We had left the trail to hit the virgin, champagne powder. Apparently, it was fenced off for a reason. No sooner had we ducked under the sign when the snow broke free beneath us. We took off on a magic carpet of snow. 50 feet or so in, we tumbled under an ice sheet tsunami. That was the last I saw of him. He was plowed over by the rushing snow; his legs appeared twice during two somersaults, but then vanished. Somehow, I managed to stay atop the wave. Shoved downhill. Forcefully. Twisting this way and that, I could see the blue sky, the white snow, uphill and downstream. Over and over and over. Everything seems to have stopped: the sliding; the sounds; the stopwatch. Looking around, it seems I'm in a shallow valley. Behind me, a steep slope. Loose chunks of snow still tinkle down, mocking the slide we just had. I know I'm not terribly far from help, but I wonder if they can reach me.