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1st Place, Adult Writing Division: Lost Sandwiches, Broken Ski Poles and Elk in the Driveway by Katie Matteson by Katie Matteson
Personal Narrative for Katie Matteson
My piece is entitled “Lost Sandwiches, Broken Ski Poles and Elk in the Driveway” because as a young adult born and raised in the Wood River Valley, I do not have just one moment that exemplifies my feelings for this place; I have many strange, weird, beautiful moments that make up my life here. Having graduated from college in downtown New York City and living abroad in Asia and Africa for three years, my affection and affinity for this valley has only grown. I am maybe, the luckiest girl in the world, to call this place home.
Lost Sandwiches, Broken Ski Poles and Elk in the Driveway
I remember when I lost my peanut butter and jelly sandwich on Dollar. Laurel and I had ditched our skis at the top of Full Dollar Lift and climbed the rocks at the top of Dollar to eat lunch. We tromped up in our white and red rear-entry ski boots, sat with legs swinging off the edge, and then I dropped my sandwich. As we stared out over the Valley, at the big mountain across the way, the running river down below, I thought about the fox that would instead enjoy my sandwich as Laurel handed me half of hers.
I remember when we had a dance party at sunset at the Galena Summit Overlook. With the August green of the Idaho expanse below us, the boom box set on the hood of my car, the mountains reflecting with oranges and reds and pinks, and us sixteen year-old hoodlums, we danced on the overlook to the sounds of the Sawtooths and some seriously classic hits of the ’90’s.
I remember when my family went to worship by the light of the snow and the moon on a cold Christmas Eve, bundled in layers, with Nordic skis on our feet. Being a family that worships the sun gods and Ullr, that Christmas Eve, with our yellow lab in tow, we ventured to the trail system north of Ketchum on a full moon Christmas Eve and skied the frosty trails in silence. Quietly, coldly, lovingly celebrating a holiday spent with stars, snow, skis, and family.
I remember when it was snowing so hard at the top of Baldy; I couldn’t see an inch in front of me. Skis were covered in powder, mittens were soaked, toes were frozen in ski boots and Drew suggested skiing Easter Bowl. With an innate tendency to ski Lefty’s Bowl and closer to the trees on a day when visibility is low, I balked at the suggestion and followed along. Not three minutes later, and with nothing but a whiteout in sight, we were making huge, effortless, perfect, powdery turns, blind, and once-in-lifetime turns, down a run I didn’t even want to ski. Truly turns never to be had again, in an attempt to do it again, we lapped the May Day Chair and the ropes were up, closing the Bowls for the day.
I remember when on my very first outdoor trip at the Community School, as a tiny freshman, we slept under the lighthouse stars at Boulder Lake, huddled in sleeping bags with soft grass as pillows.
I remember cliff jumping at the end of Redfish Lake and burning marshmallows at Petit. I remember elk in my driveway and the vista from the familiar Proctor Mountain hike. I remember raft trips and campouts and stars you can’t find anywhere else. I remember ghost towns and mine tailings and treasuring Fool’s Gold. I remember the smell of sagebrush, my first sight of the shape of Heart Lake and watching as the Castle Rock Fire burned. I remember learning names of wildflowers and noticing different shades of blue skies. I remember countless broken ski poles and flat tires.
I remember when we hiked to Titus Lake in April, thinking it would be a nice hike on a spring-like day. I remember breaking my parent’s tent on the Salmon and running out of water on the way to Norton Lakes. I remember snakes out Croy Canyon and night-skiing on Rotarun. I remember rodeos and fire pits. I remember vastness of the drive to Fairfield and sailing at Magic Reservoir.
I remember always these moments when returning home, when peeking over Timmerman Hill into the enormity of the Wood River Valley. Whether it is snow white or summer green; an in-between red or a beautifully slushy brown. I remember this view when I go away. I remember these moments and this valley. And I always remember when I lost my peanut butter and jelly sandwich on Dollar.
1st Place, Student Writing Division: Goosebumps
by Courtney Ballard
Standing in the middle of the calm flowing river I felt the rusty red, smooth, pebbles under my feet while the cool wind encouraged the growing goosebumps that were beginning to show. I’m a runner. I love running everywhere. It doesn’t matter if I’m by myself or with a friend. It is just something I can do to get in tuned with myself, and release any sort of stress. One hot summer day, my friend and I were practicing our miles to make the soccer team. It was at least 85 degrees out. The scorching sun rays against our backs made the run that much more painful. By the end of the run, we both were sweating gallons at a time and looked like we had just been dunked in a dunking tank at a carnival. I could taste the salty sweat on my sunburned lips. We both looked at the river, then at each other. The river had spoken to us, called our names at the exact same time. We sprinted towards the crystal clear, slithering snake of water. Tearing off our shirts and shorts and kicking off our old Nike running shoes. We were the only ones there, and tread through the water in our underwear and neon sports bras. Every once in a while, one of use would step on a sharp rock and howl while the other one fell into the water laughing. The water was freezing, but our sizzling bodies and ice cold water together, made a perfect medium. The scene that we were lucky enough to take place in didn’t feel real. It felt like something that should be on a postcard, something that takes place only in dreams. I had never felt energy like that before. Just standing there, in the water, and breathing in the fresh, pure, crisp, high altitude air. Coming from Australia, there was something about being in a clean river, a river with fresh water, a river with no waves. I didn’t have to worry about getting sucked in, or shark attacks. It was peace. I wasn’t use to it, but I knew I could get use to it. I watched birds rustle around in the bushes, the sunlight shine through the tall, green, cottonwood trees, and perfect drops of water challenge another to 360 degree flips and insane air off the little pebbles scattered everywhere. I listened to the rhythmic songs of the jays and the watched the colorful butterflies bounce along and barely kiss the light, mellow rapids. I came from big towns full of people. Even if the scenery was this beautiful, the groups of people would scare away the birds, and all the animals. Which made it not even as close to enjoyable. Finally, we were all the way in, and let ourselves float down the river, with the rapids in control. The cool water was the perfect temperature and I wanted to stay there, in that one spot, forever. From the minute everything clicked in, I knew I was going to come here a lot more often. The river was the first time I actually became in tuned with myself and felt my own energy, that I had never experienced before. I understood myself, and what I was all about. We must have let the rapids twirl our hair and push us every direction for at least ten minutes until we noticed the longer we floated down this magical river, the longer the walk back to our running stuff was. Neither of us wanted to get out, but we decided we would come back tomorrow and do this all over again. We weren’t entirely sure where we were, but as long as you follow the river, you wont get lost, right? We soon found our things and threw our clothes over our sticky skin. I had never felt this refreshed before and it felt amazing. I felt more aware of everything around me, and more thankful for everything I had. This experience really opened my eyes to how healing and replenishing the world can be. I thought about how some people aren’t ever going to experience this, and how lucky we are to live in the Wood River Valley. “Race you to my house!”, I said and ran off following the river.
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