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Joyride Daniel
Caruso
It’s
a cold, late-February morning just outside of the
ski area called Rinerhorn—not far from Davos, Switzerland.
We look to be the only party that is venturing
out-of-bounds today, and it is liberating yet eerie
seeing all of this untracked terrain and knowing
t-hat outside of these gates there are no avalanche
closures, no bombings and no patrollers. Only our
own backcountry rules to follow and to blame.
The
pristine face that we’ve got our sights on
is known as “Little
Alaska,” a long ridge line with ridiculously steep flutes and spines.
The lines off of this ridge are fairly short by European standards but the
sustained pitch of almost 50 degrees makes it alluring.
Getting there is the scary part. The avalanche hazard is listed as “moderate,” but
around here that means everything from fairly safe to super-sketchy. Quickly
skinning around the two big bowls we head towards the col between the two larger
peaks. From there we gain the final ridge which leads to the narrow summit at
which point you routinely begin to second-guess your memorized line.
We
are there shooting segments for the BD Freeride
Europe video but the indications along the
way up have slid the moderate rating towards
the “super-sketchy” side
of things. Fellow BD skier Bruno Compagnet, who just came off a 2nd place
finish at the famed Verbier extreme comp, is
not interested in laying it on the line down
the gut and we choose instead one of the aesthetic
spine-lines to keep it safe.
Bruno
gives a “3-2-1... dropping” and takes
first tracks ripping down a well lit and aesthetic
line that from my vantage point behind the camera
lens I know will be a highlight in the film. Relieved to see him in the
safe zone far below, I direct Davv and Clemo onto
new spines which are not visible from the blind
roll over they are on. Trust and teamwork come
into play here in both your partners’ decisions
and obviously the gear you rely on to get up and
rip down.
High
fives abound as we ski out to Davos and there’s
a distinct feeling of accomplishment amongst the
group. We knocked off a steep descent, captured
some stunning footage for the upcoming film and successfully pushed our
comfort level up another notch without incident.
Daniel
Caruso
After
ten years of professional riding, Daniel made the
switch from one side of the lens to the other. With
descents in front of the lens in Africa, Alaska,
Chile, Ecuador, Peru and Russia, he now films the
next generation of riders all over the world. Originally
from Utah, Daniel now lives in a small village in
the Swiss Alps with his wife Pepi Ahonen, also a
pro rider, and their two boys Rocco (4) and Siro
(born in July). Other hobbies include rock climbing,
mountaineering and filming the family doing the same.
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Time
Is Life Doug
Martin Gulsrud
At the top of the slope I decided I would go first.
I straight lined for approximately 15 meters to
gather speed, then made two or three turns before
the slope cracked around me. Instantly I was swept
away. The acceleration was amazing. I went approximately
250 meters to the bottom of the slope where the
snow gathered in a bowl formed by a frozen lake.
I
put the mouthpiece of the AvaLung in my mouth as
soon as I lost my speed relative to the slide.
At that moment, I was still standing. I was able
to breath while the avalanche dragged me down the
slope, and fight, instead of struggle, with snow
in my mouth and lungs.
I
resurfaced right before reaching the bottom. For
a moment I thought I might remain on top. I was
wrong. I turned and saw the snow rise up like a
tidal wave. I knew I was going under. I expanded
my lungs and then was pounded as the wall of moving
snow crashed over me.
The
crushing pressure was immense. I concentrated on
taking short, fast gasps retaining as much air
in my lungs as possible. But the power of the snow
was too much and as hard as I fought for the space
around my lungs I ended up with not more than half
of my maximum lung capacity. I couldn’t move
a finger. Everything stopped. I was entombed.
I focused on my breath and remembered thinking how terrifying this would
be if I were struggling for air. I was still very frightened, but with
each breath concluded that I was in a position where I could stay alive
for a while.
I
was buried deep. It didn’t seem to take long
for Erik and Andreas to be standing on top of me.
They were in the right area. I heard them over
my PMR 446 radio. Activity increased but still
I hadn’t felt any sondes (probes)
hit my body. The thought shivered against my heart-am I deeper than the
length of the sondes?
Erik
got some new signals from his beacon and his sonde
hit my shoulder at 2.5 meters. The ski patrol arrived,
and immediately seven rescuers began digging with
large aluminum shovels. After twenty minutes I
emerged. I was not injured. I was very lucky. There
is no doubt that the AvaLung saved my life.
Martin
Gulsrud
On
the last day of vacation, January 29, 2005, at 12:55
PM, Martin Gulsrud (24) of Norway was buried on a
slope near the TUFS area in Tignes, France. He was
buried approximately 2.5 meters beneath the surface
for 20 minutes. Gulsrud was fortunate that the site
was near a ski patrol base, their response was immediate
and the patrol was equipped with large metal shovels.
