[ENF] Rocky Mountain Highlight

[Univee]

Years ago, I vacationed over spring break with some friends at Arapahoe basin ski area on the great divide in Colorado. The weather that week in April was fair and warm. In that snowy, high elevation environment, the sunny afternoons were sublimely comfortable -almost hot- chasing most skiers into lightweight clothing. Some young women even schussed in swimwear, getting a jump on their summer tans.

On Tuesday afternoon, I was skiing carefully down Dercum’s Gulch, an intermediate run, which due to the warmth and hordes of skiers had deteriorated into a minefield of moguls and heavy crud. Two college age women wearing swimsuits shot past me going far too fast for the marginal conditions. The first one, in a teal one-piece, exhibited expert technique, negotiating the treacherous terrain with panache. Her companion, wearing a hot pink bikini, skied right behind looking tired and tenuous, on the verge of losing it.

Sure enough, seconds later, she edged too hard on a patch of ice and BAM! down she went, falling hard on her left hip. She slid a short distance then catapulted off the crest of a mogul, sending her hurtling through space. Crashing to earth with a sickening THUD, she tumbled down the mountain wrapped in a frenzy of flying snow, both skis popping out of their bindings, spinning away like helicopters. Gradually, she slowed then rolled one last time, finally grinding to a halt in the middle of the run directly under the Norway chairlift. Skiers riding the lift were aghast, raising an audible chorus: “OHHHHHHHH!”

It was a horrible crash. I doubted she would ski away from it, so I skidded to a stop to see what assistance I could offer. All of her equipment was gone, poles and sunglasses included, but those weren’t the only things missing.

So was her decency; she was virtually naked.

Her top was askew, exposing left breast, and her string bikini bottom had come undone on the left side, now being worn as a colorful ankle bracelet around her right boot. I’ve skied springtime in the Rockies many times during warm weather and seen bikini clad young women take minor falls, sometimes resulting in boob popouts and moonings (always, they laughed it off) but never had I witnessed such extensive exposure in the aftermath of an accident.

She laid on her back, motionless.
“You OK?” I shouted.
No response.
I took off my skis then rammed their tails into the snow, stood them upright, warning approaching skiers of the hazard. As I did that, the young woman stirred, propped herself on one elbow then began babbling incoherently while trying to shake the snow out of her long blonde hair. (BTW, she was not a natural blonde.)

“You OK?” I asked again, but this time she responded to my voice, looking right through me with the hollow eyes of a person in shock. She seemed oblivious to her exposed condition. A huge knot on her forehead was her principal visible injury, though multiple abrasions and contusions marred her otherwise perfect skin, the consequence of her naked tumble across the crusty snow. She glanced around haphazardly, finally fixing her focus down the length of her torso. In a few hyper heartbeats, her expression morphed from dazed to puzzled, to horrified as the reality of her pubic nakedness congealed in her consciousness.

“OH GOD!” She blurted loudly then sat bolt upright, frantically groping for her bikini bottom trying to pull it up, but it was hopelessly snagged on her boot buckles. The longer she struggled to free it, the more exasperated she became, nearly having a panic attack.
All the while, I doubt she was aware of my presence, being preoccupied with her embarrassing plight, but suddenly, she spun her head and stared at me, her eyes flaring with desperation.
"CAN YOU HELP ME PLEEEEZE?!?" She implored. She was trembling violently.
“Here, take this.” I said, then removed my T-shirt and held it out, offering her a cover-up
She grabbed the shirt from my hand, but instead of tossing it on as I expected, she merely clutched it to her bosom, letting it’s length hang down onto her lap. Feeling the soft cotton fabric brush her nipple, she realized her breast was also uncovered, then reached underneath the shirt with her free hand and pulled her top back into place.

While I endeavored to untangle her suit, the young woman settled down a bit, so I tried to calm her further with some simple conversation.
“I’m Graham,” I said, ”what’s your name?” She didn’t answer, so I was going to drop it. Eventually she mumbled: “Katie.”
“So…..… Katie…….. what happened up there?” As soon as I asked the question, I realized I’d put my foot in my mouth. Why would she want to relive her accident?
“I……….” She began, then faltered, her brow furrowed. “I can’t remember………..” Her voice trailed off. In my estimation Katie had sustained a concussion.

Other skiers were stopping to help, (and to gawk) some of them gathering Katie’s wayward ski equipment which was scattered all over the mountainside. An endless procession of skiers riding the lift wheeled overhead, all eyes focused on Katie’s bare flesh, some of the rudest among them hooting and whistling.
Before long, I was able to free her suit from bondage. Katie began struggling to her feet in order to pull it back into place, but I cautioned her to stay put until the Ski Patrol had a chance to examine her for serious injury.
"I am NOT just going to sit here NAKED!!! She schreeched.
“Then put on the shirt!”
“Oh…….yeah……” She said meekly, as if the idea had just then occurred to her. She let go of her bikini bottom, leaving it hanging over her knee.

After she tossed on my shirt, rescuing her dignity, Katie calmed down even more, almost joking about her predicament.
“My butt is sooooo cold.” She complained, managing a brave smile. While waiting impatiently for the Ski Patrol, Katie fiddled with her bikini bottom, discovering that the left string hadn’t simply come untied, it was torn loose, probably on first impact, rendering the tiny garment useless. “Oh, great.” Katie muttered under her breath.
Just then, a female Ski Patroller arrived on the scene. Taking one look at Katie, she immediately radioed for backup. She took off her skis then began assessing Katie’s injuries while giving her gentle yet well deserved advice on the folly of skiing so recklessly while scantily attired.

Shortly thereafter, a male Ski Patroller arrived on a snowmobile towing a sled gurney, onto which Katie was carefully bundled for evacuation off the mountain.
“I’ll get your shirt back to you…….…somehow.” She shouted as she began her slow trek to the first aid station and a waiting ambulance.
“Nah,” I shouted back, “don’t worry about it. Keep it for a souvenir.”

To this day, I feel genuine empathy for Katie; for the trauma she suffered and the profound embarrassment she experienced being thrust so unexpectedly and violently into public nakedness. But still, I derive a little perverse pleasure whenever I recall the most spectacular wardrobe malfunction I’ve ever witnessed.

I’m sure the day came when Katie was able to laugh about her misadventure. The T-shirt she kept would serve as a perennial reminder.
I found it in the ski shop in my hometown just before leaving on vacation and just had to buy it.
It depicted a cartoon streaker on skis, and was emblazoned with these words: Ski Naked.