The early morning sun glistened off the fresh eighteen inches that fell overnight. As the pre-opening chairlift procession got underway, the lift attendant smacked each passing chair with a broom to clear the seats.
“Stop the North Face lift!” blasted from his walkie-talkie.
***
Members of the ski patrol and the Jay, Vermont police gathered halfway up the triple black diamond Ripcord trail, all staring up at the mass of white taking up residence in double chair number eighty-one. They knew it was a person underneath; the snowboard attached to the dangling legs tipping them off. As the rescue team lowered it to the ground, most of the fresh snow covering it had fallen off. When it landed they knew it was a male, encased in a thick, crusty ice that prevented them from seeing any clear facial features.
"Looks like we got ourselves a bone-a-fide fucking mancicle," one of the Jay cops said.
“How the hell did this happen?” the ski patrol captain barked at his subordinates.
No one replied.
The captain surmised, yelling, “I'll tell you fucking how. From the looks of it, he spent the night getting cornholed by Mother fucking Nature."
***
The informal consensus was that somehow The Iceman had been on the last lift of the day and for some unknown reason, got stranded at thirty-five hundred feet on the North Face. On a good day, it never had a big crowd. The steep terrain, hidden ice, and lack of grooming, scared most people away from it. The snow and wind had caused white-out conditions by closing time. The patrol must have missed him during their end of day checks, which considering the conditions, consisted of getting back to base as fast as possible.
No one had reported him missing, so he must have been there alone.
Within two hours, the body was transported to the hospital for the post mortem. The mountain closed operations for the day and some of the staff gathered in the main lodge, rehashing the story in various small groups.
“You should have heard him whimpering. He was crying like a fucking baby,” lift operator Danny Cummings whispered to lift attendant Joey Hyman.
Joey pointed a finger at Danny. “Got what he deserved. He should have never fucked us over, screw him. Let me hear it. How did it go down?"
"Come on." Danny stood up. "Let's go out on the deck. I need to burn one."
"Yeah, me too. Can I bum one off you?"
"Sure."
***
Out on the deck, they fired up a couple Newport 's, Joey complaining about menthols, Danny telling him they were healthier than Kool's, didn’t have insulation in them. They rested their elbows on the rails, dragging, and looking up at all fresh they wouldn't be enjoying on this bluebird day.
"So?" Joey whispered. "Get on with it man."
Danny looked around, blew smoke high into the air. "I saw him coming, twenty or so empty chairs behind him. Hard to tell it was coming down so hard. Good job stalling the one's behind him by the way."
Joey nodded. "Wasn't hard, only a group of three. I just acted like the scanner had a problem with one of their tickets."
Danny laughed. "Fucking beautiful. Man, I just grabbed him as he was about to dismount, dragged him into the lift house, took less than ten seconds. Had him Tasered and hands tie wrapped in less than a minute. He was kicking, but he wasn’t going anywhere with his board strapped on. Like we planned, I packed his throat with snow and duct taped his mouth and nose. He was gone in three minutes. The threesome that came by had no fucking clue, just went on their merry way."
"You sure?" Joey flicked the smoke into the snow.
"Positive. I'm just sitting in the hut, smiling at them, both feet keeping shit-head tight to the floor. As soon as they're gone, I cut the tie wraps, pull off the tape, and pour my tea water down his throat to melt the snow. I got him on chair eighty-one and when twenty-one went by he's mid-trail. I gave the all clear to the base lodge, stopped the lift, hopped on the snowmobile and hauled ass back down.”