But then after the first week of March, the snowpack experienced a little bit of melt-freeze cycles. And before we knew it, our two weeks of CONSIDERABLE avalanche rating was bumped down to MODERATE. It was time to step out and see what the snowpack had in store for us.

Our friends Andy and Larry were visiting from Steamboat and we talked over a few options for some skiing. Everyone agreed that Gothic Mountain would likely be a fun yet relatively safe ski for our current transitional snow conditions. Our goal was to aim for the south-facing Spoon or the west side gullys – both aspects having no mention of “avalanche problems” in recent forecasts. We also were hoping for a little more solar snow with the transitioning snowpack.

The bootpack up Gothic is always one of our favorites! Me.

The boys.

As we rounded the ridge we got a better look at Gothic’s west side. We decided it looked to be in better shape for skiing than the Spoon. But, one of the gullies had a heavily wind-loaded ridge that dipped southeast. I pointed it out and stated that we should not ski that particular line, given the state of our snowpack for the season. Everyone agreed.

The boys went ahead on the final stretch of the ridge and by the time I reached the summit, somehow they had changed their mind. The exact gully that we had all agreed was dangerous to ski was suddenly now okay to ski…. at least in their minds.

That’s when things started to kind of fall apart – a poor example on our part of backcountry decision-making. Instead of sticking my ground right away, I began to succumb to the peer pressure. Alright, I’ll take another look at the line. But, when I did, I said straight up, “It gives me the heebie jeebies.” I kept saying that over and over again. But, somehow the boys had largely decided this is what they were going to ski.

Communication broke down. Larry was putting on his skis in one place, Frank in another, while Andy sat on the ridge. We weren’t together discussing the situation. Instead, we were trying to shout from our place on the mountain. It wasn’t good, and I had the vision in my head of those avalanche reports that get released where they describe one or two skiers decided to ski something that the group didn’t agree on, but it happened because communication was poor – and it ultimately resulted in tragedy.

I kept saying the line made me uncomfortable, that we’d find more mature snow further down the ridge. You could see that the snow in that particular gully had been less affected by solar radiation, and could therefore be less stable. What I didn’t explain was that the wind-loaded gully was the classic thing we should be avoiding right now given the history of remote triggers in similar terrain throughout the season. We were already venturing out on more risky terrain, why not ski the safest line possible given we had choices? But, somehow that never made it out of my mouth. Why? Because I was upset that my friends wanted to ski something we had previously all agreed on was unsafe. Instead, I just found myself feeling bad for being the one who was trying to change everyone’s mind.

Peer pressure is tough. Especially when it comes from two of my best ski partners. I almost gave in. Larry made a few turns at the start of the line. I even started putting on my skis. But, my gut… my gut… my gut wouldn’t let go. It was screaming at me. It was saying, don’t do this! And the few times I haven’t listened to my gut have not resulted in positive results.

And then Andy simply said, “Well, Brittany, if you really don’t like this line, let’s just go ski the other one.” And then we did.

We walked the ridge south to a safer west-facing line that wasn’t wind-loaded. There the snow was more consistent and in better condition. And we had some good turns down the west face. Frank dropping in.

Frank further down.

Andy.

Me.

Larry.

Notice the wind-loaded ridge behind Larry, the feature I wanted to avoid in the previous gully.

The bottom of the line had some nice skiing in the trees. Andy.

Larry.

When we regrouped at the bottom, Frank said to me, “In looking back up at the west face, we all agreed… It’s better that we skied what we skied. So, thanks for standing your ground.”

I didn’t say anything. Not outwardly anyway. But, inside, I was loosing it. Honestly, I didn’t exactly have the best ski down because I was distracted…. Distracted because I felt betrayed by some of my best ski partners…. That I had clearly said I didn’t want to ski a particular line, but somehow their minds were changed. I was upset that I had to be the one to stand my ground and I felt that never should have happened in the first place.

To be honest, even though we all ended up safe and skiing the right thing, I’m still processing this event. Is it possible that we could have skied the wind-loaded gully and been fine? Yes. It is. But, I’ve learned that when your gut screams at you to not do something, you’d better listen, despite what logic your mind might be turning over to justify your choice. And given the fickle snowpack we’ve had this year, taking a little extra caution is the right thing to do.

What would I do differently next time? Better communication. I would be that annoying one who makes everyone regroup and talk and make the decision together. I feel if I had done that, then my concerns would have been better heard from the start. I hope this story makes you think a little more about how to communicate with your partners about your backcountry decision-making.

