John Slade of Woodgate, NY read about SFL’s need for guides in Norway Times – immediately answered the clarion call, and signed up to be a guide and SFL’s photographer. He guided Graham Downie from Canberra, Australia.
For one week on the trail, guide spoke to skier and skier spoke to guide with clear instructions, clear questions, and no chitchat. As we skied together from Monday to Friday, we said less and less on the trail, for we had learned to ski smoothly in tandem. Side by side, we shot the downhill run with a tight curve to the left at the bottom, then double-poled down a long gentle descent. We herringboned side by side, our hearts thumping at the mountain altitude of 8750 feet. On some days we took off our sweaters, and on others we skied against a frigid wind sweeping snow into our faces. My skier, Graham Downie, was a journalist from Australia, so after a particularly good run, I would cheer, "Good run, mate!"
We crowded the Nordic Center lodge at lunchtime with a multitude of hungry skiers. We groaned with pleasure as we eased into the hot tubs. We delighted in meeting new people around the big table every breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We made more friends, deeper friends, in one week with Ski for Light than we had during the whole rest of the year. We spent one magnificent with with People at Their Best, and it was wonderful.
We danced, we read poems, we played music, we read stories, while the thirty guide dogs had a Dog Conference at nice mountain resort. The dogs all got together for a group photo, and behaved themselves better than the rest of us.
We reveled in the extraordinary spirit of that week. Even when we were exhausted, we were still patient, and helpful, and genuinely enthralled with the commotion around us.
The hotel was excellent, and the dining room, set in the ballroom, was superb. The dining room staff said again and again that we were their favorite guests.
Saturday, the final day of the week and the Great Race Day, was a day that beat most Christmases a hundred to one. We had skiers from about ten countries, and before the race began, we listened to the national anthem of each country. Then we set out pair by pair at half-minute intervals, some on a 5-kilometer course, some on 10 kilometers. Graham had rocket wax on his skis, made from the sparse fat in the haunches of a kangaroo. We cruised at our best pace, hit every turn, herringboned in high gear, and sprinted at the end. In all of my life, that may be the best ten kilometers I ever traverse on planet Earth.
Sunday was awful, for we had to return to the Nightly News and the clamoring emails. So many good friends, and suddenly they're gone. I treasure the pictures, and I am delighted when I hear the voice of a new friend on the phone.
For one week, our souls were reassured, for we saw how well we really can make it work. Thank you, Ski for Light.