The chairlift was the most dangerous place. I wiggled my toes and slapped my thighs to keep them from going numb. We reached the top. While I tried to point my skis left the ferocity of the wind stopped me still and the chairlift operated yelled as I pushed myself down the snow ramp. The next second I could only see gray, I was going blind. Then the wind spattered up from the snow in swirls of white. As it whipped my face, my cheeks turned bloody red and I struggled to pull my wind buff up to my face. I had found myself at the top of Snowfield’s highest peak in a negative six-degree storm. I felt myself both terrified and thrilled as I prepared to ski down the face of Mount Sugar. I was one of the few who dared to continue.