The Mystery of Dragon Valley

Soyo San, a photo by []Aaroneous Monk[] on Flickr.

Miracles are funny things. In the Eastern Orthodox tradition there is a prayer that begins, "Heavenly King, Comforter, Spirit of Truth who is everywhere present and filling all things..." In light of this prayer and in the experience of the Saints there is a sense that miracles are not rare but in fact continuous, albeit mostly unnoticed. Sometimes even those of us who are not pure in heart can see them. By this I mean catching a glimpse of God at work in a way that can be experienced as something extra-ordinary. It is one of these obvious miracles that came to mind this past week while posting pictures online of my son jumping snow ramps on his sled.

The story goes back to 1992 when I was 23 years old and an infantryman in Korea. The year previous I'd been a senior at Indiana Wesleyan University but when the first Gulf War broke out I made an impulsive decision to join the Army. An opportunity arose to join a group led by our Chaplain to go skiing over a three day weekend and I jumped at the chance. We caravanned South to YongPyeong or "Dragon Valley" which is a famous ski resort in South Korea. I had only skied a handful of times before but considered myself quite the accomplished skier. This was partly the braggadocio of youth, partly a superman complex, and partly the fact that I had always picked up sports quickly and with a sense of ease.

Well, YongPyeong Ski Resort was *not* Paoli Peaks in Southern Indiana where I'd learned to ski. It had actual mountains with some very treacherous spots. One of my friends who came along on the trip had relegated herself to the bunny slopes which earned her my light hearted derision. We had heard that a Korean girl had died earlier in the season by going off the trail and into the trees which should have given me some pause, but I was no girl! I was Superman flying down mountainsides without a cape!

Over the course of the three days at YongPyeong I skied from sunup to well into the evening hours. My daring-do escalated day by day with the growing certainty that I was a world class skier able to accelerate down the slopes at eye watering speeds. At one point there were some older Korean men off to the side of a run standing around and talking. Beside and above them was a wall of snow and ice whose angle was not much off of vertical. I was going at a high rate of speed and impulsively decided to go up that wall and over them by about fifteen feet or so. I was not content to be Superman but had to be Spiderman as well. My skis were shaking violently with one leg folded up under me and the other extended fully to maintain contact with the wall. As I passed above the men one of them was yelling at me and shaking his fist with an angry expression. At the time I was mystified by his reaction but now as an older adult myself I realize he was angry because what I was doing was extremely foolhardy and was endangering myself and others.

On a different run another young enlisted soldier and I found more ways to push the envelope. Two slopes that weren't particularly steep ran parallel to each other and you could choose one or the other by which direction you got off the ski lift, left or right. By choosing the lower slope we could build up enough speed by half way down to hit a small connecting incline up to the higher slope. This patch of steep ground was not made to ski on. There were several sizeable rocks peaking out above the snow and the ski lift towers ran up through this area. With enough speed (while avoiding the towers) we could throw sparks from our skis when hitting the rocks and then catapult up onto the higher slope catching some air. Thank goodness my Mom did not know what I was up to in Korea!

The last day of skiing at YongPyeong found me sore and starting to feel the drain of the previous two days. My friend was still on the bunny slopes that morning and she asked me to take her camera so she could have some pictures from the top of the mountain. I readily agreed and put the camera in the side cargo pocket of my pants. I made my way up to one of my favorite runs which included a switchback. The first few times I went down it I noticed some young male Korean skiers in flashy ski gear and goggles hotdogging the switchback. The trail was quite wide and circled around the side of the mountain until making a 180 degree turn before continuing down again going the opposite direction. On the upper part of the switchback you couldn't see the lower part because the earth between them was a raised lip with trees growing all along it. Right at the point where the inside of the trail made its 180 degree turn the lip was treeless and formed a hump. I saw these Korean skiers shooting across the trail at such an angle that they could ramp over the hump and down onto the lower part of the switchback from the upper part. Lining the outside of that curve were iron poles with orange mesh strung between them to keep anyone from careening over the edge and into the trees if they couldn't make the turn.

There I was in my Army issue all-green wet weather gear and cheap aviator sunglasses thinking I could pull off what these flashy (and experienced) Korean skiers were doing. The next time down I hugged the mountain side of the trail waiting to cut across and hit that hump. My heart was racing and I started thinking that maybe I was going a bit too fast. This thought was quickly replaced by "It's gonna be awesome!" I dug the edge of the ski closest to the hump down hard to make the sharp turn and found myself rocketing towards it as planned. What was not planned was encountering someone on the lower trail in my line of travel. I crested the hump and there she was, a female Captain from my group skiing lazily down the slope. I immediately perceived that continuing my arc would end in a collision with her and likely result in broken bones and maybe even a concussion for us both.

A split second decision was made and I allowed myself to fall over instead of continuing on my trajectory down the trail. The laws of physics assured that I immediately beelined for the orange mesh fence since my skis were no longer cutting a hard turn. The mesh was upon me almost instantly and I remember a very hard hit, flipping high up into the air, and then an abrupt stop on the other side. I wasn't exactly sure what had happened. When I opened my eyes I was looking at the trees that grow down the mountainside, but they were upside down. I realized the top of my head was just touching the snow on the ground but the rest of my body was directly above me defying gravity. I bent my neck forward to look up and discovered that the cuff of my pant leg had snagged the top of one of the iron posts that I had hit at near full speed. I started laughing just as a wide-eyed Korean man with a panicked look on his face peered over the mesh fence not knowing what he'd find.

"You OK? You OK?" he panted.

"Yeah, I'm OK. Could you just lift up on my boot", I pointed to where I was caught fast on the pole. He looked skeptical because on my side of the fence the ground fell away sharply and I was practically dangling in space. I convinced him it was OK and another Korean man joined him. With some grunting and lifting they were able to pop it free and I immediately collapsed into a pile on the wrong side of the fence. I flipped over so that my head was now uphill and slid down a foot or so. By flattening out my body I was able to stop sliding and climb back up to the fence. The two Korean men got me hoisted back over and I thanked them in what little Korean I knew. They just kinda shook their heads in disbelief and then skied on.

Sitting on the snow I could not believe I had just smashed into an iron pole, flipped end over end into the air, and then been snagged by the cuff of my pant leg as my body was headed off down the side of the heavily forested mountainside. My pant leg was partially pulled out of the boot and when I went to pull it free something fell out onto the snow. I looked at the two small objects in confusion. I took off my gloves and picked them up. They were batteries. For the first time since going over the fence I realized my right leg was very sore right in the middle of my thigh. I went to rub it and discovered the bulk of something in my cargo pocket right where it hurt. I opened the pocket and found my friend's smashed camera. It had squarely taken the brunt of my leg hitting that pole and most likely saved it from being broken. After getting myself together I continued skiing for another hour or two until it was time to leave. My leg was killing me but I couldn't bring myself to end the trip prematurely. When we got back to base that evening after a long drive I gingerly took off my pants and found a large rectangular bruise perfectly shaped like the camera on my thigh.

So, this could be a kind of miracle, one for someone who is nearly blind and deaf to such things, a sequence of highly improbable if not impossible events that would require CGI effects for Hollywood to replicate. A deeper mystery might be why the Korean girl died and I lived. I cannot bring the incident to mind without thinking of her. As we say in the Orthodox Church, "May her memory be eternal."