The skinned finger healed up in time for the Whistler Thanksgiving trip, so all was good…
That is up until Saturday, when we were out-of-bounds on Blackcomb poaching some unridden fluff. We found a nice log jib, and hung around to session it. I rode it first and cleaned it (with a slightly off-center sortie, but that’s another story). After my run, the snow on top of the log had been scraped away, revealing a prong of death branch sticking out the top. I kicked at it and busted most of it off, but there was still a nubbin of death that bugged me. I got out my Swisstool and sawed it off. While I was shaking the wet sawdust out of the saw blade, the tool slipped out of my hand and disappeared into the snow. Without thinking, I plunged my hand into the snow and found the sawteeth with my fingertip! Blood fountained forth, drenching the tool, dripping all over the log, and splattering the snow like a crime scene!
Derek and I immediately went for our first aid kits. Some direct pressure with kleenix stopped the bleeding quickly, and an adhesive bandage and antibiotic cream covered the 5mm cut. All the while, Taro was just hovering around taking pictures and offering no assistance of any kind. I got a little “shocky” – mildly nauseated – so I decided to give it a rest and not hit the jib again, which wasn’t really a problem, since there was already a picture of me cleaning it.
On one of Derek’s runs, he slid off the log on his toeside, landing his abdomen on the top of the log. Had the nubbin been there, his jacket or gutbag might have taken some gas.
The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
When Neosporin gets cold its almost impossible to get out of the tube. I was squeezing it like Bigfoot, but only managed to make my face blue, and dispense 1/2″ of cream.