Am I glad we ended up skiing the line that we did? You bet I am.

The post Gothic West Side (or a look at backcountry decision-making) – 11 Mar 2018 appeared first on 14erskiers.com.

In Will’s case, and with several other similar instances, the first people on the scene were other athletes. If you came upon this type of situation, would YOU know what to do?

After years of both skiing and mountain biking in the backcountry, Frank and I can without a doubt say that we have encountered far more accident scenes on our mountain bikes than on skis. You would think that with the added risk of avalanches, that events like this would be more common with backcountry skiing. But, in our case, we have come upon or been involved with many more severe injuries on our bikes than on skis.

Even just last fall I was riding in Fruita with my friend Natalie and came upon a woman with her 12 year old son. She had fallen and taken an impact of the end of a handlebar into her abdomen. It took us an hour and a half to get her roughly a mile back to the parking lot. And we were lucky here, as we weren’t really actually in the backcountry.

For some reason, many people feel that mountain biking is a relatively safe activity, especially compared to backcountry skiing. And perhaps it is. But, accidents on mountain bikes happen. A lot. And the injuries can be a lot more serious than people realize sometimes. When you are miles deep in the backcountry in a place where cell phones won’t work, will you know what to do to help a fallen friend and riders?

That’s where Backcountry Lifeline comes in – first aid for mountain bikers, by mountain bikers.

These last couple of months, I caught up with Bonnie McDonald and Flynn George, two of the founders of Backcountry Lifeline to get their story. Here’s what they shared.

1) Backcountry Life Line was inspired by the passing of Will Olson in 2015. Describe how you developed the concept for BCLL from that tragedy as well as others.

Will’s death was hugely impactful to all of us, in different ways. Flynn and Heidi were at the race: Flynn was one of the riders who tried to help with resuscitation efforts, while Heidi ended up with a race radio in hand. On the other side of the country, at my mother’s house, I was waiting for Will to call me after the race, as he said he would when we spoke that morning.

You’d be an ass (and publicly shamed), if you went out backcountry skiing without a beacon, shovel, probe, skins that work, etc. It puts everyone in danger. The same should be true with mountain biking. If you’re going out on the trails with your friends, you have an obligation – to both them and yourself – to be prepared: to have the right equipment, in good working order; to know trail etiquette and be a good steward; and to know what to do in the event you, your friend, or another rider has a crash. We are all we’ve got out there. Anything less is irresponsible.

How it started….
Heidi and Flynn, along with another rider, EMT Matt Hightower, started talking about starting some sort effort following the incident. The were going to call it “The Will Power Initiative,” and began drafting some plans for it.

In the weeks following the accident, Will’s dad, Gary, and I, had started having a similar conversation. There was some money left over from a “Go Fund Me” campaign that one of the riders had graciously started to help us with expenses, and we wanted to put it good use – in a way that would support the sport that Will loved so much.

Heidi soon reached out to me via Pinkbike, where I had created an account (“WillsGirl”) to thank the countless people who had shared their kind words and support. We all met for the first time at the final Big Mountain Enduro race of the season, where Will was honored. (Despite the tragedy, and missing the last race, he still would have podiumed, it was announced – the other racers in his class drank a shot on the podium for him.)

As Heidi, Flynn and I continued to talk, we learned that Will was only one of a number of deaths/serious injuries that occurred that summer. It felt like it was the right time – and there was a real need – to bring conversation and awareness about safety, accidents, and emergency preparedness to the forefront of the mountain bike community. It seemed like as a community/industry, we were behind other sports in this regard (for example, backcountry skiing), where the appropriate training and tools are barriers of entry – the minimum requirements – needed, in order to play.

This is how and why Backcountry Lifeline was born. We launched our website in Feb 2015, and held our first training two months later.

2) Tell us more about your course offerings.

We offer two basic courses: our single-day First Aid for Mountain BikersTM course, and our three-day Wilderness First Aid for Mountain BikersTM camp. Other times, we might provide free basic CPR training at events, and/or provide consultation on medical coverage or incident action plans.

