Skiing. The glorious rush of a black run against a ragged mountain range, the crisp turns, and blisteringly blue skies that form the backdrop to this speediest of sports. Yet for Hertfordshire-based Peter K, occasional skier and Eddie the Eagle wannabe, skiing conjures up images of out-of-control Brits, an impromptu flight, and the mother of all landings.

"I knew right from the start that the day would be trouble," says Pete. Travelling with a bunch of mates who were more enthusiastic than experienced, Pete and his mates made straight for the black run in France’s Chamonix. "We were wearing those silly jester hats for a laugh, and whooping our way down the run. I guess we were taking the piste."

Everything was going well, until they hit the second bend. The run went left, but Peter watched in horror as his mates hit the bank straight-on and cartwheeled into a forest of startled pines.

With Pete approaching Mach 10 and his skis blazing a trail, Peter went from ski run to ski jump, launching (he reckons) around 20 feet skyward before hitting his mates, skittle-like, and shaking free his tree-bound friends.

"We landed in a pile of skis, people and poles, and continued to slowly slip down the run until we crashed into the mid-way pension. We called it a day and got some schnapps in instead."

Back to the Legends