Rob's Story - 2/26 Valhallas Incident

<This was e-mailed to me and I found it sobering and thoughtful.  I do not know the folks involved and can't provide any additional details>

Friends and ski buddies,

I’m sending this email to you because I have backcountry skied with in
the past few years and/or you hang in the same crowd of friends and
spend time in the hills on skis or boards.

On Thursday Feb 26th, I was completely buried in an avalanche.   I was
cat-skiing in the Valhalla Mountains in British Columbia in the
Kootenay Boundary area.   I was caught by a slide, buried in a tree
well, about 1.5 meters deep, and for approx 10+ minutes.  It was the
scariest moment of my life, and I never EVER want to experience such a
thing again.    It was a class 1, maybe class 2 avalanche, but
nonetheless it was plenty to scare the #### out of me.  The fracture
was about 100 feet wide, a 24” crown, and ran out about 200-300 feet.

I hope by sending this email to you, you will take a step back and
think about things a bit.  I urge you to sharpen up on your
backcountry awareness, safety, skills, and your thought process while
out skiing next time and for years to come.  I almost feel obligated
to send this email.....

It had been snowing steadily for a few days before our Thursday
morning “trip of a lifetime” cat-skiing day in the Valhallas.   The
guides made a decision to ski the trees and play it safe with the 50cm
of fresh snow that had accumulated.   It was the first run of the day.
I hadn’t made but 20 turns when I cut left and noticed a rush of
snow sliding down the mountain right on my ski tips.   It happened so
fast.

I tried to fight, but I was overcome by the strength of the slide.  It
just knocked me on my fanny and that was the end of it. Buried.   I
couldn’t get an arm out to punch through to the surface once I was
buried.    I started to hyperventilate.   At that point, everything I
had ever learned and read about surviving avalanches, went zipping
through my mind in 5 seconds like a flip book.   When the snow stopped
sliding, I was trying to cough the snow out of my mouth, but it was
somewhat jammed in there.  I tried to make an air-pocket without the
use of my hands.  My efforts were futile.   I was helpless under the
weight of the snow.   Never before has the F-bomb been such a
practical word of choice.

I distinctly remember what ‘felt like hours’ under the snow.  After a
few minutes of controlling my breathing, I tried a second time to
fight my way out.  I couldn’t even budge one millimeter.  That was
short lived, as I started to hyperventilate again.   I had to control
my breathing and put to use all my breathing tricks I learned in fire
academy wearing a SCBA like in a real fire survival situation.   At
this point, my only option was to control my breathing and be as calm
as possible, preserve what little air I had left, and pray that my
skiing counterparts had there A-game on that day and could locate and
dig me out.

I felt myself going hypoxic those final few minutes before the shovel
smacked my helmet and I got that first breathe of air.  OMG.   I
wanted to cry with emotion, but I was overcome by gasping breaths, as
I tried to cough up endless amounts of thick blood stained mucus.   I
was coughing up red crap nonstop.   That bloody mucus just kept coming
up for what seemed like an eternity (and continued for another 36
hours post accident).

I am indebted to the others in my group and my two friends who were
also part of my rescue.  Thanks Brian and Eric.  You guys saved my
life.  (Brian was also caught in the slide and was buried standing up
to his waist, and Eric dug his legs out, and then they both raced back
up hill post-holing in the snow to help out with my rescue.  Eric’s
ski tails were hit by the end of the slide, as he narrowly escaped the
mess.)

Looking back after this whole incident and reflecting with Brian and
Eric, we talked for hours about the incident, from before the day even
started all the way through the events.  We found ourselves talking
about things over and over, asking ourselves questions, back seat
driving, and most importantly trying to learn from the incident so
this would never happen again.  AND, so this would never happen to
other people…. Thus the reason I am writing this email to you guys.
Brian and Eric both commented to me afterwards that knowing that there
friend was buried was the ‘worst feeling they’ve ever experienced.’
These thoughts expressed in this email are a culmination of
discussions amongst myself, Brian, and Eric.

I hope that by telling this story to you, that I’ve made you take a
step back and at least think a little bit and reflect upon your
backcountry skiing experiences and review your backcountry decision
making processes, skills, and safety protocols.    I see it all too
often in people out skiing.   Just because you have the shovel,
beacon, and probe gives people a false sense of security while out
skiing.    We are all guilty of it to some degree.

