Buried alive

The day seven people died began on a crisp morning in the backcountry of Canada’s British Columbia. Evan Weselake, a corporate trainer from Calgary, had set out with 20 others, including his close friend, Naomi Heffler, to ski untouched powder far from the lift-ticket circuit. Their destination was a peak named La Traviata that promised breathtaking views of the surrounding valleys. As Weselake, 29, skied toward the mountain, Heffler and the others followed in a single-file line, dark pearls strung along the vast whiteness of a steep couloir. Suddenly, Weselake saw a crack slice through the snow in front of his skis. As the opening grew, he noticed he was moving downward, as if the mountain he stood on had lost its mooring. He had time to yell out only one word: “Avalanche!”

In half a second, he was swept into a torrent. Within 30 seconds he was encased in snow and ice packed so densely he could move only half an inch. Less than a minute later, everything brilliant had turned to suffocating blackness.

If Weselake and the rest of his group had been equipped with the latest in avalanche technology, the tragedy -- and others in an increasing number of slide injuries and deaths -- might have been averted. In the 1950s, fewer than five people a year died in U.S. avalanches. Over the past half a decade, that average has risen dramatically, to 30 deaths a year. Internationally, there were 143 avalanche fatalities last year. Many trace the increase to new technologies that make it easier to pursue challenging peaks. “Changes in ski design, snowshoes and, particularly, snowmobiles let people climb stuff that couldn’t be touched years ago,” says Knox Williams, director of the Colorado Avalanche Information Center. “Now people can expose themselves to more risk.”

The mounting death toll may also be driven by new attitudes about risk. Extreme sports have become part of mainstream America’s recreational vocabulary. From 1985 to 1990, avalanches killed only three snowmobile riders in the U.S. In the last five years, 79 snowmobilers died in snowslides, as technology and bravado have pushed humans deeper into nature’s maw. And pros are not exempt. In 1999, an avalanche in Tibet killed Alex Lowe, one of the nation’s savviest climbers.

Weselake and the other skiers weren’t professionals but were highly experienced skiers who had gone to the mountains surrounding the Durrand Glacier to ski with Reudi Beglinger, the Swiss owner of Selkirk Mountain Experience and a guide known for his exacting standards. Unlike other guides who use helicopters to airlift skiers to remote peaks, Beglinger requires that clients climb everything they descend. This was Weselake’s third trip with Beglinger, and he had eagerly planned it with a friend. Two weeks earlier, though, his friend had hurt his shoulder, so at the last minute he asked someone else to join him, a “very special woman.” Naomi Heffler, 25, had just graduated from a chemical engineering program at the University of Calgary and worked as a river guide in northern Saskatchewan. Weselake and Heffler met at a telemark race four years earlier and had gone skiing together every year since. He had been struck by her “beauty, as amazing as the mountains we were skiing through.”

Twelve other clients, including a group of six friends from Truckee, Calif., joined Beglinger and six of his employees. One of the staff members, Craig Kelly, 36, was an internationally known snowboarder training to become a certified mountain guide.

In 18 years of leading trips through these mountains, Beglinger had never suffered a serious injury or fatality on one of his trips. But safety was still a constant concern. All members of the group carried radio locator beacons and had extensive emergency training. Most had more than 20 years of backcountry experience. What they didn’t have was technology that could have given them a chance against the avalanche that roared down upon them.

The physics of an avalanche are pretty straightforward. Because not all snow is alike -- some is dense and sticky, other flakes are light and crumbly -- snowfall accumulates in layers over the course of a winter. Layers can be separated by thin crusts of ice that form when exposed snow melts and freezes between snowfalls. The slick intervening ice offers little resistance if the heavier upper layers begin to slide. Light snow also provides little friction if a shock wave sets the heavier crystals tumbling down an incline.

As they moved, the skiers were evaluating the snow by plunging their poles to feel for the hollowness or tension that signals heavy snowpack atop a weaker base. Beglinger had also examined the snow earlier in the trip by cutting and testing blocks. The biggest source of risk, according to Williams of the Avalanche Information Center, was the slope’s 33-degree angle. But as John Seibert, 54, a geophysicist from Alaska who was on his eighth trip with Beglinger, points out, “that’s the dilemma in backcountry mountaineering. The best slopes for skiing are also prime territory for avalanches.”

