Paul Diegel
Special Projects Director
Guest post by Tom Diegel
“It’s long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important” – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
While the last week or two has felt an awful lot like spring, there is no doubt that we’ll be getting additional storms before the sun comes out in earnest. Typically the snowpack gets more stable in the spring, but we’ll hopefully get enough snow that avalanche danger will again rear its head, and we’ll need to respond accordingly. Along those lines, here is the last of The Little Things that might help to keep you safe in the backcountry.
Communicate about the avy conditions and the plan
It may seem self-evident, but it seems that a lot of groups – especially as they get larger – don’t actively discuss the avalanche situation and how their collective actions will reflect the conditions. This seemed to be the overarching problem in the infamous Tunnel Creek avalanche in Washington. It may seem geeky, but make sure that everyone is aware of the macro plan and are ok with it (especially if any of your pards for the day aren’t your common riding buddies), and then do the same at a micro-level as you assess each slope your group is about to descend (or ascend). Our most common refrain out backcountry skiing is “how do we feel about this slope?”. It’s a pretty non-aggressive way to initiate a conversation about the wisdom of the next moves you are about to take.
Be an instability seeker
Ideally we want to simply “ski it all”, and as a result we could fall victim to the prospect of “seeing” the stability that we want. It’s very easy to convince ourselves that things are safe; we want to be able to justify our decision to ski that sick line in sweet blower. After I triggered a big avalanche on Kessler – in the same place that killed our friend Craig Patterson nine months prior – forecaster Drew Hardesty asked me “what was it about that snowpack and slope that indicated to you it was safe to ski?” and I didn’t really have a legitimate answer; it was a ridonculous day of deep powder that needed a fair bit of pitch to get enough speed, I wanted to ski the line, and I basically identified only the aspects that led me to convince myself that it was safe without the commensurate assessment of the snowpack’s lemons.
Hope and enthusiasm unfortunately doesn’t affect a snowpack’s stability, so look for evidence to disprove your pessimism about the safety of the slope.
What ifs
When running a river it’s common to scout a rapid, identify the line, and then look for the implications of missing the line; a high-probability but (sometimes) low consequence event. Skiing is a bit more binary: we ski a line and the slope either avalanches or it doesn’t. But I try to ask myself “what if this thing rips?” Unlike screwing up a rapid, an avalanche is a low likelihood but high consequence event, which typically leads to more risk tolerance, so it’s important to keep that in mind and act accordingly. Ski cut it, look for quick potential exits off a slab (understanding that is quite unlikely), nibble at the edges of the slope, etc.
Then do the same thing as your buddy skis it; “what if the slope shatters on him and he disappears? What will I do?”
Silence is golden
Don’t yell “Whooohooo!” at your pards riding avy terrain. A couple of years ago on our first day at a hut in BC we were atop our first run that was an obvious frequent flier and I skied first. I pushed off and in my first turn one of my pards gave a big whoop of excitement/support, but in my heightened state I just heard someone yelling, and as my adrenal glands exploded I went directly into the fall line and terrified myself by straightlining 600 vertical feet assuming that I was about to get overrun by a slide…. that wasn’t. Shortly thereafter I asked him through gritted teeth to please not do that again.
Think 3D
It’s easy to assume that snow has been blanketed uniformly on the slope, but it is not; what’s going on below the surface? It’s helpful to try to visualize areas where snowpack is thin and/or there is weaker snow that may have a higher likelihood of a failure plane. Which way has the prevailing wind been blowing and either stripping or depositing snow? Where are the rocks (more facets around those)? Any graupel pooling? Where is the snow the fattest? Fatter snow may not collapse a known weak layer. If there’s a potentially weaker spot, maybe straightline that section or angle away from it.
Once the 3D glasses have been put on for scanning a slope it becomes easier to choose the appropriate strategy, both descending and climbing.
Practice Real Rescues!
I’ve done a whole blog post about this in the past, and it’s worth reiterating here: practicing realistic rescue scenarios is super valuable. Real rescues are insanely intense and difficult and it’s for good reason that many pros practice weekly (it’s ironic that pros practice a lot and amateurs rarely practice). Every time my pards and I create a realistic avalanche debris scene over a pack buried 4 or 5 feet deep to not only “find the beacon” (the easy part) but also dig out “body” while (loudly) timing the rescue we learn something new and it fosters great discussions.
When you practice a rescue follow it up by asking your pard what they’d do in the case of injury: No pulse! broken femur! Dislocated shoulder! Open fracture! Memory loss/possible concussion! Blown ACL! Could we get rescued here? How many hours? Cell coverage? Call 911, Alta Central, or your buddy?
Ski Alone
I will probably catch some heat for this one, but I think it’s ok to ski alone once in a while. A lot of people -most of whom don’t really know much about these activities – think that skiing (or doing anything adventurous) alone is stupid at best. But skiing alone can be beneficial: John Mletshnig – a local ski guide who did a 3 week solo traverse of the entire Wasatch last year - felt that one of his takeaways from that trip was “groups cause avalanches”, and indeed Ian McCammon’s “heuristic traps” almost all involve group dynamics (again, the Tunnel Creek slide was a ferocious example of this). Skiing alone heightens your acuity and gives you a strong sense of your own risk tolerance and knowledge, which is helpful for having more confidence when you are skiing with others. And exploring on your own makes you really get to know terrain; when I get led somewhere I am usually horrified at how little I remember of it on subsequent trips, yet by the same token I’m amazed at the level of detail I remember when I do something alone making my own decisions.
There is no doubt that the any problem in the winter backcountry is exacerbated by no additional support, but there is also no doubt that many accidents are caused by social pressures. And assuming that your pards will save you if you go for a ride in an avalanche is dicey ….from personal experience I can guarantee that even if you are one of the 75% of avalanche victims that survive the initial trauma, getting dug out of a snowy would-be coffin by your friends will ruin their day as well as yours.
In a nutshell, your risk tolerance should not change much whether you are alone or with others.
Ialways appreciate of the magic of our ability to slide on snow and how much passion people have for that sensation. But there’s no doubt that it’s dangerous: I met a guy recently who has been backcountry skiing for over 20 years and we both marveled that he had never had an avalanche incident. This is rare. As we know, we are fallible, and as the venerable Bruce Tremper pointed out in his book: if we are so good that we are 99% right that means that if we ski 50 days a year we’ll only go for a ride every other year! And there are plenty of other ways to get screwed up in the backcountry. So keep in mind them Little Things. They add up.
“It’s the little details that are vital. Little Things make Big Things happen.” – John Wooden
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