
Originally Posted by
WestCoast
I've set off several, been caught three times; skied out twice, totally buried once. I thought I was dead for sure.
Until you are buried alive there is no way to communicate the total fear that encompasses your entire being. Choking on snow, totally disoriented, unable to move an inch- completely and utterly fucked. The ONLY WAY you will survive is to be rescued by someone competent enough to get to you before you asphyxiate or die from secondary trauma. The time spent buried burns into your consciousness and will haunt you for many seasons. For weeks after, while falling asleep- at that point where you 'fall' asleep, I would wake up gasping for air and in a panic.
I was only buried for approx. 10 min but that is a long time, just long enough to get really air hungry. The thoughts that flow through your mind during that time really suck. I would flux from being totally scared, to anger at myself for getting into such a fucked state, to hope that someone would get to me. That was the only thing that kept me from going completely ape shit. Hope.
I learned a lot that day. It was about five years ago now. It was a typical pow day at my home resort. It was also a weekend- I never ski weekends, unless its going off or whatever. I spent the morning skiing inbounds and come afternoon, 'safe' slack country. I have skied this area for years and often I was by myself. This day, I was out crusin alone, taking laps in my favorite zones. It was my third or fourth solo lap when I ran into a friend of mine with a group of her friends. We decided to take a lap together. It was sick. We all hiked out and the group was headed in. I was going for one more before the lifts closed. My friend was on the fence, needing to meet up with her ride before the ski area closed. I was like, 'don't worry about me, I ski this all the time by myself'. She decided to come for one more lap.
My friend is a total ripping babe, so I was not waiting for her. If anything I was charging harder so she wouldn't pass me up. I came to the zone, a little ridge that had a nose drop of about 15'. I rolled up on it and being early season, saw the landing was rocks and ice. Without slowing down, I turned left off the ridge with the intent of side-hiling right to gain the ridge beyond the icy zone. I was skiing right into a huge gully trap, I knew it-but it was a split second decision. As I skied off the ridge onto the side, I felt it go. At this point it was just a soft slab sluff a couple feet deep. I was still trying for the ridge lower down when WHAM! Lights out. The gully had cut above me about 400', approx 18" deep, stepping down to 2+ feet. I was fucked. I had no idea if my partner even followed my tracks in there since I was too cavalier to slow down and wait for her. Thank god she did. She skied down into the trap, set off the hang fire and got tossed around but was OK. I could hear the secondary slide go under the snow and thought, 'shit were both buried, we're both going to die'. Thank god that she had years of pro patrol and gnar skiing under her belt because she was able to get to me in time.
I will never forget the lessons learned that day. I still ski a lot of backcountry but I never ski alone anymore. I am also very choosy about my partners. I'm fortunate enough to know a lot of experienced backcountry skiers but some of them don't have the right attitude. You have to be sure that who ever you go with is comfortable putting their shit on the line to save your ass. Not everyone is.
I posted this because I want other people to learn these lessons without having to almost die from them. I was very lucky. Be safe out there.
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