The Word from Mount 7

During a guided week of backcountry skiing, the first thing you do with the group is an avalanche rescue and awareness training session.  You get everybody to practice with their rescue equipment, you set up mock scenarios and critique the groups’ efforts at dealing with each situation.  You also brief everyone on the snowpack, explain the problems, the hazards and how to differentiate safe vs unsafe terrain while you are out skiing.  Another thing you talk about is what you would do if you were caught in an avalanche.  For me, my explanation was largely theoretical until last Friday.  I have been involved in several small slides throughout my career but have never taken a serious ride in a powerful avalanche.  I always envisioned it as a combination of white water river and large surf.  From the small slides I have been in, I knew you had quite a bit of control while you were still moving on your skis before the avalanche gains too much momentum.  It was easy to ski out of slides like that.  In low volume or low velocity slides, you could use your body weight to fend the avalanche off, like sticking your shoulder into a large wave.  You  could keep your body oriented the way you want it with a bit of forethought and muscle.  In a large slide, I knew there was not a lot you could do except protect yourself.  I imagined it to be like getting pummelled in a huge wave.  I just told people to get rid of their skis and poles, protect their head and back as best they could and hope for the best until the avalanche lost momentum.  If the victim was still with it and oriented after the ride, they could fight to get to the surface, try to stick a hand up and make an air pocket as the avalanche came to a stop.   Guests would usually ask about grabbing trees, which I think is only a good idea if the avalanche is moving slowly.  Otherwise it would be like trying to grab a baseball bat that someone is swinging at you.  You’d have to be really good at it or you would do best to avoid it.  A lot of people are killed by trees in avalanches.

Last Friday I was skiing with a group of long time guests and my friend and fellow guide, Tom Raudaschl, in Lee’s Trees at Sorcerer Lodge.  We had been skiing the same area all week due to poor stability.  There were only a few lines that we hadn’t skied at some point during the week.  On our last run of the week we went into one of these to check it out.  Tom took the group down into a gully on the left we had skied the day before and planned to cut back right into the line farther down.  I stayed on top and poked around the gully on the right.  I tried to ski cut two wind loaded pillows at the top of the gully with no success.  Next, I ski cut the gully itself.  I was going to cut across to a group of thicker trees on the other side.  When I was into the gully, it propagated higher up the slope and wider than I thought it might.  I got caught in the moving snow and lost my forward speed.  It was like bogging down in soft sand. I knew I wouldn’t make it to the other side of the gully.

My mind was churning out a ream of thoughts, “stay on top, keep your feet forward, you can’t get buried, I guess this is what Hima’s last ride would have felt like, you have to survive.”  There was nothing to grab on to and nowhere to go.   The main lobe of the avalanche hit me broadside and quickly flipped me over.  I felt one of my skis get ripped off.  I surfaced face forward in a river of moving snow with a good view of the trees ahead and the floor of the valley about 800 feet below.  I knew the trees were going to kill me.  I was desperate to get my feet in front of me but had little power to maneuver in the surging mass of snow.  I still had one tele ski on that I couldn’t get rid of.  It made a good anchor.  In a few seconds I smashed into a tree right across my chest.  I hung there for a moment as my legs swung around.  I thought I would be dead soon.  My breath was bubbly and rasping; it felt like my chest was crushed.  The avalanche carried me on through the trees.  I was struck numerous times on the feet, arms and chest.  I couldn’t see ahead very often as I was tumbled and pushed under the snow.  I did feel like I was able to keep my feet downhill most of the time.  At one point I fell over a small drop then surfaced in a steep glade leading to the bottom of the avalanche path.  Everything was moving around me.  There was one last tree at the bottom of the glade that I knew I was going to hit.  I was thrashing towards the side but ended up catching the tree on my left inner thigh.  I was flipped upside down, face up and hung off the tree by my left leg while the remains of the avalanche surged over top of me.  When everything settled down I was on the surface.  I was breathing in rapid, bubbling breaths, my chest ached.  I spit, expecting to see blood, but the spit was clear.  Maybe things weren’t completely dire.  I felt like everything might work out OK.  I realized the gurgling was from all the snow I had inhaled rather than from blood filling my lungs.  I might not be too badly beaten up after all.

