The call came to the Sheriff's department: "I was skiing with my boyfriend near Chair 14. He went off to the left, and I haven't seen him since."
The late hour and her sense of concern activated a search-and-rescue call out. The first course of action is to check with all the local bars and breweries in town to make sure he isn't watching the Super Bowl and warming up to some other gal, which will result in the most dangerous of all forms of frostbite. It has happened, but this situation was a righteous call out.
At mid-dark, 30 Ski Patrol found a lone set of tracks, headed down toward the San Joaquin drainage. The tracks told the story. He had skied out of bounds right under the boundary sign. He traversed way below the line back to groomed safety. Down some more, again right past another sign that said "boundary." He tried to side-step back up the hill, in waist deep powder. Futility.
He then took off his skis, started walking up the side of the mountain. Climbed back 300 yards, only to continue a slightly downward traverse. Panicky struggle, frantic strides, anxiously skis on, skis off, on again, side-step, hike uphill through chest-high powder -- only again to head ever so slightly downhill. The angle was slight, but by now he had descended over a thousand vertical feet.
No one to hear
There was no one to hear his yells and cries for help. Adrenaline up, pushing harder and faster, he drops a hat and hardly notices. Besides, it is way up there -- he can't get it. Heating up, he sheds his parka even though the temperature is dropping. Sweat adds ponds to his clothes; they begin to freeze and stiffen.
He drops another thousand feet, going to where he hopes will be town. But only a ghost town awaits him in this wilderness. He ends up at Sotcher Lake, precisely at the lake's mouth. Fortunately, there is a chasm of water that he knows he cannot traverse. Fortunately, he is completely exhausted and finally stops. Fortunately, his girlfriend called for help, and search and rescue is only a few hours behind him.
The searchers proceed with caution. The snow-loaded backcountry is full of avalanches waiting to be triggered. With heavy rescue packs and skinny backcountry skis with skins, progress is slow. The rescuers don't want to become victims themselves.
They catch up to him, semi-conscious, at sunrise. But a long, icy night and sheer exhaustion have taken a toll. Huddled in a tight ball in a snowy depression, the victim faintly responds. As they check his condition, they attempt to warm him. He is barely alert enough to take warm fluids. The intervention is successful -- all will survive the snowy epic.
Mid-afternoon he is at the first aid station for a critical incident debriefing to review what happened, what his thinking was, what he did to survive and what he did that almost got him killed. This is not to embarrass the victim, but to provide information to the Mountain and the team as to what lost skiers are most likely to do in the middle of night, suffering from hypothermia and acute embarrassment.
Similar cases, familiar routes
The cases are remarkably similar, the routes invariably familiar. Gravity and fatigue are incredible predictors of action. Poor judgment is the beginning of all disaster. Hypothermia dictates its own dark play. Results are often tragic.
We rehearsed that desperate night, in hopes of getting there in time to save the next victim. His first line was the classic, "I saw the boundary but I thought I could still go that direction and make it back OK." He continued, "Later, I saw another boundary, but I kept going -- it was too hard to hike back uphill. I knew I was in deep trouble but I kept going, trying to find my way back."
We listened patiently, graciously. What good is it to say, "What a blockhead. You saw the sign and you still went the wrong way?" There is no need to tell some guy about to have his toes amputated that he could have died -- he has his own decaying, painful reminders.
The victim, too, has need to offer only a few words. An "I blew it and thanks for risking your lives in the middle of the night" are all to be said. An "I will pay attention to the boundaries next time" is assumed. Which brings us to the point -- there are boundaries, usually given so we will not harm ourselves and others. They can save us not only from the bill for the helicopter search/rescue operation, they can save our lives.
One of the most unpopular things about the Bible and a relationship with Christ is that they also contain boundaries. Bummer, dude, but then again, boundaries can save our lives -- that is why they are given. All of the "Thou shall nots" and the "thou shalls," like "Love the lord with all thy heart, soul and might" are given to enhance life, not confine it. Then again, there is always search and rescue, but that's the rest of the gospel story. MT