While our schedule continues to evolve, here are some of the courses and events we will be hosting/attending:

• Wilderness First Aid camp w/Big Mountain Enduro, Curt Gowdy State Park WY, April 21-23
• Wilderness First Aid camp w/ Trailhead Athletics, Bellingham WA, May 5-7
• First Aid for Mountain Bikers w/the Sacred Cycle, Carbondale CO, May 20
• Big Mountain Enduro race, Santa Fe NM, May 27
• First Aid for Mountain Bikers w/NICA, Georgia, June 3-4
• Wilderness First Aid camp, Salem OR, June 9-11
• First Aid for Mountain Bikers w/Yeti Cycles, June 20
• First Aid for Mountain Bikers w/Vail Rec District, June 21
• Big Mountain Enduro race, Keystone, June 24
• First Aid for Mountain Bikers w/Crested Butte Devo Team, Crested Butte CO, July 1-2
• Big Mountain Enduro race, Winter Park, July 8
• Yeti Tribe Gathering, Crested Butte CO, July 21-23
• Big Mountain Enduro/EWS race, Aspen Snowmass, July 29-30
• Breck Epic, Breckenridge CO, Aug 14-18
• Big Mountain Enduro, Crested Butte CO, Aug 19-20
• TBD: Date to train Yeti staff

3) Do you typically do courses only at events? If a group wanted to hire you privately, could they? Are all your offerings in Colorado?

So far for 2017, we have had/will have trainings in Wyoming, Georgia, Washington, and Oregon, in addition to Colorado.

4) Are there other organizations that you know of similar to yours offering courses like yours in other parts of the country? If someone is interested in creating a branch of your organization in a different area, could they contact you?

There are certainly groups hosting CPR, First Aid and Wilderness First Aid trainings throughout the world. What sets ours apart is that it is taught for mountain bikers, by mountain bikers. We keep the information super relevant to mountain biking and the types of accidents/injuries we’re likely to see, teach people what to carry, and train folks how to use what they already have on them.

We’ve received a lot of interest from folks looking to join our team, or bring our program to other parts of the country. We love this! We are currently working on a training program for BCLL instructors, and hope to have that launched for 2018. If anyone is interested, please reach out–we’re collecting names!

5) How many people have taken each of your different course offerings?

At the time of this interview, BCLL has trained about 300 riders–50 of these attended our Wilderness First Aid for Mountain Bikers camp, while about 250 took our one-day course focusing on basic First Aid and CPR for Mountain Bikers. Additionally, we have taught many others CPR only at events. At these events, we bring our mannequins with us, and invite people to stop by to learn the basics for free.

6) What roles do each of you play in the life of BCLL? How many people work/volunteer for your organization?

7) What fundraising events, if any, do you have coming up?

We’ll be doing TWO Giveaways this year! We did one last year, and it was a huge success. Prizing will include products from Maxxis, Specialized, Smith, Shimano, Yeti, Osprey and Muc-Off. Folks definitely won’t want to miss it – there are TWO bikes for the taking this year!

8) How has Backcountry Lifeline been received by the industry and mountain bike community?”

In all honesty, the response has been sensational.

As a team, we’re incredibly grateful. In founding BCLL, our goal was–and continues to be–to make a positive difference in the mountain bike community. I believe that we have already been successful in planting the seed that we wanted to… Just bringing the conversation – a mindfulness towards emergency preparedness – to the forefront of mountain biking. It may take some time for it to really become fully ingrained and completely adopted, but it’s a super strong start, and we’ve made some incredible headway. I don’t know that we could have asked for anything more.

9) Anything else I am missing? Is there something else you have coming up that’s interesting/new/cool?

We are also working on a training program for INSTRUCTORS, so that more people can teach our program around the country. We hope to officially launch this program next year.

There you have it. Now its time for mountain bikers to get the training they need to help the fellow riders. It’s a responsibility to keep this community thriving and happy and enjoying a sport we love. So, sign up for a Backcountry Lifeline course, or other Wilderness First Aid training. And even if you’ve had this training in the past, it’s always good to take another course to refresh your memory and keep your knowledge current.

The post Backcountry Lifeline – Wilderness First Aid for Mountain Bikers appeared first on 14erskiers.com.

So that’s our goal behind Mountain lessons. We want other people to learn about our experiences in the mountains, how they’ve taught us lessons of humility, and how they’ve taught us to be humble. Looking back on your choices can be a great learning experience.

The air was crisp for July as we stepped out of Dave’s truck at the Fourth of July Trailhead. Though the sky brightened above, the valley was still in the midst of the shadows from the mountains that surrounded us. Dave and I were planning on a fun day of skiing in the Indian Peaks just north of Boulder, CO.

