The Last Winter

Friday: Ghost Town (5)

Michal
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The first thing I see is the other cable car station, looking half-frozen and lonely. While we wait for Ronnie to unlock a small shed beside the station, I notice an old phone booth just outside the front door, and beyond the station some distance away--standing stark against the horizon--a tall lookout tower.

Nolan nudges me in the ribs, looking at me with his big eyes. He nods over to the looming landscape of mountain ridges on the other side of the fenced in observation deck nearby. I notice everyone pulling out their cell phones to photograph the sights. Ralph even brought his own professional expensive camera, knowing all too well what kind of opportunities awaited him to document our experience.

Tall poles stick out from the beautiful landscape, accompanied by stiff cables and benches that swing ever so slightly in the mountain wind, suspended in the chilly air. These are mere seats, designed for easy loading on and off for those who are prepared to ski. However, no one's coming to ski. Icicles hang from the cables, and layers of frost and snow rest on the benches. Only then do I realize that there is no hum of electricity here--no motors or generators that are operating the lifts.

This station hasn't been used in a long time.

"It's like a ghost town," Nolan says thoughtfully.

I lean over the edge of the rail to struggle to see the skiing slopes, and I can't help but be shocked to find that all of the trails left by skis had long been buried under fresh layers of snow.

"I thought this was supposed to be a popular skiing joint or something," I hear Cameron say in disappointment.

"Maybe the bad weather scared everyone away," Nolan tells him.

I sigh. "I dunno. Maybe," I agree, but my voice is full of doubt.

Instead of directing us to the large slopes, Ronnie leads us to one that is smaller and less steep. This is where he instructs both youth and youth leaders on how to properly put on the gear (masks, goggles, and heavy boots that clip into the skis), safety measures, and what and what not to do. I believe he calls this baby slope "Nursery Slope," specifically designated for newbies. Because the slope didn't lead all the way down the ridge, Ronnie instructs us to all wait once we reach the bottom, and he would drive us back to the top in a large Ranger vehicle.

We would try this a couple times before having to pack up and head back to the lodge. I can already see that the sun is sinking low into the distant silhouetted mountains, and dark clouds are growing in its impending slumber.

Wesley is the first who takes off, acting like he was born to ski.

I don't remember what happened after that.

I see him several yards away through the narrow gaps in the trees. Short, black-haired little Paul. He narrows his eyes, obviously suspicious of why they're in the middle of the woods at night. Alone. Oh, if only he knew.

Ah, yes. I remember now--Ronnie's face, his evil little eyes were giving Isabella the worst scathing glare I had ever seen. Isabella is such a nice, sweet girl. I can't imagine anything she would have said that would make Ronnie so angry. Her words--what was she saying?

"Where are we going?" he asks. He's slowing down, hunching his shoulders in the tell-tale Paul sign of distrust.

Nelia tries to hide her grin, looking up toward the crisscrossing branches above them to distract herself.

"Um, just a little farther," she promises him.

The trees--they whizzed by me too fast. I had reached a rather level part of the hill when Nolan passed me by, and my skis were beginning to slow down a bit. The trees to my left--they gave me goosebumps. I stood up a little straighter, suddenly more alert. I scanned the snow, the leaves, the pine needles--the shadows.