There was a discussion some time ago about the slope of the snow chute just below the Trail Crest and probability of an avalanche after I described my winter experience at that place in last winter. (You may read my previous posts for more details.)
Now I can share a real avalanche incident I experienced. Even though it happened on Mt. Rainier, I think it would be beneficial to this community, especially to those who traverse snow.
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It was Sunday, 6 of June 2004 and the weather was very poor. The storm hit on Friday afternoon and since then had not given up. The violent wind noisily tousled my tent, which was set up on the Wapowety Cleaver between the Kautz and Nisqually glaciers above 13,000 feet, trying to remove it from the snowy ground and throw it down the glacier. It was about 6am when I checked the weather last time. The air was cold and densely white; my barometer promised no improvement. I decided to fall asleep again. That way I intended to kill some time and shorten my discomfort.
Suddenly, I heard someone calling my name. I looked out through the tent door and realized that the weather eased. One of the students from UC Berkeley, who asked me for assistance above Camp Hazard, appeared in my view. It quickly came to me that it was time to go. I packed my stuff and got out of the tent. I looked up at the top of the mountain and being able to see it clearly became tempted to finish the climb. My excitement, however, was short-lived once I glanced down and noticed an ocean of clouds urgently absorbing whatever was left above them. Before we got ready, the giant mountain had already sunk into whiteness.
Speedily but carefully I led the group of three adventurous mountaineers across the Kautz Glacier to the snow/ice slope below. Barely seeing the contours of the Kautz Ice Cliff on the left and the rocky cliff on the right, the confused students rejected following me down the slope. I tried to clear up their puzzlement but they still decided to go on their own in the "wrong" direction, over the Kautz Ice Cliff. Regardless of the reason, after a while they were back and we all were climbing down the slope.
The slope immediately became steep. The new layer on the top of the older snow, however, allowed feet on sinking deep enough to prevent us from unintentional sliding. The slope relaxed for a while and, with confidence, I kept climbing down, followed by the roped-to-each-other students. Everything looked fine. Just in case, however, I held in my hands two technical tools ready to use; it is my standard procedure on steeper slopes. Not too distantly I noticed the horizon line of the slope. The line indicated a steep part, which we wanted to avoid by crossing the ice cliff somewhere in the middle to get to the other side of it and then climb up to Camp Hazard. Unfortunately, something happened I would have never expected, especially at this time and in this place.
Something clicked. The strange noise grabbed my attention instantly. Instinctively but with caution I looked down my feet, then to my left and right and could not believe what was happening. The snow below me opened for about two feet down and about a half foot deep, all the way from the rocky cliff on the right to the ice cliff on the left (through the whole width of the slope). I stopped. It was a crack in the snow perpendicular to my descending direction. My first impression was that I stepped on top of a crevice. But there are no crevices on this slope. Even if some deep cracks exist, they are very narrow and icy in the late season and no threat to climbers, I speculated. After a fraction of second or maybe a bit longer, unexpected forces suddenly interrupted my contemplation.
The magical forces pulled my legs down the slope rapidly. Loosing my balance, I bellowed "A-va-lanche!!!" while at the same time turning around and throwing my body on the slope facing the snow surface. My fear of avalanches came true: I was sliding down. With the speed of light, I started recalling all the accidents, falls to be exact, that had happened so far this year on Mt. Shasta, Mt. Rainier, and even Mt. Baldy. Head injuries were the primary causes of fatalities. While loosing elevation, I immediately repositioned my technical tools so I could hold the lower parts of the shafts and forcefully struck the icy snow. The ice tool popped up. Wrong angle. I tried and failed once more. Next, memories came to me about ice climbing techniques I practiced in Lee Vinning and other places. Precision is the key, I thought. When I raised my arm up again for the next strike my body was suddenly flipped over. I knew I was running out of time and at that point got a bit nervous that I might not be able to self-arrest before reaching the horizon line of the slope (after which the slope steepened considerably). I saw the line getting closer and closer mercilessly and envisioned myself uncontrollably tumbling down the steep slope. At that moment I recalled an accident of a friend of mine in the Sierra who ended up in the hospital after unsuccessfully attempting to self-arrest during a few hundred feet slide down an icy slope. His helmet broke into pieces. I definitely did not want this happening to me. Somehow, I managed to roll onto my stomach, facing the snow again, and with focus and precision thrust the pick of my ice tool into the icy snow and came to a sudden halt.
To be sure the battle was over, I secured both my feet by kicking the snow with crampons and placing the second ice tool as deeply in it as my remaining energy allowed. I was now utterly exhausted. This action burned all my energy and stripped me completely of strength. I had to lie still for a while to rest my muscles, catch my breath, and calm down. Then, I said to the guys that I was OK. Finally, I carefully got up and looked down and then up the slope; the previously untouched surface of the slope was now disturbed by violent forces. The guys said that I was sliding down for about 20 feet. I still had some extra distance before the steeper part of the slope, but I was glad I did not have to use it.
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My conclusion of this story is that I was dragged down by an avalanche in the least expected moment, place, and snow conditions. Fortunately, I created the avalanche. The sliding snow was carrying me down on its top; it did not hit me; it did not bury me. Did it scare me? Of course, but not to extend that I would give up climbing, but rather to be more careful and respectful. This episode, however, was just the beginning of the two days of self-rescue (or survival) on that trip, but it influenced my behavior on the second day while descending (still) in whiteout down huge and steep slopes with enormous amounts of snow. These were winter conditions. Fortunately, and a little surprisingly (due to the apparently dangerous snow conditions), no more avalanches bothered us directly again.
Please share your avalanche experiences, so other people and I might understand these phenomena better.