Just after Weselake screamed his warning, Seibert, skiing behind Weselake’s group, heard a loud snap, like a shotgun, and felt the snow under his skis suddenly shift. Unbeknownst to him, he was already going down the mountain. “You don’t feel the motion of the slide at first,” Seibert recalls, “because the whole frame of reference is moving with you.”

Many avalanche survivors liken a slide to immersion in water. As the slide swamped Weselake, Seibert and the others, most immediately began swimming. Seibert, with a background in kayaking, began a strong backstroke, trying to orient his legs downstream and keep his face pointed toward the light.

Avalanche training had taught all the skiers that swimming is potentially lifesaving. In granular flows, such as avalanches, large particles rise to the surface layer while smaller particles settle to the base. So mountaineers are taught to “get big” in an avalanche, to take advantage of physics.

If they had been skiing in Europe, they would have had access to technology that might have given them an edge in increasing their mass. The avalanche air bag system is “the best single rescue device ever invented,” says Williams. Containing a pressurized nitrogen gas cartridge and a balloon that inflates within 2 to 3 seconds after a handle is pulled, an air bag system backpack creates a greater volume at a lower weight and thus a lower density to help a victim rise to safety.

Since 2001, 35 people have successfully deployed these devices in avalanches. Of those, 16 remained on the surface of the snow after a slide and 14 were only partially buried. Five were buried, but the balloon was visible above the snow in all cases, allowing for quick rescues.

But in North America only about 200 air bag systems have been sold, according to Leo Steiner, a distributor of the devices based in Austria. The primary reason is transportation regulations in Canada and the U.S. that make it difficult to ship the nitrogen cylinders (similar cylinders are a suspected cause in the explosion that destroyed a ValuJet airplane in 1996). Even in Europe, where the devices are more easily purchased, they are not widely used. One reason might be their cost of $400 to $600, about twice the price of other safety devices. But they are available in the U.S. starting at $439 from Mountain Safety Systems (www.abssystem.com).

Weselake, Heffler, Seibert and the others in the Selkirk avalanche had no ABS devices, and a critical moment was approaching. Only about 30 seconds had passed since Weselake first noticed the cracks in the snow. But he was already trapped under a slope of ice. A short distance away, Heffler was also buried. Around them, 13 more skiers were encased. Seibert, backstroking toward the light, had managed to keep his head above the snow and could breathe freely.

Under the ice, Weselake knew he had entered the most dangerous part of his ordeal, the phase in which he was most powerless. Because quick recovery is the key to survival, the skiers wore emergency beacons to pinpoint their locations. Studies show that if a victim is uncovered within 15 minutes of burial, he or she has a 92% chance of survival. After 35 minutes, however, the odds drop to 30%. After a little more than two hours, only 3% of avalanche victims are found alive.

Under the ice

Weselake’s first instinct was to struggle. Pinned by the weight of the hardening snow, he quickly discovered he was unable to move, though he could wiggle one of his feet a little, suggesting a ski tip might be above the surface. When he stopped fighting to break free, he noticed he was panting. He tried to take a deep, slow breath, but “with so much snow around, you can’t really draw that much in,” he recalls. Heffler, farther down the mountain, was also immobilized.

I have one job: to breathe, Weselake began repeating to himself. Snow, which is 50% to 90% air, contains enough oxygen to support a human for more than two hours, as long as the airway is unobstructed and the chest is free to expand. What kills most avalanche victims isn’t a lack of oxygen but an oversupply of carbon dioxide and moisture.

As avalanche victims exhale into the snowpack surrounding their faces, carbon dioxide begins to crowd out oxygen. Within two minutes, the carbon dioxide inhaled by Weselake and Heffler had increased by a factor of 100. As carbon dioxide levels rise, they begin to affect the central nervous system, triggering vertigo and confusion. The respiratory center in the brain reacts with a sensation of breathlessness and panic. “CO2 narcosis” develops, causing progressive degrees of lethargy and central nervous system depression. Victims begin to fade into unconsciousness. They don’t so much run out of oxygen; they forget to breathe, as their central nervous systems become swamped with carbon dioxide.

Inhale, exhale

Here too technology is radically improving the survival odds. Dr. Thomas Crowley, a professor of psychiatry at the University of Colorado School of Medicine, developed an avalanche vest that can help a victim breathe under the snow dramatically longer. The vest, sold by Salt Lake City-based Black Diamond Equipment Ltd. under the name AvaLung, features a breathing tube in the collar that avalanche victims insert into their mouths when they begin to tumble. Oxygen is drawn from a large surface area on the vest’s front and, using a series of valves, carbon dioxide is exhaled at the victim’s back, preventing re-inhalation. Studies suggest the AvaLung may allow victims to survive for two hours under the snow.

