All Downhill
Look at this guy go. Zig-zagging down the slope against the bluest of bright blue skies and the whitest of snowy mountains, he could be out of a Bond movie, or maybe a 1970s advertisement for menthol cigarettes.
Easily executing a succession of turns, his body adjusting automatically to the terrain, he’s a creature in his element. Though his heavy build and hired gear might actually rule him out of any high-end screen productions, he seems to know what he’s doing.
But wait. What was that funny little twitch?
Why did his frame suddenly stiffen, and start pulsing with spasmodic jerks? He looks like Scott Robertson in the early stages of a Super Rugby victory breakdance. Now, he’s moved on to some kind of high-speed semaphore with his arms and poles, while continuing to plummet downhill.
A ski lifts at one curious angle, then slams backwards onto the snow at another. The new configuration – skis across each other, pointing in different directions – proves incompatible with navigation, while velocity remains alarmingly high. First one ski, then the other, bites hard into the snow, arresting this land-based phase of the journey. Ninety-something kilograms of 50-something human mass takes flight, abruptly wrenched free of those troublesome skis to soar onwards and upwards, passing briefly through an eerily silent, gravity-free
