Page 42 of Christmas at Wolf Creek
After twenty minutes of chaos, including Rory accidentally skiing into the men’s restroom and his excuse, “The door was open, and I couldn’t stop!”, we finally made it to the bunny slope. Nora immediately demonstrates her pizza-wedge stop with perfect form, while Wren somehow manages to get her skis crossed and faceplant into a snowbank.
“I’m okay!” comes her muffled voice as Mia helps extract her. “The snow broke my fall. And possibly my dignity.”
Declan, to everyone’s surprise, turns out to be a natural. “I told you I went skiing in Switzerland,” he says smugly, executing a perfect turn.
“Show-off,” Kane mutters, though he’s equally competent, gliding down the gentle slope with Kori beside him.
I hang back with Nora, watching the chaos unfold. Kat has developed a unique skiing technique that involves a lot of dramatic yelling and falling into snow drifts intentionally whenever she picks up too much speed. Lana keeps trying to apply video game physics to real life with predictably disastrous results.
“Our family is funny,” Nora giggles, watching Rory attempt to help Connor up after a particularly spectacular fall, only to topple over himself.
“They certainly are,” I agree, warmth spreadingthrough my chest despite the cold. “Want to show them how it’s done?”
We push off together, easily navigating the gentle slope. Nora’s face is pure joy as she zigzags ahead of me, her technique surprisingly good for someone so young. I follow in her tracks, laughing as she calls out encouragement to her aunts and uncles.
“Pizza slice, Uncle Rory! Make your skis like pizza!”
By our third run, everyone has at least mastered the basics of not immediately falling over. Kat has declared herself “Queen of the Mountain” despite spending more time horizontal than vertical, and even Connor has managed a full run without falling.
“I think we’re ready for the next level,” Declan announces, pointing to an intermediate slope nearby.
I look at the steeper incline with skepticism. “I don’t think—”
“We’ve got this!” Kat interrupts, high-fiving Nora. “Right, ski buddy?”
Nora nods enthusiastically. “It’s not even that steep, Mom. Please?”
I glance at Kane, who shrugs. “I’ll stay with her the whole time,” he promises.
Against my better judgment, we head for the lift to the intermediate run. Getting everyone loaded onto the chairlift proves to be its own adventure. Mia gets tangled with a safety bar, Wren drops a pole (requiring an awkward retrieval at the top), and Kat somehowmanages to exit the lift backward, causing a minor pile-up that has the lift operator shaking his head in disbelief.
“Sorry!” she calls cheerfully. “First-timer enthusiasm!”
The view from the top is breathtaking—snow-covered pines, mountains stretching to the horizon, the valley spread out below. For a moment, we all pause to take it in, a rare moment of MacGallan unity.
Then Rory breaks the spell by accidentally starting to slide toward the edge. “Help! How do I stop on a flat surface?!”
Declan grabs him just in time, and after a quick review of basic safety, we prepare to descend.
“Remember,” I tell Nora, adjusting her helmet, “if it feels too fast, make your pizza wedge bigger. And stay with Uncle Kane.”
She nods solemnly, then grins. “Last one down is a rotten egg!”
With that, she pushes off, followed closely by Kane. Declan goes next, then Kori, each taking the slope with reasonable skill. I hang back with the less confident members of our group.
“I’ve made a terrible mistake,” Lana mutters, looking down the steeper incline. “This is how I die. On a mountain, wearing rented footwear.”
“You’ll be fine,” I assure her. “Just take it slow and remember your training.”
“My ‘training’ consisted of falling down a bunny slope for an hour,” she points out.
“Same principles, steeper hill,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “I’ll go next, then you follow my path.”
I push off, carving gentle turns down the slope. It’s been years since I’ve skied regularly, but muscle memory kicks in, and I find myself enjoying the rush of cold air, the satisfying crunch of snow beneath my skis. About halfway down, I stop on a wide section and turn to watch the others.
What follows can only be described as magnificent chaos.
Kat descends like a pinball, bouncing from one side of the run to the other, somehow staying upright through sheer force of will and creative cursing. Mia takes a more direct approach, pointing her skis straight down the mountain and screaming the entire way until she crashes spectacularly into a snow fence, emerging with a thumbs-up and snow covering every inch of her.