“Do you think we’ll need crampons?”, I asked.

“Nah, I was up here recently and I didn’t need them then,” Dave replied.

It was 2006 and I was on the newer side of backcountry skiing, so I took what Dave said and never questioned it. Besides, my crampons at the time were heavy as hell. So, I was game for any excuse to NOT carry them.

After putting our hiking boots on and loading our backpacks up with our skis and ski boots, we headed out toward Jasper Peak. Our plan was to ski this:

Followed by this:

We stopped for a quick bite, and of course Millie thought the food was for her too.

We had great views of nearby South Arapahoe.

And we even caught a glimpse of Long’s Peak from afar. Can you name the “gnar” in front of it?

Most of the climb, we hiked along a ridge. But, near the summit, things got a bit more interesting.

But, the views from the top were amazing, as they always are on Colorado’s high peaks.

Our first descent was pretty good for July! Dave.

We then went up to our second objective, looker’s left of our first descent down Snow Lion. We began boot-packing right up the slope. And although the slope was not particularly steep, the summer snow was particularly slippery, with an inch of slush on top of solid ice beneath.

I found myself wishing I had my crampons and was happy I had at least brought my ice axe.

I looked down at Diamond Lake below. Then I looked ahead. Boy this snow is slippery, I thought to myself. I looked down at the snow that led almost all the way to the lake below. At least if I fall, I have a clean run-out.

One, two, three, maybe four steps later…. Woosh! One foot slipped, then the other. I tried to use my ice axe to self arrest but by the time I even had a chance to think about it I was flying down the snow on my back, with my backpack weighing me down. I could not flip over to use my ice axe to self-arrest.

I skidded and skidded, faster and faster. My axe ripped from my hand and was dangling from my wrist by its leash, bouncing up and down, and I was worried it would stab me – especially my face. I gave in to the slide and instead put my other hand across my face to try to protect it. I heard one ski go flying off my backpack, and then the other. My hat had already vanished.

And then the slope became more gradual and I began to slow, eventually coming to a stop. I took a deep breath, but every inch of my body was shaking.

I looked up at Dave who had just neared the top of the line to check if he had seen. He shouted from above, “You alright?”

“Yeah!”

Well, mostly. I looked at blood that had spilled on the snow. Where did that come from? I put my hands on my face – nothing. But then I noticed blood spilling out of my glove. Did my ice ax somehow stab my hand through my glove? I quickly removed my glove, but there was not a sign of injury on my hand. Then I looked at the back of my arm. There it was. Scraped and raw, like road rash. Except, I guess it was snow rash.

Meanwhile, Dave had transitioned for the ski and was going to pick up my lost gear as he descended.

He brought both poles and both skis, but my hat remained missing. Then it was time to assess the damage. One ski was broken and the other had a broken heel piece on the binding. The straps on my borrowed backpack (mine was being repaired) had been ripped to shreds when the skis went flying in the air. But, that was it. The worst injury was probably my pride.

As we hiked back down to the trailhead, it all began to set in – just how lucky I was. There could have been rocks. There could have been a cliff. But, there wasn’t. There was only snow, and a lake. If there were ever a place to fall and take a 600-700 foot slide for life, that was a good place. Still, I never wanted to do it again. I’d already learned that Mountain Lesson.

Dave and I debriefed. He asked why I hadn’t self-arrested. And even after having guides teach me how to self-arrest in Alaska and on Mount Rainier, I realized I still needed more practice. The instinct to self-arrest needed to be immediate – a reflex. By the time I had thought about it, it was too late. I also realized I needed to practice self-arresting with heavy ski gear on my back. I was amazed at how fast that weight had made me slide on my back and I needed to know how to counteract it.

But, even with all the ice axe talk, I realized that the slide probably never would have happened in the first place if I had worn crampons. Perhaps that was the most valuable part of the lesson. Now I don’t question bringing crampons. I bring them if there’s any chance that I’ll need them. I now own a light pair of them so their weight is not a factor when lugging them around in my pack. I also tend to wear crampons more than I once did, and I wear them more often than most backcountry skiers. I don’t gauge whether I put them on or not based on what others are doing. I do it when I feel like I might need them. And who can blame me for not wanting to repeat a slide for life?

