and although we were no longer making snow, we stayed busy with maintenance and repairs to equipment. It was April of a snow year the locals described as a drought. The rocks were becoming exposed at an alarming rate, even on the groomed runs, and the skiing felt lackluster. But looking across the expanse toward The Edge, all we saw was untracked spring snow—smooth, long and steep. From where we stood, it looked like the last frontier.

  Fortunately, one can see from a distance that it's easily skiable. It doesn't even look that difficult. To be sure, it is extreme but only because of its steepness. There are no narrow chutes, trees, cliffs or boulders to negotiate.

  “It's just straight and down,” Rudy said.

  “Very down,” Sam added.

  I looked over to the off-ramp of the chairlift and noticed Tess exit the ramp and head our way, surprisingly alone. She glided over next to us. We all knew Tess as an instructor with ski school and for being one of the hottest girls on the mountain.

  “Hi, Tess,” Rudy said.

  “Hey guys. How's it going?”

  “Good,” Sam said, still looking over at our destination. “Just picking our lines for tomorrow.”

  “Hiking out to The Edge?” Tess asked.

  “That's the idea,” Rudy said. “Can't just stare at it year after year.”

  “Sounds good,” Tess said. “Can I come too?”

  I felt the rush of surprise, desire, gratitude and disbelief that accompanied words like those coming from a girl like Tess. Why was it the hottest women always used the word “come” when they wanted something? Or maybe they were trying to get a cheap rise out of predictable guys like me. The problem was that it worked. My mind instantly went through a myriad of thoughts involving her and me doing things I would only dream of but never realize. Of course you can come, Tess. You can come anytime you like. Hopefully I'll be coming with you. Behind the protection of sunglasses, my eyes openly observed her shapely form, curves that showed nicely despite the light jacket and Gor-Tex pants. How could Tess be so athletic and so curvy? It seemed common for female skiers to have tree trunk legs and stout butts, but how could Tess have a nicely rounded backside to go along with large breasts and such a slim waist? She defied gravity whether dancing to bands in town or bounding down a black diamond slope on skis.

  “We're leaving at first chair,” I said calmly, not wanting her to sense the near burst of explosion I had in hopes that Tess would actually join us.

  “Maybe I'll see you then,” she said. “I've always wanted to ski there. Got to go. Bye, guys.”

  “Bye,” we all said in pathetic unison.

  With that she glided off, gained speed on the cat track and banked a hard left onto steeper terrain. We stood there, dumbly staring at her figure as she ripped some fast and smooth turns through the spring snow.

  “Oh God, please make her be there tomorrow,” Rudy said. His words echoed my thoughts and probably Sam's too.

  The day before, Sam had brought up the idea of skiing The Edge in the locker-room during lunch break. He was the supervisor of our crew so taking a day off from work was no problem. Although we agreed to it fairly quickly, there was a lingering tension in the air. While we were technically “ski-bums” since we worked at the resort for the love of skiing, we were still far from being “extreme skiers.”

  Sam had worked at the resort for ten years as a snowmaker and groomer. On the clock, Sam easily did the work of two or three men. On snowmaking nights, lugging hoses and guns around in deep snow creating big piles to cover the groomed runs, Sam was a tough man to keep up with. Off the clock, he was skilled on skis but not really the type to push his limits or take unnecessary risk. As the snowmaking department grew and employed younger, more adventurous types like Rudy, Sam began to express more interest in extreme cravings and fun.

  Rudy brought that out in everybody. He's half Indian, half French-Irish with dark shaggy hair, a weathered face and a laugh that's bigger than his frame. He's usually saying something incredibly rude yet funny, the sort of person who can crack you up just by looking at him. I saw someone who lived by his own rules in Rudy and everything about him: the creased eyes, the wavy hair, the goofy grin, the attitude. He was a natural for adventure, a magnet for fun and bringing others into the action.

  Within our group, I had the least experience on skis, by then about a hundred days. I wasn't necessarily a thrill seeker, but I had entered a period in my life where a small degree of fear offered more fun than anything else. We could all ski the steeps competently, or at least negotiate the steeps. We mostly talked about the snow quality, hoping it would be smooth and soft enough to set an edge.

  We did some planning in the break room at the end of the shift, then left for our homes. I made a spaghetti dinner and drank b
eer while watching TV in my tiny studio apartment. A few hours later I began a restless night in bed, my mind tossing ideas around and trying to get thoughts of Tess to pass, knowing how disappointed I'd be if she didn't show.