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I have to admit, I’m not entirely crazy about the, “He died doing what he loved,” narrative. If I was out in my kayak and a whale decided to breach on top of me, well, that would be a good way to go. No screw up on my part, it’s bound to happen sometime, so might as well go out in style. And suddenly.
I had friend who was a bit older, but in good shape and medically cleared, so he went out spring ski climbing. He simply keeled over and died due to an undiagnosed problem. It was sad, but, again, it wasn’t because of a lack of care or preparation on his part. It was tough for the people with him, and we all grieved, but there was the feeling that the inevitable happened and it was just as well it happened out there in the mountains he loved.
Where I’m not comfortable with the dying in the line of passion thing is in times where it is avoidable, like what I fear is coming this winter season.
As one of the old guys in our local search and rescue organization, if an accident occurs, I’m less likely to be out on the hill and more likely to be coordinating with police and our staff, or following up to collect rescue fees afterwards.
Among last season’s accidents we had two incidents involving broken femurs, pretty scary, painful and possibly life-threatening situations. The post-accident response is often similar to the cheerful Canadian we rescued. He gratefully thanked us for the help and received support from his friends to raise funds for his Search and Rescue (SAR) fees, which are needed for us to be ready to go.
After two seasons of low snow, it’s predicted we’ll get a lot of snow this season, due to La Niña. The significant rainfall over summer, the position of praying mantis egg masses on plants and the early attempts of stink bugs to find winter hibernation inside houses all point to a deep winter. (All except the first are actual indications the locals examine to determine whether big drifts are coming). Hotels and lodges will be full of powder-frothing guests and people will, unfortunately, likely die in avalanches.
Killer avalanches can move as fast as a Shinkansen and involve thousands of tons of snow transforming from big slabs into a fast-flowing, almost liquid torrent with a snow-laden air blast leading the way. These can destroy forests. You don’t have a chance. The sad thing is, dying in an avalanche is almost entirely avoidable.
In the four fatalities we’ve had here in Myoko in the last decade or so, the signs were all there that it was a day not to go out in the backcountry. High winds and heavy snow loaded up the slopes all night—two of the biggest red flags, and something we go over in basic training sessions.
In two separate cases involving people I knew, large slab avalanches were set off, in which a whole layer of snow breaks away and hurtles down the mountain at shocking speeds. Another man was swept away by loose snow into a valley, where he ended up more than two meters under the surface. He didn’t have any avalanche gear on him, so he was discovered by a line of searchers working with probes along the most probable spot. The last was a guy who decided to go down an extremely steep slope covered with avalanche barriers in the middle of a huge snowstorm, leaving his avalanche beacon in his car. He wasn’t found until spring.
What they all needed to do was stop and say, “not today.” That can be the hardest thing to do. There’s usually peer pressure to keep going, the “don’t wimp out” syndrome. They could have simply chosen a better place to go, perhaps a low-angle run through trees following a gentle ridgeline. Or they could have just stayed on the slopes and honed their technique a bit.
I’m spoiled, I know, because I can always say, “tomorrow is fine.” There’s no pressure to go out and conquer the mountain today. Too many of the people heading into the backcountry can’t simply leave the work stresses behind and enjoy what nature brings them. Too much testosterone can be an issue; a lot more men die in avalanches than women.
There are even people who, after seeing ski videos, want to try and duplicate the hero scenes where a pro outruns a slide. Former pro skier K.C. Deane was skiing a narrow spine when he set off a slide, and was able to escape. I wrote him to say I was glad he was OK. He replied, “I wish they didn’t put that in the final cut. Somebody will try and do the same thing.”
The thing with avalanches is that the aftershocks reverberate long after the snow has settled. There’s the reality of digging the victim out—you’ve got just minutes to get the person out, if trauma hasn’t already taken them, so you can’t wait for help. There’s lingering guilt for survivors. There are police interrogations that go for hours, identification of bodies, dealing with embassies and airlines. Often you have to deal with another group that actually set off the avalanche that killed someone else. I know, because I’ve experienced and helped others through all these scenarios.
A few years ago, there was an accident in which some friends, a photographer and two pro skiers, went out and skied a gentle line on a ridgeline in the trees twice. While preparing to leave the area in what looked like a safe spot, they were caught in an avalanche set off by another group who chose a much riskier line. One friend was buried two meters down for nearly twenty minutes, defying the statistics and emerging physically fine. The other skier and a man from another group were thrown some fifty meters, buried and killed. A year afterwards, my friend, who had been buried, announced he had reached the first birthday of his new life—the experience had been so shocking, such a major change for him that he literally felt his old life ended with the accident.
It takes a toll and, I admit, I’m tired. But I hope to help others avoid getting caught in almost entirely avoidable situations. Get local information; know what the weather has done over the past few weeks before ever going up on the hill to dig a test pit. Leave the pressure to achieve at the office and come enjoy the laidback, Japanese mountain life tradition. A little study goes a long way—as long as it gets applied when powder fever sets in.
Bill Ross is a Myoko-based backcountry guide, Canadian certified avalanche forecaster and BCA advisory guide. He teaches snow safety at Dancing Snow (dancingsnow.com) in Myoko. He is also a founding member of Myoko’s search and rescue organization and has lived in Myoko for nearly 30 years.