This was one of my first Mountain Lessons. And, honestly, not the only one in summer snow. Summer snow can seem benign as there is virtually no risk of avalanches. But, other hazards can lurk in summer snow that do not exist in a spring or winter snowpack. Years later, we even lost our friend Lacy after he took a slide for life in July snow while skiing as well. He didn’t make it, yet I remained virtually unscathed except a few bumps and bruises and some broken equipment. Why? An answer we immortals will never know…

Once again, the mountains had taught me many things. But I was thankful too. Thankful that the mountains had taught me in a safer place and that the injuries and damages were not worse.

The post Mountain Lessons: Summer Skiing Slide for Life appeared first on 14erskiers.com.

These lessons, mainly the ones of humility, are the source of the inspiration for this series of posts that we are starting. We have lost too many friends to backcountry skiing. And we almost lost another friend just last month. While the events that surround fatalities are the ones we hear about the most, perhaps the ones that we should spend the most time talking about are the actual close calls. The close calls are when the mountains are trying to teach you it’s most valuable lessons. To have those go unnoticed and untalked about is a tragedy. Instead, we should be opening up our conversations about these things and analyzing them appropriately. Only then will we grow and learn from our experiences. And by talking about them, other people can learn too.

So that’s my goal behind our Mountain lessons. I will be putting myself in a pretty susceptible position for armchair quarterbacking. But that’s not my goal here. I want other people to learn about our experiences in the mountains, how they’ve taught us lessons of humility, and how they’ve taught us to be humble. Looking back on your choices can be a great learning experience.

My first Mountain Lesson takes place just this past June on Fletcher Mountain. I was headed out to ski its northeast-facing chutes along with my friends Natalie and Jess, and Jess’s friend Chad. I will do a Throwback Thursday post on this ski day eventually, but I wanted to focus on the unusual events that transpired that day.

We started out early in the morning, from where we could drive to on McCullough Gulch Road. Our plan was to use the trail to approach towards Fletcher Mountain and then climb the couloir of our choice directly. We didn’t see a single person on our approach, but as we started to ascend the mountain, we did hear voices. We were approaching the bottom of the couloir when we noticed some people hanging out part way down the chute. We weren’t sure what they were doing there, and it looked like they might have been set up to do some filming. So we kept climbing up the couloir directly. As we neared, it became more obvious that they weren’t just chilling. There had been an injury.

We decided to continue to approach them, and see if they needed help. There were two skiers, one injured and one not. They explained that they had approached from the other side and that their first skier to drop in to the line, Josh Barilar, had gotten caught up on some wet slough which had steered him into the rock wall that lined the side of the chute. He then fell into the moat, the deep gap that forms between snow and rock walls. His ski was broken and he had a severe laceration on his leg which squirted blood out every time they tried to move him. In fact I could see the splatter of blood on the rock wall. They knew they had to call Search and Rescue, but they did not have cell service at their current location. They also knew cell service was available at the summit (which I could confirm as Frank actually pulled off a real estate transaction there just last year while we waited the snow to soften). So their third friend, Aaron Rice (yes, he was working on his world-record 2,500,000′ vertical in 365 days goal), re-climbed to the top of the peak to make the phone call. But they had not heard anything from him for a while.

After conversing, we decided that the best course of action was to continue ascending toward peak to see if Aaron had indeed been able to get a call through, and find out the status of the rescue. But the dark rock walls were warming the snow in the chute at an alarming rate. So we were a little worried that we might send down some sluff on them as we ascended. We knew skiing down that line was not possible for that same reason and decided to descend the next couloir to the climber’s left. We continued to ascend, but with utmost care.

We indeed found Aaron at the summit, alone, looking cold. He had been able to get a phone call through, but was waiting for a phone call back. Aaron had none of his gear. He had left his backpack and extra clothes with the other two skiers to be able to ascend quicker. When he left the scene, he thought he would be returning in just a matter of minutes. But then he was told to wait for the phone call. So, there Aaron was without extra clothes, or water, or food. I offered up my soft shell layer. He refused, but I insisted. He was shivering and needed the extra clothes. Others offered food and water.

Afraid to miss the phone call, Aaron did not want to descend from the summit to call down to his friends. That’s where we came in. We were able to descend down the ridge to the couloir and shout down to them that a rescue was in progress and that a helicopter should be there soon. We were hoping that the helicopter would be there sooner rather than later, as clouds were quickly building. We knew that monsoonal thunderstorms wood take place that afternoon. A helicopter would not try landing in a thunderstorm and a rescue by foot during a thunderstorm would put the rescuers in a risky position.

