Bobcat Flip

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Winter Haven

Bobcat in the Trees

Charlie Avera Pam Shanahan

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Prolog

Russel Anderson stood at the top of Bobcat, staring down the
steep, snow-covered slope. The brisk, cold wind was whipping the
snow on the hill into a white veil, nearly obscuring the thick tree
stands a hundred yards below. He slowly buckled his helmet,
made sure he was locked into his bindings, and wrapped his pole
straps around his wrists. Staring down the slope into the tree
stands, he felt a shiver down his spine. At 47 years old, Russel
was an experienced, aggressive skier, and was seldom intimidated
going down steep open runs. But the trees introduced a challenge
that nudged him out of his comfort zone. He was not scared; his
long career as an Army Ranger commander with several combat
tours had prepared him to take on any challenge that life threw his
way. But hesitating at the top of the black diamond run, he spent a
few moments settling his nerves, carefully analyzing the path he
wanted to take into the trees before taking the plunge.
“Ready, Dad?” his son Michael shouted over his shoulder.

Russel pulled his goggles down over his eyes and slapped his ski
poles together a few times. “Yeah, let’s do this!” he shouted back
to Michael.

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“Okay, let’s give this a try. First time for everything…” Russel
thought to himself as he pushed over the edge and onto the steep
hill.

But as he started down the hill, he began to feel a little bit
lightheaded. He shook his head, as though trying to clear some
cobwebs, thinking it was just the thin mountain air. Higher
altitudes often have that effect on visitors to Colorado’s ski resorts.

Michael had connected with another boarder named Chris earlier
in the week, and they were excited about going down Bobcat. The
ungroomed black diamond run lured them with its deep powder
and snow-covered trees. Bobcat was not as steep as some other
black diamond runs on the front side of the mountain, but perhaps
more difficult and challenging because of the trees. The tree
stands were not as dense as some of the other runs on this side of
the mountain. But they were still thick enough so that skiers and
snowboarders needed to pay attention going down the hill, always
looking for the next gate to slip through. Michael and Chris picked
this run because Russel did not have any experience in trees, and
the trees on Bobcat were more manageable for newbies.

“Come on Dad, just follow us and you’ll be fine. You’re tough,
aren’t you?” Michael was challenging his dad once again.

“Once you do a few of these runs, you’ll get the hang of it, and you
won’t want to go back on the groomed runs anymore!”

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Chris piped in, “Yeah Mr. Anderson, it’s not that hard. Stick with
us and just do what we do.”
Russel wanted to share the boys’ confidence, but as he picked up
speed and began hurtling toward the first stand of trees, he began
having his doubts. For all the years they had been coming to
Winter Haven, he had always stuck to the groomed runs on the
front side of the mountain.

The top of Bobcat was fairly easy because it was above the tree
line, not very steep, and wide open. But about a hundred yards
down the hill the wide-open space gave way to a much steeper
slope, the tree stands, and no open paths to the bottom, except for
the bumpy path under the Grizzly Peak chairlift to the right. As
the boys disappeared into the trees, with the soft powder spraying
everywhere, Michael and Chris let out whoops of excitement!
Slicing effortlessly through the trees, they were always looking for
the next opening to squeeze through. Michael could feel the small
pine branches slapping against his coat and pants. This was
exactly the type of run he was looking for and he was enjoying
every minute of it. About fifty yards into the trees, they lost sight
of each other. But this often happens as skiers and riders slice and
cut through the trees. Even if they got separated, they would just
meet up again at the bottom of the run.

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Russel could hear the boys up ahead, but the snow spray and the
trees hid their tracks, and Russel now realized he was on his own
and probably in way beyond his skill level. He tried to slow down
a little bit to navigate each new turn to avoid hitting the trees, but
he was feeling much dizzier and disoriented than he did at the top
of the hill. He just thought it was because he was dehydrated, or
tired, or maybe it was a bad reaction to the chili he had for lunch.

