Getting hung up while on a cross-country ski expedition

When I was a young boy growing up in Inlet, I loved my Saturdays and the opportunity afforded me to spend a whole day exploring my winter world.

I would typically begin my Saturdays by watching the morning kids’ show, Salty Sam’s Super Saturday, followed by a few cartoons.

Then, with a bowl of oatmeal and some peanut butter toast in my belly, I would pull on my snowsuit and ski boots and glance at the temperature before heading out.

One morning when I stepped outside there was a slight wind that chilled me right through.

It seemed much colder than the 17 degrees that appeared on the thermometer.

The snow crunched beneath my feet like I was stepping on cereal as I headed to the garage for my skis.

I was accompanied by my dog Mutt who had expressed an interest in tagging along on the adventure.

While I was pulling out my skis I spied a sled laying on the floor.

I decided I would make a harness with some rope and pull it behind me—just as I had seen in old movies depicting Antarctic expeditions.

It took some time to figure out how to make the harness, making a variety of knots with a piece of nylon rope.

Once completed, I attached it to the sled. I took a few test runs in the driveway to make sure there was enough space between the backs of my skis and the sled.

Mutt begged and whined in anticipation of our trek in the woods.

Though she wasn’t much help with tying the knots and making the harness, she seemed really keen on guiding the expedition.

As we pushed off downhill towards the lake the sled tried to catch up with me.

I had to double pole as quick as I could to stay out in front of it. 

The rope, which I had tied around my waist, had somehow crept up around my neck.

I stopped to make some adjustments, then tried to keep pace with Mutt.

She seemed pretty focused on having a genuine cross-country adventure. I followed behind, dragging the sled like a champ.

The idea of bringing the sled along kept me motivated and determined to keep up with Mutt’s pace.

The snow was up to Mutt’s neck in some areas making it difficult for her to wade through. But she just kept hopping ahead, continuing to make progress.

Before long I got hung up in a small snag of Maple trees.

The small branches seemed to reach out and grab the sled from behind and pulled me down.

Mutt turned and gave me a look as I pried a ski from the brush and got back on my feet.

Once freed, we continued the journey and bushwhacked our way through the woods.

I glided over frozen creeks and a swamp out into the edge of a gulch.

It was a small gulch, maybe thirty yards across, but it was about twenty feet deep.

There did not appear to be a path where I felt confident enough to tackle the depth of the gully without making a grand crash.

But my guide Mutt did not hesitate. She careened down and pulled herself up the other side without incident.

I decided to take a chance and pushed myself off the ledge, aiming for an opening between two Beech trees.

I lifted one ski and managed to squeeze through the gap.

Unfortunately the sled was too wide to fit through.

There I was with my ten-year-old body hung up, frozen in place and pointing straight down the gulch.

The rope harness dug into my chest and armpits. I was stunned for a moment and thought about how I was going to untrap myself.

Mutt watched as I fought my way out of my skis and pulled myself back up the gulch to free the sled.

It must have been quite amusing to watch me haul the sled through the tangled mess.

When I returned home late that afternoon I felt as if I had actually participated in a grand South Pole expedition.

I replayed the adventure in my mind as I hovered over a mug of hot chocolate and warmed my behind next to the woodstove.

Mitch Lee is an Adirondack illustrator & storyteller, living in his boyhood town of Inlet.

ltmitch3rdny@aol.com