After relaying the message, we skied down to another chute further down the ridge. Our plan was to descend that route and circle back below the injured skier to make sure a rescue was still actually happening. I can tell you that I personally was not going to leave the scene until Search and Rescue arrived.

As we dropped into our line, the helicopter hovered above us. I was hoping they would realize that the injured skiers where in the chute to our left. So we kept pointing that direction. They landed in a flat zone just beneath the apron of the couloirs. By the time they had landed, we had all regrouped near their Landing Zone. We were able to talk to the rescuer who emerged out of the helicopter. We asked if he needed help with the rescue, and true to SAR form, he said no. SAR typically does not like others to help, as it could put them at risk. The helicopter left to go retrieve more people for the scene. The plan was to lower the injured person down with ropes to the landing zone, where the helicopter would take him to the hospital.

Knowing that SAR was now on scene, we continued our descent, hearing the helicopter going back and forth. Clouds continued to build and I hoped that the weather had not deterred the rescue. After a couple of miles, we stumbled upon the SAR ground crew who were sitting, waiting for instructions. They were the backup should the helicopter not be able to retrieve the injured skier. After stopping to talk with them and give them an update, we were on our way again.

Rain was falling, thunder was booming, and lightning was flashing by the time we returned to our vehicles. I hoped that the helicopter had been able to get the injured skier out before the storm hit. As I drove into Breckenridge, the nausea set in. I don’t know why – maybe the overall stress of the day? Maybe just the reminder that shit can really hit the fan sometimes? Maybe it was just from dehydration – I had nearly forgotten to drink water all day long… But either way, I just could not stop vomiting. Over and over I puked and puked. Even when Aaron called hours later to give me back my jacket, I was still in my vomiting cycle. I met him at the Conoco, got a quick update that the helicopter rescue had been a success, and then tried to hurry him on his way again before I vomited one last time.

Days later I found out that Josh’s injuries were a lot more serious than originally thought. He had a non-displaced fracture on his right femur. He also had a large cartilage defect on the medial condoyle. Less serious were a broken finger and and deep bone bruise on his other knee, which was initially thought to be caused by a torn ACL. But thankfully, there were no torn ligaments. By the time I saw Josh at the Breckenridge CAIC Benefit Bash in December, he was still on crutches (as I was too, being only a couple weeks post-op for my ACL) after undergoing 3 surgeries. The first was the initial ER, the second was for diagnosis, and the third was for an OATS procedure – an allograft osteochondral transplant. Josh has Doctor LaPrade at the Steadman Clinic to thank for this complex procedure.

While Josh’s injuries were generally not immediately life threatening, they were very serious – and more serious than originally thought. It had crossed my mind, after the day was done, that if he sustained such a bad laceration from an impact with a rock wall, he had also probably broken his leg. But I didn’t think of that on scene, and I kick myself for that. It’s a good reminder that injuries can sometimes be more serious than they seem, especially when the injured person is pumped up with adrenaline.

I still continue to process this day and its events. I feel guilty at times, thinking I should have done more. I should have helped more. I should have insisted we lower Josh to safety before we continued ascending the route. But many people have pointed out that we didn’t have the right equipment for such a rescue and there was nothing more to be done knowing SAR was on the way.

Video captured of Josh’s rescue by SAR.

Still, these events continue to sit poorly with me. I think about them a lot. Admittedly, I had run rescue situations like this in my head with friends in mind, but never with a stranger as the injured person. After coming across this scenario, I’ve realized that it’s important to know the extent you’re willing to help a stranger in the backcountry. Just what lengths are you willing to go? For me, I still think we should have done more to lower Josh to safety.

I am hoping that others take away something from this account – to never leave your gear, to never take injuries lightly, to have a plan for what to do when you stumble upon an injured skier in the backcountry. Perhaps some other good takeaways are to carry radios for better communication, or a PLB so a cell phone signals is not necessary – something Frank and I need to be better about doing ourselves…

Josh Barilar has recounted his story of his injury on Fletcher Mountain in this Freeskier article. His inspirational recovery continues to go well and we chatted on Instagram IM just this week. You can follow his road to recovery on Instagram at @barmski.

The post Mountain Lessons: Helping an Injured Skier on Fletcher Mountain appeared first on 14erskiers.com.