I'd dreamed of that day for years. No ski patrol, no run markers, and miles from anywhere. This was freedom. Few skiers know the exhilaration of back-country skiing. The guide told us to follow directly behind him or it could bring serious injury or even death.

But I was there to make first tracks, not to follow an old man down the mountain, even if he could make it.

I wanted to be on my own, to hear the silence of the snow rush up on me.

I wanted to be part of the mountain, to be alone, away from the crowd.

I wanted to fly, to soar down the mountain and through the trees. It was incredible,

everything I'd hoped for, and maybe a bit more.

He told me to stay with the group. There was a very dangerous area ahead.

But then he missed the best skiing on the mountain. Didn't he know we were there for excitement?

Where was the old man going? He was the one going the hard way. Well, I decided to follow him anyway.

When I saw what I almost went over, I suddenly wanted to trust the guide with my life.