• It’s the snowpack. This has been an interesting year in the backcountry. Unlike last year, we’re actually getting some snow. But that snow has also come, throughout the year, in fits and spurts. Those dry spells mean plenty of weak layers. This year has been cold (or is it just normal?)- cold weather drives the faceting process. This year has been windy as well. Add it all up, and you’re left with a complicated snowpack. The Crested Butte Avalanche Center has done an amazing job putting out weekly summaries, under the observations tab. Here is the current one.
• The signs are everywhere. The second half of January resulted in nearly 2 weeks of Crested Butte Avalanche Center forecasts with a rating of at least considerable. Even if you weren’t paying attention to the forecasts, the signs were everywhere and in plain view from highway 135 as well as the ski area- new slides every day. Slides were occurring at different elevations. Slides were happening on different aspects. “Outsmarting” the snowpack by skiing a sunny southern aspect simply wasn’t an option. Routes that are generally considered “safe”, such as Red Lady Glades, were also seeing slides.

  

• The signs were unusual. The Crested Butte Ski Patrol had some big slides. They had remote releases. We had winds out of unusual directions, and for longer than usual time periods. The local catskiing operation had a post control slide. A guided level 2 course in Silverton suffered a fatal accident. Add it all up and you have “spooky conditions”, without a doubt.
• Persistent Slabs. Sure, some days the main avalanche problem may have been wind slabs, or storm slabs- but underlying it all is a persistent slab problem. Persistent slabs break bigger and more unexpectedly than other types of avalanche problems. Now that the danger has dropped to “moderate”, it doesn’t matter that much, since it’s still a “scary moderate” in our view.
• The sleds were down for the count. Brittany’s new (to her) snowmobile died in early January. In the Crested Butte area, snowmobiles are an essential tool for getting into the favored snowfall zones of Irwin and Paradise Divide. These areas, with deeper, stronger snowpacks, weren’t experiencing the quite the same touchy conditions as areas closer to town. Not having a snowmobile limited our choices for backcountry skiing.
• Who cares, the ski area is fun. The ski area has been skiing so well! The daily winds were buffing out the steeps, leaving smooth chalky conditions even on the days when it wasn’t snowing. We live in Crested Butte because the skiing here is entertaining, even after 25 years. Sure, we could have poked around and found some low angle powder conditions, but we’d rather ski fun steep slopes, personally.

Is it time yet? Probably- the snowpack is finally getting a little bit of a break, and the snowmobiles are back in action. Of course, with the OR show fast approaching and more storms on the way, we may very well find ourselves skiing the ski area again next week. And that’s ok- the mountains were talking to us, and that’s what we were hearing. We’re sure many people got out and had some amazing days in the past few weeks.

The post Thoughts on NOT Skiing in the Backcountry. appeared first on 14erskiers.com.

And that’s how we met Tony. We couch surfed at his house in Bozeman, MT. Frank and I were on a whirlwind trip, skiing parts of Montana and interior BC, hitting up all the main places like Bridger, Whitefish, Fernie, Kicking Horse, Revelstoke, Nelson, and Rossland. We “knew” Tony as Tone Capone from the TGR Forums – pre-Facebook era. Without ever meeting us in person, he graciously offered for us to stay at his house and show us all around Bridger the next day. We were lucky to have encountered that several times on this trip including the wonderful Ethan Johnson, who left us a few years back after a losing battle with brain cancer.

Tony Saracelli was the quiet confident sort. Despite his Italian heritage, he was not the boisterous kind. He was humble beyond words. And liked to share his world with others. A pizza delivery guy by night and ski bum by day, Tony was a fantastic ski partner and took precautions to keep everyone safe – more pre-cautions than I have seen the average backcountry skier take. He was far too well aware of how dangerous backcountry skiing could be. But he was incredibly generous and loved skiing more than life:

Yeah, you guys are always welcome to crash! I got a buddy staying with me for the month, but there is another room. Next week is looking promising with “snow showers” in the forecast! Been skiing the sidecountry a lot this week but inbounds and everything else could get really good really fast if a little snow pans out. Not married anymore, but that’s old news. Carlina’s a great woman and we had some quality times, but she needed more than a degenerate ski bum so we had to go our separate ways.

