A Funny Time To Remember

I was musing to a friend recently about almost being killed in an avalanche on The Moose's Tooth in Alaska some years back. It was such a powerful experience.

My Moose’s Tooth trip was in 2001. It was a fantastic trip, absolutely wonderful, except for that avalanche. I was in Alaska filming aerials for a documentary with a world reknowned photograper and cartographer. After a couple weeks we finally woke up to the perfect bluebird day to fly over McKinley's summit. I was free to join another climber for three short days for an attempt on The Moose's Tooth, pictured above.

This muse began when I'd expressed to my friend that it had been nearly seven years since I'd spoken with a climbing partner of ours from Everest in '99. After some incredible life-altering experiences that we'd spent together, we'd never once spoken on the telephone or even kept in touch. It's like we were two travelers who crossed paths for a short time, then went our separate ways.

But, something happened during that avalanche. The route I was attempting was called Ham & Eggs, a steep, 3,000 foot ice and rock climb that led up to a knife edge ridge. It’s a moderate to difficult route, mostly vertical, with objective hazards such as falling rocks and ice. It had been a goal of mine to give this route a shot for many years.

My climbing partner and I left at 5 am and were about 600 feet up above the glacier floor, just near the top of a very steep snow slope, of about 75 degrees. My partner was about to put in a piton and belay me up for the first vertical rock pitch. I was 150 feet below, on the other end of the rope, standing at a snow picket that we'd used for a sliding belay.

Just then a slab avalanche sounded off with its tell-tale crack and thud. Seconds later a rushing blanket of snow poured on top of me, smashing into my face as I looked straight up, sending me flying backwards, head downhill, with my face toward the slope. I was immediately buried, a snow plug began choking me, blackness further confused my bearings.

In the less-than ten seconds during the 600-foot drop to the bottom of the route, something remarkable happened. There was a confusing array of thoughts about dying, how my body would remain forever, buried deep under a slab of icy snow. It seemed rather pathetic that I wouldn't see my two boys again, lost beneath this obscure mountain. At the same time, I felt a sense of complete calm wash over me. Time was slowing down in order that I might make critical life-saving choices.

Attempting to create a pocket of air from which to breath, gagging on the snow plugging my throat, I suddently remembered a story that my not-forgotten climbing partner from Everest had told me. We were sitting early one morning at Base Camp, during morning coffee in the dining tent. He vividly described watching a friend descend an icefall near Base Camp on K2 back in the 1980's. An avalanche engulfed him and killed him. The other climbers watched, horrified, as their friend slid down in the avalanche. They knew exactly where he was, because his backpack was sticking just out of the snow the entire time. However, his body was completely buried, just under the snow. He says that all the guy had to do was a push-up, to get his face up above the snow, and he might’ve had a chance to live.

As I slid down the slope beneath the Moose's Tooth, I was amazed at how heavy the snow felt, how fast I seemed to be moving, the choking sensation, the darkness. This story about that guy dying on K2 came clearly into my head. It felt like I was a mile under the snow, as if people were standing on top of me to hold me down. But, the story...the one that my friend had told me: maybe, just maybe, I too was just under the snow, my backpack sticking up above it.

I knew that the avalanche was coming to a stop. I had a second or two before the snow would freeze as hard as concrete, as happens after avalanches. Then, with all my might, I did a push up, thrusting my arms downward. Wouldn’t you know it? My head popped up, just above the snow! Pain shot through my nearly broken arm, the rest of my body still lodged under the hard-packed avalanche debris. But, my head and chest were safe. I sucked in gulps of clean, cold air. I was alive. Soon after, we retreated to the tent for some blackberry brandy. The Moose's Tooth would have to wait for another day.

One of these days, I;ll get back in touch with that long-lost friend of mine from Everest, to thank him for his avalanche story. The loss of his friend on K2 just may have saved my life.