For the first time in a long time, Russel was no longer in control of
everything and everyone around him. He was now separated from
the boys, his dizziness was getting worse, and the trees all seemed
to be swirling around him. He had lost control on the steep tree-
covered hill; his long skis were not responding at all as he tried to
turn, and he was picking up speed. Everything around him was
just a whirling blur. He could feel small limbs slapping on his
arms and chest as he crashed through some smaller trees. For an
instant he feared the worst as his speed increased and now he was
completely unable to turn or stop.

Russel never saw the tree that he slammed into. He was wearing a
helmet, but he hit the tree face first, followed instantly by a
crushing blow to his chest. He was severely injured. His face had
several deep lacerations, and his nose was shattered like he had just
been hit with a shovel. The wind had been knocked out of him like
he had been kicked by a mule. He could not breathe, and he was
slowly suffocating. The pain in his face and chest was unbearable.

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Panic was setting in. Even if he could scream for help, his calls
would be muffled by the powdery snow and thick trees. Bobcat
never has many skiers on the vast run in the afternoon, and no one
would ever hear him. It had all happened so quickly. Russel had
no control over this situation. He could not just snap his fingers or
bark an order to make this go away. He knew he was in serious
trouble. The mighty invincible Russel Anderson, elite Army
Ranger and big corporate vice president, crumpled lifelessly into
the deep tree well, bleeding profusely and struggling to catch his
breath.
As he was slipping into unconsciousness, he heard a skier swish up
to him. The last thing he saw was a flash of bright yellow.
Relieved, Russel thought he was saved.

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Chapter 1

SIX WEEKS EARLIER…

It was two weeks before Thanksgiving, and Russel Anderson stood
staring out the window of his plush office, his hands folded behind
his back, thinking about the difficult decision he had made. As
Vice President of Plant Operations for Bixby Manufacturing, he
was paid to make tough decisions.

Bixby Manufacturing produced custom parts for farm equipment
and other heavy machinery and had several plants around the
country. The company was expanding rapidly, but the company
headquarters remained in Rampart, Missouri, where the company
was started nearly fifty years earlier. Located south of Joplin near
the Kansas state line, Rampart was a small town, and much of the
local economy relied on Bixby’s large plant. Other than Bixby,
that part of the state was mostly rural farm country. Bixby
understood farmers and farming, and without the plant, Rampart
would dry up quickly. It was a healthy symbiotic relationship.

Russel Anderson needed all of Bixby’s plants running at maximum
capacity to continue expanding, especially the Rampart plant.
Today, Russel was fixing a problem at his Rampart plant.

*****

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Tom Mitchell trudged slowly up the short hill from his office in the
main plant and across the parking lot of the large Bixby campus to
the corporate office building. An hour ago, he had received a
message from Russel Anderson’s administrative assistant telling
him that Mr. Anderson wanted to see him in his office at 10:00
AM sharp.

Tom arrived at Russel’s office a few minutes early. He read the
nameplate on Laura Wilson’s desk while gazing down at the
striking brunette.

“Good morning Ms. Wilson. I’m Tom Mitchell. You told me that
Mr. Anderson wanted to see me?” Tom often phrased simple
statements as questions, a symptom of his nearly crippling
insecurity.

He did not know why Russel had called him in, and he was
nervous. Being called in to see the Vice President of Plant
Operations, at least for a lower-level manager like Tom, usually
did not bode well.

Laura Wilson was Russel Anderson’s attractive administrative
assistant. She thought very highly of herself, and over the years
had acquired the habit of talking down to people that she felt were
beneath her, which by now, was nearly everyone.

“Thank you for being prompt Mr. Mitchell.” Laura glanced up
from her computer just long enough to point to the small waiting

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area across from her desk. “You can take a seat over there, and I’ll
let Mr. Anderson know that you are here.”
“Yes ma’am.” As Tom settled into one of two upholstered chairs
in the waiting area, his mind began racing. “Why does Mr.
Anderson want to see me? Have I done something wrong?”

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