A year or so after our trip to Bridger, Tony gave me a ring. He left a message saying, “Hi. This is Tony Saracelli from Montana – I showed you around Bridger a while back” – as if I had forgotten who he was. But, how could I?

He went on to tell me that he had torn his ACL the previous season and was having a rough time coming back. At that point I had gone through two ACL surgeries myself, and he was looking for advice. I told him what my ski coach told me after my first surgery – She basically said that I would be back skiing that first season, but I wouldn’t really be skiing at the level I wanted. She said that the surgeons and the physical therapists would say I was all healed up, but that healing from an ACL surgery really takes a year or more. She was right. My first year back skiing, I struggled. But, my second year back, I was skiing stronger than ever. I explained all this to Tony and told him to stay the course. We touched base off and on about his knee over the years. Eventually, he came back strong as well.

Mid ski season of 2013 wasn’t shaping up well for Colorado. And after having a one of the worst snow years on record in 2012, we were antsy for adventure. Tony came up with the perfect trip for us. Cooke City. A backcountry skiers dream.

He said,

Would love to ski with you guys again and show ya around some more. Cooke City is also skiing awesome, deep and stable. If you didn’t want to ski Bridger the whole time, you could bring the sled and head out that way and be totally stoked. There is also some really cool stuff down there right from the road. World class ski mountaineering for sure and it’s pimp down there right now.

So, to Cooke City we went. And that remains one of the highlights of our lives. I don’t think a month during the ski season goes by without Frank and I mentioning Cooke City. And of course Tony. Tony made it happen for us. He took us deep into the mountains and we skied some great lines. One afternoon he even offered to ride the snowmobile (that 4 of us were sharing) back to town so the rest of us could ski back to town instead. We skied right to hour hotel parking lot – a story that we can now tell because Tony made it possible.

Whenever a skier/snowboarder avalanche accident is reported, my heart always drops. I get that sickening feeling in my stomach. Was its someone we know? There have been a lot of reports coming out lately, one just barely over a week ago from Aspen. We didn’t know him, but we knew friends who did – typical for a small community. But, this time, this accident, this avalanche, we knew him. Our friend Tony Saracelli perished while backcountry skiing solo out of bounds at Bridger on Saturday, April 14th. The report says his hand was sticking out of the snow where he stopped after the slide, and that the slide was large – about 100 feet wide, 1 to 3 feet deep, and 1500 feet long. I just wish someone had been there to save him.

When incidents like this happen, you can’t help but question the risks involved in the sport that we love. Those risks exist. But, we can’t live just to exist. That’s not living at all.

Amidst Tony’s accident we also grieve for our friend Tom Stillo who passed in his sleep. He was our family friend and wedding photographer. And all of this is occurring while I am in Ohio coping with some dangerous health issues my mom has encountered after having hip replacement surgery. Perhaps the purpose of all of these events is not so much to make us scared, but to remind us that we should celebrate life and continue to live passionately. Because, the unexpected does happen, and you don’t want any regrets when it does.

The last email Tony wrote to me said:

Let’s keep in touch cause I would love to either meet up with you guys somewhere or have you here or if I really get my act together visit you there in the promised land. I gotta get out and see what a real ski bum town is like before they all go the way of this aspiring west coast yupster dystopia. Miss you guys, always enjoy the blog and looking forward to skiing and hangin out whenever and wherever we can get around to it.

Tony never did come to visit us in Crested Butte. But, I have a feeling he’ll still be joining us on some
of our adventures, quietly smiling from afar. We miss you too, Tony. Be free!

The post Tony Saracelli – A Tribute appeared first on 14erskiers.com.

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.

I began reading this book after the first major snowstorm this fall, in an effort to “get my head in the game”, which is something I always try to do at this time of year. In this manner, I think I’ve read through the previous version covering 1980- 1986 on at least a couple of occasions. Reading The Snowy Torrents isn’t just morbid fascination with avalanches, it’s a series of reminders not to make the same mistakes that others have made.

