Gushing over a High-Water Mark : Group of Blind Youths Conquer Their Fears With Effusive Show of Daring and Triumph During Skiing Expedition at Castaic Lake

The ski boat bobs alongside the dock, its huge, growling engine throttled but eager to blast the craft across the lake. Carlos Flores, 16, blind since birth and at this moment extremely nervous, climbs tentatively into the boat and picks up the skis that will in moments be secured to his feet as he is towed across the calm water.

He is asked what he is thinking.

“I am thinking,” Flores said with much seriousness, “that I hope this guy doesn’t drive the boat into a rock.”

Moments later, after an initial fall that left Flores with a noseful of Castaic Lake, he is up, knees flexed, arms relaxed at the end of a 40-foot rope, the spray erupting from under his skis and his unseeing eyes wide with the throbbing excitement of water-skiing.

As Flores approaches the floating dock in the middle of a quiet cove on the sprawling lake, his friends from the Braille Institute in Los Angeles, 13 other blind teen-agers, get word from an instructor: Carlos is skiing. And a warm and loud cheer erupts just as Flores roars by.

The nervous, tentative, entirely unsure kid of just moments ago releases his left hand from the ski rope. And, with a smile that was created from way down inside, he waves to his friends, a proud, confident grin etched on his face as he and the boat go by in a blur.

Success.

Gary Jimenez, the assistant youth coordinator for the Braille Institute’s summer camp, knows how much of a success.

“I remember picking Carlos up at his home in South-Central for the first time three years ago,” said Jimenez, who later in the day would star in one of the hilarious moments of the outing at Castaic Lake, north of Valencia.

“Carlos was so shy. He wouldn’t talk. His English wasn’t very good and he was very withdrawn. Look at him now, waving to us as he water-skis past the dock. A hot dog. Carlos is what this program is all about. It’s about conquering fear.”

A while later, Jimenez inadvertently helped to provide solid proof that the rookie water-skiers had lost only their vision, not their senses of humor. As Jimenez walked along the four-piece dock, he suddenly tripped and fell heavily, moaning softly as he massaged a bright red toe.

Flores, standing nearby, heard the thud and then heard Gary’s pained voice.

“Geez, and they call us blind,” he said loudly, and the laughter echoed off the steep cliffs surrounding the lake.

The institute has brought the blind and partially sighted on other adventures. They have climbed rock walls in the Angeles National Forest. They have skied in the San Bernardino Mountains. They have spent days swimming.

And more.

“Last week we went surfing at Malibu,” Flores said. “That was wild.”

Perhaps. But also crucial, according to the institute’s youth coordinator, Anita Wright.

“This is our last week of summer day camp,” she said while helping the youngsters into and out of the ski boats. “What a summer like this does for these people is beyond belief. It promotes great independence and growth. By the age of 19, we want these people to be independent, to be willing to challenge themselves in higher education and to live alone and to work and to accept the world for what it is.

“One day like this goes a long way toward that.”

The one-day water-ski program was sponsored by the Optimist Club of Van Nuys. Chairman John Romano said it was a regular event in years past but that it had been terminated the past four years when water levels at Castaic dropped dangerously, exposing rocks. The heavy rains of February sent the levels soaring, and the program was reinstated, with an assist (and a fast boat) courtesy of Mark and Wendy Scruton of Canyon Country, owners of the Dock Start Ski School.

The day began with the arrival of the blind youths at the lake and a hair-raising ride aboard three boats to the cove set aside for the group. As the youths and instructors stood on the floating dock, Wright addressed the students:

“Remember I told you yesterday you’d be out in the middle of nowhere?” she asked. “Well, we’re here.”

One of the first up was Darrin Gresham, 16, of Los Angeles, who had the same pre-ski jitters as Flores would later have.

“I think I’m going to die,” Gresham said. “What are my expectations? Well, I expect to fall.”

And he did. Once. But like Flores, he quickly got his balance on his second run and disappeared along with the boat behind a faraway point, re-emerging several minutes later, still skiing and still locked in a, well, unique ski position.

“Look at how he’s sticking his butt out so far,” instructor Jimenez barked as Gresham reappeared. The group roared with laughter again, unable to see the rather amusing sight but certainly getting the picture.

When Gresham returned to the dock, he was beaming.

“That was great,” he said. “Just great.”

And then he turned to his friends. And to Jimenez.

“And by the way,” he said, “I heard that remark about my butt. I’m not deaf.”

And again, booming laughter rolled across the lake.

Michael Larson, 13, of Los Angeles was more apprehensive about this adventure than either Flores or Gresham. With vision that brings him only vague shadows, glimmers of light and darkness and not much else, Larson stayed on the dock into the late morning hours.

Earlier, a flock of perhaps 500 sheep moved across the brown hills in the background along the lake’s shore, and Larson had wanted some information.

“Sheep? Really?” he asked. “That must be nice.”

Then he paused.

“What does a sheep look like?” he asked, and when a colorful description of the woolly beasts fell upon his ears, he smiled. He had the picture.

But he also had the fear of being dragged along a lake by a speeding boat.

Eventually, he gave in and tried it. And he fell with a great, headfirst splash.

But he, too, got up and within 15 minutes was cruising along nicely beside the fastest of the ski boats. Michael Larson the blind kid was now Michael Larson the water-skiier, and again, with a narration provided by Wright and Jimenez, the other students cheered madly. Larson’s success was their success too.

For hours they skied. And laughed. And skied and laughed some more. And toward the end of the day, as Flores and Gresham stood and talked of their adventures, Wright, standing nearby, had this to say:

“We’ve had a great summer. Next, though, I want these people to try bungee-cord jumping. And then sky-diving.”

Flores and Gresham stopped their conversation in mid-syllable. Their mouths opened. They turned toward their leader, two young men in a mild state of shock. Bungee-cord jumping? Sky-diving?

“Ah, just kidding,” said Wright, laughing. “Our insurance hasn’t progressed to that point yet.”

And a wave of relief swept over a pair of young, again-smiling faces.

“Geez,” Gresham said. “Bungee cords and parachutes. Uh-uh, I don’t think so.

“We’re blind. We’re not crazy.”