Jordan Stiffler, 12, was one of the (S)heJumps into the Canyon campers from the Boys & Girls Club. During the month-long program, he fell in love with skiing. Below is an essay he wrote. (We might have to enter it in a magazine essay contest—it's impressive.



Standing in freezing temperature was definitely a feeling I won't forget. My hands felt like they were ice cubes but everything turned out to be OK because 15 minutes afterward I couldn't feel them. The smell of fresh and minty pine scent complemented the beautiful sight of the wilderness. With my boots wedged in the snow, a shiver took over my body. This was a place of peacefulness and magic. Never before had I been so close with nature. Facing the north was the vast forest. To the left and right, only the crystal white snow was visible. While looking up, I caught a glimpse of a ski lift, the solo ski pass held in my jacket was my passport to this great adventure.

All that could be heard was the sweet chirping of birds and the fresh powder around me. "This is indeed a moment to remember," I thought to myself.  Being that close to nature could put anyone in a state of nirvana. Soon enough I was on the lift about 20 to 30 feet from the ground. I was so exited but still scared to death that I was going to fall off. Finally, I stood up off the chair admiring the clear blue sky and the world around me. I was interrupted by my friends' constant taunting, "Come on, let's go!" They were also rookies. They had not  experienced the sport of skiing and the atmosphere around us was shocking even though it was behind the mountain I see every day when I walk. Their calls became louder, with annoyance. I stepped up to the edge of a great slope. The steepness of this colossal block of snow I stood upon was frightening. The only way to get down was to go down down.

I took a deep breath with no worries, for this was not the first time I was confronted with a suicide mission. In a heartbeat, I started to fly down the hill—the exhilarating feeling of going downhill on a pair of thin skis took over. The breeze rushed through my hair and flew powerfully. Veering left and right, dodging objects, and racing with my buddies at the same time was truly a thrilling feeling, although dangerous. Flying down a slope at 50 miles per hour, I felt as if I could leap up and flyaway just like an eagle taking off. Skiing was indeed an incredible feeling.