I moved to Crested Butte in 1996, so interestingly this volume covers the beginning of my full time ski “career”, for lack of a better term. The seasons roll by, and I can remember the relatively good and stable years, along with the bad. What I also found interesting was remembering some of those early seasons, skiing bottomless facets on 205 GS skis, which is a different experience today on fatter skis…

Ultimately, however, I found this volume to be less educational than the previous one. Perhaps it’s just that I have so many more miles under my belt. But I think the main reason was that far too many of the accidents in this volume are so sadly similar. The typical scenario: a group of snowmobilers are highmarking in questionable conditions, one gets stuck, another goes to help, the avalanche occurs, and no one has any gear. It happens over and over. The good news, I think, is that snowmobilers as a rule are more prepared today than they were at the turn of the century.

Which isn’t to say that you shouldn’t buy this book. It’s just that the best examples for an experienced skier to learn from are harder to find. And the scenarios that make you think are well worth spending the time thinking about, and maybe even discussing with your partners (i.e. how you would have handled the same situation). Perhaps the next volume will include more “teachable moments”, and most importantly, delve deeper into the heuristic traps that I feel are largely to blame for avalanche accidents. You can find the book at the American Avalanche Association website. What do you think? Have you read any of the volumes of The Snowy Torrents?

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We are revisiting this post to remind backcountry enthusiasts that dangerous conditions can lurk in the backcountry, even early season. This year’s storms have dropped bits of snow that have stuck around on north-facing aspects that will likely create similar problems in the snowpack as we encountered in this report below. Be aware, be safe, and have fun in your backcountry travels this winter!

Snotel was reporting 19 inches, 17 of those new, on Schofield Pass. Knowing that local geography can cause wind-loading, we knew that some areas potentially could have 2 feet, maybe even 3 feet, of fresh. So, Frank and I headed out with our friend Adam to ski on Baldy, intending to ski Halloween Bowl. But, we also were leery. We knew that this new snow could potentially be a heavy load on top of old October facets. So, we had a back-up plan in mind.

Skinning up Gothic Road toward Schofield Pass.

From the top of Schofield Pass, we entered into the forest, where early-season skinning is always a full body work-out.

Even in the forest, occasional signs of instability were there. Whoompfs and shooting cracks left room for little debate. Halloween Bowl was out of the plan. Note the cracks in this photo.

We arrived to our back up plan and found a natural slide had already happened, most likely earlier that morning.

Cracks from the natural slide made us leery also. Our back up plan was no longer a feasible option.

What do you do when your back-up plan no longer is an option? You turn around, or you come up with a plan C. Descending our heinous ascent route through the forest really wasn’t realistic. So came up with a plan C. We chose one of the most conservative ski lines we could find. Frank.

To be honest, we spent more time picking our way through what we thought was manageable terrain. So, pictures were scant. But, we did find a few good turns here and there. This would have been a money shot had my camera actually decided to focus – Frank.

Me.

Adam.

As we skinned up through the forest that day I heard I distant sound. I couldn’t quite place it, and wondered if the faint “thunder” was an avalanche further away. My suspicions were confirmed after we returned home and reports came in. A remote skier triggered avalanche had happened on the other side of Baldy around the time that I had heard that noise….

New snow was sliding over old October facets. Though only a few inches deep, those facets are wreaking havoc on northern aspects. Alas, Mother Nature has sent us another reminder – always listen and look for signs of reactivity while traveling in the backcountry. It’s Nature’s warning. She’s trying to save your life.

The post TBT: 1st Big Snow – Nature’s Vengeance (Nov 2012) 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.

It is my hope that these posts will at the very least offer something to the reader to learn from, since near misses are less talked about…

This incident took place in early December, 2010. As some of you may recall, 2010-11 was a good winter in Colorado, especially in the north. We were having a good start in Crested Butte, too, and we had skied some fairly aggressive lines in November since the snow was stacking up fairly quickly. One thing that comes up often in accident analysis is that small things can add up to the big thing. That certainly came into play here. On one of our tours, skier 3 (I’m just calling them skier 2 and 3 in case they don’t really want to be mentioned) blew up his snowmobile.

For those of you that aren’t familiar with the Crested Butte backcountry, we’re a bit of an anomaly in Colorado. While the area close to town and the ski area receive snowfall that’s average for the state, the backcountry receives twice as much, usually in the 5-600″ range. Combined with less wind than areas closer to the divide, our deep backcountry can act more like an intermountain zone than continental. But you need a snowmobile to access it easily.