Please take some time and think about some points.   I’m by no means
the authority on avalanches. Hell no.  But here’s just a tiny sampling
of things to think about, and I hope this gets you thinking and your
mind engaged:

-Have you taken an avalanche course recently?

-When was the last time you practiced with your beacon?

-Can you find someone in 3 minutes or so?   Why not in 2 minutes?  Or
how about 1 minute?

-Do you have one of those crappy lexan shovels or a solid metal shovel
that can move a large amount of snow FAST?  What’s more
important…saving 7 ounces on that ultra light shovel , or being able
to dig out your friend or loved one?...think about it….

-Did you do a beacon check before you started your day of skinning up
Sunburst?

-Do you perform a beacon check EVERY time you ski a run?

-Do you encourage open communications within your group while skinning
up and skiing down?   Don’t poo-poo your friend if they have a
concern.

-Do you practice spacing yourselves on up-tracks across exposed slopes?

-Do you ski one at a time and spot each other for the entirety of each run?

-Can you ‘read’ terrain and pick out terrain traps?

-Can you pick out clues of snow instability?

-What are your batteries like on your beacon?  Did you know that in
‘search’ mode, your batteries burn up 10-20 times quicker?  So the
next time your beacon reads 70% batteries, do you think you’ll have
enough ‘juice’ in them to locate someone?

-When was the last time you played beacon games?   Why not host a
beacon party some night with your friends?   Practice single burials,
doubles, triples.   Probing lines, etc…

-Do you read the avy forecast often on  avalanche.org?    How about
checking the avy forecast for 5 minutes each day and follow the trends
from before the snow even flies in September all the way throughout
the whole winter…?  Reading the forecast every day and learning from
the experts keeps you up to date on the stability.

-If you were caught in a slide (and were lucky enough to even attempt
to ski it out), did you locate ‘outs’ at the top of that run or safe
zones for leap-frogging down the slope with your skiing group?

-Do you ski with a first aid kit with a CPR barrier mask to revive
your buddy if they were dug out but weren’t breathing?  What about
wraps to bandage up a banged –up skier?  Sam splint?  Cell phone
(hell! … if it even works…).    Did you call and at least tell someone
where you were going skiing?

-Don't assume that others in your group know more than you do
regarding bc safety.... and we were skiing with a guided company.

In the end, we don’t want to stop backcountry skiing.  No way.   It’s
like the movie Top Gun or Days of Thunder….. ya gotta get back out and
do what you love to do…BUT with a heightened awareness.   Avalanches
are a part of the calculated risk we take in the backcountry.  But,
with sound decision making and the ability to ‘say no’ at times, we
can minimize the risk of being caught in a slide.  And, if you are
caught by chance, you then have the skills to locate your friend.
What if that person buried was your wife, husband, or best buddy?  You
owe it to yourself and your skiing partners to have the skills and
knowledge, and ability to put your ego aside EVERY time you strap on
your skis.    Just make sure the grey-matter stays larger than the
ego.

I was a complete burial.    Go open an avy book and look at the
statistics of survival rates of complete burials.   It’s pretty low.
I got lucky.

I’m not asking for sympathy.   I don’t want you to feel bad for me.  I
don’t want to come across as bragging or gloating.  I don’t want to be
like “ooohh, look at me!”   Hell no.   I just don’t want one my
friends to go through what I did.    I survived.  Not everyone is as
fortunate as I was when buried in an avalanche.

PLEASE be careful out there.     You’re all my friends.     Feel free
to forward this email if you think someone else might benefit from
reading this.

Rob

Wow, a powerful and well-written e-mail. All great information. Super glad it came out well for him. Thanks for posting.

Thanks for the email...very sobering to say the least. It doesn't take a "big" slide to snuff one out and I believe statistics point this out.

thank you for sharing. Im glad you and your friends are able to tell your tale.

Thanks JCK,

Yet another sobering reminder of how quickly a day a skiing can turn ugly.  These first hand accounts hit home so hard because I do envision myself running over a fresh avy path with my Tracker (hopefully locked on to a signal) looking for my ski partner/roommate and it brings up a lump in my throat- or worse - waiting for him to find my buried ass.   With every survival story I am reminded that there is always time to do another practice search, a full beacon check, digging pits is fun and we should all insist on competent BC partners with the proper avy gear and training (BTW: a shovel tied to you with a rope isn't proper gear).  Thanks for the post - the lessons learned will not go unheeded.

Be safe and enjoy the new snow

climberdave