Without the AvaLung, the only hope for Weselake, Heffler and the others was quick rescue. Weselake began breathing slowly, trying to relax his body to consume as little oxygen as possible. “I told myself that as long as I’m breathing, I can lie here for days,” he said.

Another skier had stopped near Seibert, whose head still jutted from the snow, to make sure he was OK. Then the search was on. Within minutes someone found Weselake, tipped off by his ski sticking out of the snow. After 12 minutes under the mountain of ice, he was free, and he quickly joined the rescue effort.

Weselake’s beacon indicated another skier was nearby. “I had processed that Naomi was to the right of me, down the hill. There was another signal closer by, so I had a difficult decision to make. I knew there was someone right there, and I didn’t know where Naomi was, so I went for the person who was closer.”

The nearby skier turned out to be Jean-Luc Schwendener, a Swiss chef living in Alberta. Beglinger, who had escaped the slide, and Weselake uncovered Schwendener’s head. But after five minutes, it was clear he was dead. “At that point, I was afraid to go find out about Naomi.”

Weselake turned to another skier to ask about her. “I was under the assumption that she had been found,” he said. “I spent the time buried thinking I’ll be uncovered, Naomi will be there, and I’ll be so happy that she’s alive, and I actually pictured seeing her and giving her a hug and saying ‘Thank God.’ ”

The skier told Weselake they had discovered Heffler but that CPR had failed to revive her. “I took my leave from the group and walked over to her. She was lying on the snow. I stopped when I recognized her jacket. I couldn’t go closer.”

Altogether, the rescuers were able to save six of the buried skiers. Forty minutes had elapsed from start of the avalanche to discovery of the final person. Snowboarder Kelly, the last unburied from 9 feet of snow, had died before he was reached, bringing the death toll to seven.

Many survivors of the avalanche are still traumatized. Some refuse to speak about it. Most of those who will don’t blame Beglinger for leading them into danger. But they do reflect on the loss and twists of fate.

“I think about Naomi every other day,” says Weselake. “I lost someone I loved very much.”

Ultimately, all who consented to interviews about this avalanche say they will return to the backcountry, embracing the technology that allows them to pursue danger and, next time, possibly to avoid its tragic consequences.

“I’ve been in contact with the wives of survivors,” said Seibert, “and they are still devastated, trying to figure out why their loved one went off on a grand adventure and didn’t come back.”

But the lure is insistent. Seibert, after a pause, added, “I’m booked to go back and ski with Reudi in February.”

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TIPS

Vigilance can pay off in avalanche country

Avoiding avalanche-prone terrain is a top safety concern for winter athletes. Experts warn that although not even experience and training can ensure a foolproof risk evaluation, the following tips may help prevent a tragedy.

Be hyper-aware: Most avalanche victims trigger the slides that kill them, often because they have overlooked multiple danger signs. Ongoing evaluation is critical. Many states offer avalanche information about local peaks. For links to many Web sites go to: geosurvey.state.co.us/avalanche/Link.html

Assess slope angles and terrain: Ninety-nine percent of avalanches occur on slopes steeper than 25 degrees. Slopes of 30 degrees to 45 degrees are particularly dangerous. Smooth terrain is more vulnerable than bumpy areas, where large rocks, trees and heavy undergrowth help anchor snow.

Look for tender spots: Slight depression in the terrain, abrupt increase in slope, shaded areas, snow hills created by wind: Any of these could signal weak snow. Above all, avoid convex slopes, particularly from late December through January. North-facing slopes slide avalanche most often in midwinter, and south-facing ones give way in the spring and on sunny days.

Study the snow: Has a slide recently occurred? Trained backcountry hikers and skiers can dig pits to evaluate snow layers, but it’s an uncertain science. Jump on little slopes to see if they hold. Cut cornices with rope to see if heavy, thick snow sits atop weaker layers. Remember, conditions change quickly; check and recheck the snow pack.

Be anti-social: Travel on or near steep slopes one at a time only. Never stop in the middle or bottom of an avalanche-prone slope; always move off to the side. Always keep your partner in sight.

Get training: Numerous institutes and schools offer avalanche training, and no one should approach avalanche-sensitive areas without proper training and equipment. For one list of training programs, go to: www.avtraining.org/courseprov.cfm.