So when we were making plans to ski, we were limited by 3’s dead snowmobile. Instead of skiing an area that had already received 130+”, we’d ski an area with closer to 60″. 2 said the plan was to ski Mount Emmons (near the town of Crested Butte), probably on the shield. I remember saying “no way”, but the conversation turned to just taking a look and maybe skiing Redwell bowl or Red Lady bowl, either of which I’d be more likely to feel comfortable with. I didn’t like the “let’s just take a look” method of route planning then, and I like it even less now. There are routes that you should be able to eliminate from your home as being unsafe for the conditions. But when you’re out there, standing on top of those routes, you can begin justifying them if they look good. that was the case here, since we ended up on the shield.

We got to the top of Emmons and Redwell looked bad, with rocks jutting up here and there. Red Lady looked ok, and it already had 20 or so tracks already in it. But the Shield looked nice. And that’s when all those mental games started. If we just slide across that little bench (which really wasn’t much of a bench at all), and then get in that little tube, it will be fine. Sure, there was a recent remote trigger just a mile away, but that was a few days ago, and that was east facing and we’re skiing more north. Before I knew it, we were heading towards the shield. We’ve all made excuses and justifications to ski something, but you have to guard against it. Unfortunately, human nature is to do otherwise.

Between the 3 of us, we had over 50 years of local backcountry experience. None of us had been in a big scary slide in the local backcountry, despite skiing more than our fair share of days. I often look back and imagine one of my less experienced partners being with us that day. If that partner had said “the Shield looks good, because of A, B, and C”, I doubt we would have skied the Shield. I trust 2 and 3’s opinions in a way that I wouldn’t trust just about anyone else’s. (For those of you keeping track of all the heuristic traps we fell for, this one would be the expert halo, and the one that hit us the hardest.)

I still wasn’t feeling great about our terrain choice when I dropped first, but like I said, my partner’s confidence had overwhelmed my own reservations. The skiing was OK- some rippled powder and the occasional wind hardened section. But I also felt some very punchy and hollow snow. It was bad and I knew it. Halfway down I turned on the jets and barely made turns to the bottom.

There is one piece of gear that can prevent a slide (if you don’t call your brain a piece of gear). Obviously, it isn’t a beacon or an airbag. It’s a radio. We didn’t have radios on this day, but if we had, I would have told 2 and 3 NOT to ski that slope. I knew I just got away with one, and I was holding my breath as my partners skied down. Even today, I don’t ski with radios nearly enough. Most of my partners don’t have them, or the battery ends up being dead, or they don’t want the weight, or something. But I think radios are well worth using…

2 made it down just fine. I was in the middle of saying to 2, “Did you feel the snow…” when the avalanche started on 3. He was gone in a half second and I never caught a glimpse of him as the slide roared down. I was already zoomed in and looking through the viewfinder, so I just kept shooting photos as I tried in vain to spot him.

2 and I were in a safe zone (at least we were skiing one at a time and stopped in a safe place!), on the other side of a roll from the runout so we couldn’t see much. We had one thing going for us- the apron was big and wide with no terrain traps. So as I crested the roll, I saw one of the greatest things I’ve ever seen:

3 is on the left, having just stood up and shaken the snow off himself. One ski was gone, though he found it the following summer, along with his hat, glasses, and one pole. We adjusted our gear so 3 would have skis and poles, since he was beat up. 2 and I took turns with one ski and 2 poles for a couple thousand feet to the valley floor. We were still using Fritschi Freerides back then, which was a big plus- I’m not sure we would have been able to adjust tech bindings enough to fit the different boot sizes.

In hindsight, we made a bunch of mistakes- that’s pretty clear. But we weren’t blind to it- in fact we kept the conversations going even if we came to the wrong conclusion. 2 and 3 are convinced that if we had just traversed into the tube, which was our intended route, we would have been OK. And that’s probably true- 90% of the tube stayed intact. For me, that’s probably too fine of a line to mess with. I didn’t want to do that because it would have meant a slow traverse in a potential start zone. I wanted to ski diagonally towards the tube as quickly as I could, but instead, the terrain pulled all of us farther left than we ever intended.

Anyway, stay safe, watch those heuristic traps, and live to ski another day. Don’t forget to practice- I played with my probe the other day and realized it was in need of an upgrade. If I’ve convinced you to buy a set of radios, like BCA’s, check them out:

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