The sun was bright, and the new snow glistened when we started up the mountain. The two of us, my sister SusI and I, shouldered the skis and put on our knapsacks full of food for a week's stay in our friend's ski hut. He had promised to come with us, but when we arrived in his home-town of Schwaz in Tyrol, he told us to go on ahead and he would catch up with us the next day.

"You can find it easily," he explained. "Just follow the mountain road until you come to the inn. Then turn sharp left and follow the ridge. After a while the track will go downhill, and before it starts uphill again, you ski downhill following the little creek until you see some roofs. The ones which hang low to the ground are the summer shelters of the sheepherders. The hut with the steeper roof against the hill is mine. Since there was a burglary last summer, I added two more locks. One is almost at the bottom, the other one at the top of the door. You will be there long before nightfall, so there should be no problem. See you tomorrow afternoon."

At age 22 and 24-four, we did not see any problems either. We were only sorry we were minus a good tracker, who perhaps would have carried some of our load.

The mountain road was narrow but plowed. We made fairly good progress, sometimes stopping to admire the view of the Inn valley framed by dark pines. After an hour's climb the steeper incline slowed us down and the skis and knapsacks seemed heavier. The thinner mountain air made us breathe hard. When we saw the mountain inn, a rest and drink were well earned. It was cozy inside and some peasants sat around the fireplace drinking their "schnapps." The waitress in a dirndl dress smiled at us and suggested, "Why don't you have a schnapps too? The night will be cold."

"No, no," I hastened to say, "we still have to climb up to Richard's hut. We'd better stick with lemonade."

Everyone here knew Richard. He was the ski school director and besides that the nephew of the innkeeper. The locals stared at us, wondering what kind of city girls Richard had invited to his hut. The schnapps had loosened their tongues, so they made friendly jokes and invited us to move closer to the fireplace. We mentioned that we'd better leave soon since there still remained a long way to go.

"Oh," one villager said, "Richard's hut is not very far, an hour and a half should get you there."

When we started again, it was close to four o'clock. To put the sealskins on the skis and to adjust the bindings for tracking uphill took a few minutes. There were no tracks and the snow was deep and heavy. The sealskins helped us lay a steeper track, but the climb was strenuous. Clouds began to cover the sky and it became darker among the trees. We were glad when we reached the timberline and could see the sharp ridge and the steep mountain in front of us. But it had taken us almost two hours. The natives had not considered that we were not used to tracking in deep snow at the high altitude and with a heavy load.

When a few snowflakes started sailing down, we realized we had to hurry not to miss the place where we had to drop down into the valley below. It was more feeling than seeing where the ridge turned upward again because suddenly a wipe-out engulfed us. We took the sealskins off because, from now on, it was supposed to go downhill. Pointing my skis downhill in snowplow fashion, I started out, hoping I could control the speed. After a few hundred yards I stopped to wait for Susanne. She had disappeared in the whiteness of the falling snow. Then I heard her call, "I fell and can't get up. Come and help me!" Knowing it was difficult to get up with a heavy knapsack, I zigzagged uphill and pulled with all my strength to get my sister up from the deep snow.

"I am not skiing downhill," she said catching her breath. "I 'll walk."

"You can't do that," I snapped back, "because you will sink up to your waist in the snow. You have to keep the skis on."

We decided that she should put the sealskins on again to slow her down. She walked and slid little by little downhill. I side-slipped not to get too far away from her. Stopping short of a deep ditch, I heard some water gurgling below. That was the creek Richard had talked about, I thought. Now we had only to follow it and be safe.

There had really been no time to think about being lost, but it was still a big relief to feel secure. The hill seemed more gentle now. We followed the meandering creek, but found no place to cross. All of a sudden there was a steep incline, then a sharp drop. I let myself fall in order not to tumble down another steep hill. The creek had disappeared. After I had pulled myself up with my last bit of strength, I realized I had skied over the rooftop of one of the shelters and that the creek ran right through one of the shelters. I warned my sister in time and she navigated another route.

Suddenly a triangular shadow loomed up on the right, and we hoped frantically that this would be Richard's cabin and that we would be inside in no time. In disbelief, however, we stared at a wall of snow which covered the entrance of the hut up to the very eaves. We were exhausted, but had no choice other than to dig a tunnel to the door. First, taking the skis off, we sat down on them and fished in the knapsack for a small bar of chocolate which we had saved for an emergency. Chocolate was a luxury item during the war, and this bar had been donated to us by a pilot. It even had coffee in it and we could feel some strength coming back. Munching on it, we went through our options.

Digging with our hands was not very appealing. If we used our wooden skis, we might break them. Then we remembered the spare aluminum ski tip which everybody on a ski tour in the mountains had to bring along in case a ski tip broke. This was our shovel and we took turns digging down toward the door. When we reached the middle of the door, we realized that we had no choice but to dig all the way down in order to reach the last lock. It was frozen. We kept blowing on it, and finally we used our last matches. What a relief it was, when the key turned and we could pry the door open! Edging our way through the dark kitchen, we found a way to the bedroom. To take the boots off with our frozen fingers was not easy. Finally, we crawled, fully clothed, under the big feather bed. It was ice cold, too, but huddling together, we finally stopped shivering and warmed up.

Slowly it dawned on us how lucky we had been and that mountains demand a lot of respect.