Comments on: Tamed By the Beast

By: Wes

Wes — Fri, 09 Jan 2009 00:05:50 +0000

Classic story Derek. Really, had me busting up in the office.

By: Mike

Mike — Wed, 07 Jan 2009 22:27:00 +0000

Working on a snow picture one winter, up around Whistler, we’d have most of our gear taken by a large snow tractor (snow cat) after offloading from a helicopter, but there were the inevitable “Sh**t we forget the…”. So the teamsters and safety guys had the snowmobiles and they’d rocket up and down (we’d never seen a teamster move that fast before) the mountain. Once, I had to get down, pick some gizmo up that we didn’t trust anyone else to find, and get it up asap. The driver said, “how fast do you want to go?” and I said, “They’re holding the shot until I get back”…
Well…we were climbing a 45 degree or better/worser slope on one ski and half the track, the other half spitting air. Then we had to zig because our zag would have taken us over a cliff. And me and my gizmo went flying off the arse end, and tumbling downhill in my bright yellow “safety” snowsuit. I stopped myself before landing back in the village…the funny thing was, the driver never stopped. I mean, he never looked back, and I guess because I’d been holding onto the gizmo and not around his waist, he didn’t miss me and then when he did he must have thought, oh, well, he was only a grip…

By: HermitDave

HermitDave — Wed, 07 Jan 2009 21:01:19 +0000

HAH !!

I am from Canada and even from the east coast but was from the suburbs so we didn’t have a snowmobile. The first time I really really rode one (as opposed to 12 year holding on the back) was in my teens at my uncle’s brother-in-law’s wood cabin in the Margaree Valley of Cape Breton. This was a real, diehard woodsy kinda guy who hunted in the winter and logged with horse & chainsaw in the summer. His snowmobiles were armor plated from being repaired so often and most of their jaunts involved 12am-4am rides, all licquored up and rearing to go.

I have two distinct memories. One drunk, one not. Well, I should say, one involving drink and one not. I was a teenager and wasn’t drinking yet. That’s another story. Well the first involved hanging onto the back of my father who was hanging onto the back of my uncle. These were long suckers who could easily hold three if not four. The two men were drunk as skunks and were barreling down the road at about 40km/hr. Then the road hit a T. They didn’t. I slipped off the back and watched the skiddoo (what we called snowmobiles, sort of like Kleenex and QTip, brand becomes generic) jump the snowbank, sail through the air and BANG… a tree. I could hear the engine roaring and could see the pine tree waving back & forth like a metronome. They survived but my dad did meet tree forehead on and had a nasty red mark for the rest of the weekend.

The second involved me and my brother wanting to go out the next night while most of the adults were interested in some fireside drink & cards. So I hopped on the most powerful of the monsters, my brother climbed on the back, and away we went down the trail. I decided to cut left instead of the familiar right and found myself under a cloudless moonlit sky on an abandoned (or seasonal?) airfield. The straight stretch was in front of me so I gunned it. As the airstrip ended, I did something similar to your story, cutting the steering-wheel to the left while we kept on going straight. Me and my brother were catapulted into the powder snow for about 30 feet and the armor plated beast rolled and rolled and rolled. Once we recovered from our laughter and shock, shook off the snow and stood up, we simply righted the skidoo and headed back to tell our tale.

p.s. don’t ask me about the July snowmobile expedition after a few pints of one of the mens’ homemade beer. Dad, it was a garden hose, not a snake.

By: darlene

darlene — Wed, 07 Jan 2009 02:45:14 +0000

what a fabulous story! very canadian. my first spill was when i was 11 my little brother on the back, going to fast flew into a snow bank, the snowmobile went one way and we flew the other way, it was all good though and we mostly lay there laughing until and vowing never to tell dad. when i was a teenager, a bunch of us snowmobiling hooligans used to tie tubes to the back and after much drinking, the game was to bang the tubes together and try to be the last one hanging on … eep!

but then when i met my husband, he told me the story of his nephew who was not so lucky and hit the pilings on a bridge and passed away after a round of intensive care … i gained a whole new view of how lucky i have been with my adventures and now drive like i would if i had a minivan, uh huh.

glad you are okay and glad you had so much fun, there is something about the cold wind blowing red cheeks that screams winter fun .. that and the snowsuit :)

By: Andrea

Andrea — Wed, 07 Jan 2009 01:22:12 +0000

I do not know how the geeks survived that whole survival of the fittest thing. Clearly, we’re not equipped for the outdoors.

By: Tom Cosgrave

Tom Cosgrave — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 23:16:16 +0000

As the newbie in the group, the Canucks took it upon themselves to tell me all their favorite authentic Canadian stories. They all seemed to be about drinking too much.

It’s nice to know that we Irish have gone forth and multiplied, and morphed into Canadians on the way!

Glad you’re okay.

By: Geoffrey

Geoffrey — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 19:40:52 +0000

*applause* That’s a big pile of crazy right there, D.

By: Sara

Sara — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 17:39:41 +0000

Growing up in Alaska, my worst fear was falling thru frozen ice, on a snowmachine or otherwise. Glad you’re alright, DP!

By: Stephanie

Stephanie — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 17:05:37 +0000

Glad you’re okay, eh.

By: Lori Paximadis

Lori Paximadis — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 16:03:09 +0000

A chainsaw on skis: perfect image! Glad you’re okay.