I took off my gloves and my fingers were cold, white and clumsy.  It seemed like I had no blood in my extremities.  I carefully unzipped my jacket and pulled out my radio.  I was scared I would drop it down the slope.  It didn’t work, it must have been damaged when I hit the first tree.  I took off my pack and got out my shovel.  I was shaking and had a hard time putting it together.  I could barely shovel.  I made a few feeble scoops before I saw Baron coming down the slope above.

I think we saw each other at the same time, we were both yelling and excited to see each other.  I haven’t felt that euphoric and relieved before.  I wasn’t sure how long it would take Tom and the group to get to me because we were on opposite sides of a small ridge feature.  If they had skied farther down the other side, they could have ended up below me.  Seeing Baron took that worry off my mind.  I knew my leg was damaged but it felt quite comfortable wrapped around the tree with the natural traction of my body hanging down the hill.  Baron dug out a little ledge for me then the others began digging just above my leg.  The tree began to spring back uphill and I could feel the queasiness of broken bone at the tension on my leg increased.

Tom got on the radio and called back to the lodge.  Great Canadain Heliskiing was working nearby so they flew over to drop us a trauma kit with a Sager traction splint.  By this time they had me off the tree.  Brice was holding my upper body while Chuck kept traction on my leg.  It was only just at freezing but I was shivering violently.  Tom got the others to dig out a heli pad about 20 meters below while he ran around picking up the trauma gear and getting the Sager splint on me.  He was getting a hell of a work out, I bet his lungs were burning.  By this time Dirk from Canadian Helicopters in Golden was on the scene with an Astar.  Tom and the crew dragged me down to the improvised heli pad on a tarp.  This was unbelievably painful but I was glad they were getting me out quickly.  I would scream in agony then give a few words of encouragement to keep going and get it over with.  Dirk came in with the machine and they lifted me onto the floor.  I said a quick thank you to everyone, Chuck jumped in to ride with me, then we were airborne for Golden.

The vibration of the helicopter was uncomfortable but I was just glad to be heading for the hospital.  Dirk gave me the headset and Don McTighe, who flies us to Battle Abbey, gave my some friendly ribbing.  “Hey Robson, get off your back and get to work!”  He had just flown another guide from Battle Abbey to Golden with a broken tibia.

In Golden I had excellent care.  They even got me out of the helicopter with no pain.  I saw Tannis and Steve and talked with Diana.  Seems like the word was out.  When I got in the ambulance for the ride to Calgary, I got a visit from Jon and Jacob.  It was great to see some friends.

The ambulance ride to Calgary was a bit nasty because the attendants couldn’t give me any pain medications.  They had put me in another Sager splint in Golden and it started to feel like a leg hold trap around my ankle about 45 minutes into the ride.  Also, ambulances don’t have the smoothest suspension.  The driver offered to slow down for a smoother ride, but I asked him to speed up and get it over with.  We ended up waiting in the hallway in Emergency at the Foothills Hospital for an hour and a half before I could get some pain relief.

Once I got into Emergency, I had to get past the traction specialist.  This crusty bastard should get a different job.  He was going to remove my Sager splint and put on a more comfortable traction device.  He seemed oblivious that my leg was on the verge of excruciating pain.  He started rough handling the Sager and I just knew it was not going to end well.  Sure enough, he sent my leg in to full spasm, so I got one last taste of the pain of a broken femur.  Thanks buddy.  After I was past him, the care was excellent.  I was operated on right away and was out of the hospital on Tuesday.

Modern orthopaedics is incredible.  I have no cast and have already started simple rehab with no weight bearing.  From what the docs say, I should have a smooth recovery.

I would like to thank everyone who helped me out during this ordeal.  Thanks for getting me to hospital so quickly and thanks for looking after all my affairs.  Olivia, thank you for all the good care and love.  Mom, thanks for cleaning our house and helping out at the hospital.  Everybody, thank you for the meals and the help with our move to Harvie Heights on Saturday.

arrow is where I entered, X where I ended up and H is the heli landing