Martin currently is a student in Copenhagen and plans
to continue to ski off piste with an AvaLung. For
more information go to www.AvaLung.com.
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Backcountry
Avalanche Centers Doug
Abromeit
Backcountry
skiers and snowboarders need to know before they
go. And one of the best ways to know is to access
your local Avalanche Center each morning right
after you brew that triple shot cappuccino.
And
here's why. Avalanche accidents kill people. In
fact, they kill more people on public lands than
any other natural disaster. But avalanches don't
happen by accident; they only happen in certain
terrain with certain snow conditions. If you can
identify those conditions you can solve the avalanche
puzzle.
Avalanche
Centers can help you solve the puzzle. Avalanche
Centers issue public advisories that contain critical
snowpack and weather information; they are our
link with what's been happening while we are at
work, at school or asleep. Avalanche Centers also
offer courses that show how to field assess avalanche
danger, how to travel safely in avalanche terrain
and how to carry out a fast and effective rescue.
Obviously
Avalanche Centers cannot assure our safety in the
backcountry; but Avalanche Center classes and advisories
can provide the tools we need to make good choices
and to react decisively in an emergency.
Avalanche
Centers could not provide those tools without public
support. Typically thirty to fifty percent of the
funding for an Avalanche Center comes from public
contributions. In other words, without public support
many Centers would have to either shut down or
significantly scale back their services.
Over
the years, backcountry skiers, snowboarders, climbers,
and snowmobile riders forged partnerships with
the Forest Service and other state and federal
agencies to help operate the centers. Their cooperative
efforts netted an efficient, cost effective system
staffed by some of the most respected and dedicated
avalanche professionals in the world.
But
recently increased demands combined with flat or
reduced budgets have left many Avalanche Centers
stretched to the breaking point. Heightened public
support is vital as the Centers struggle to meet
the needs of all of us that journey into the mountains
in winter.
The
Avalanche Centers, much like a wind-loaded powder
slope, exist in a delicate balance between the
stress of demand and the strength of funding. Backcountry
users rely on Avalanche Centers to help them solve
the avalanche puzzle. Avalanche Centers rely on
backcountry users to help fund the Centers. Good
decisions and honed skills will determine whether
the balance can be maintained.
Doug
Abromeit
Doug
directs the Forest Service National Avalanche Center
in Ketchum, ID. Doug lives to backcountry ski. He
also teaches at the National Avalanche School and
has produced two avalanche awareness videos.
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The
Forbidden Tour Martin
Volken
The
North Cascades are perhaps best known for what
they lack: powder. While the legends about “Cascade
cement” are grossly exaggerated, it is a
fact that the snowpack is maritime—a euphemism
for wet. It's also a fact that the average snowfall
is enormous. Combine 450 inches of snow a year
with young mountains jutting 6000 vertical feet
above alder-choked valleys and you've got the rowdiest
mountain wilderness in the lower 48.
Being
a Swiss mountain guide, I instantly felt at home
here and started exploring the North Cascades on
skis. The rugged terrain, wild glaciers, and spectacular
relief were all I needed to keep coming back. Maybe
one sees things the way one has to, but the snow
quality became secondary to me. These mountains
were about more than turning. They were about applying
your mountain sense to find a safe passage through
a primeval domain. They were about corn, crust,
powder, bergschrunds, crevasses, avalanches, changing
weather, crazy views, big vertical, fluted ridges,
unreal snowpacks and deep wilderness. They were
a place skiers could roam without intersecting
other tracks. To me this was a range that combined
European-like alpine terrain and American-style
wilderness.
On
one hand, the ruggedness of the landscape is probably
what has kept the ski guiding industry from flourishing
here. On the other hand, this terrain creates opportunities—it's
a place with teeth and a place where those who
are willing to push their limits may truly feel
the need of a specialist. And that is what guiding
has always been about—finding someone who,
both physically and figuratively, can take you
another step deeper, another step higher, in the
mountains.
It
was while reading accounts written by Fred Beckey
and surveying topo maps of the North Cascades that
I concluded a ski-mountaineering circumnavigation
of Forbidden Peak would be both feasible and spectacular.
People had skied different portions of the planned
route, but no one had linked it all together. I
was fortunate to have a few clients with a strong
sense of adventure and together we embarked on
the journey.
What
we found exceeded our expectations. The tour threads
through crevassed glaciers, over difficult-to-reverse
cols, and down some of the most scenic slopes in
the country. The terrain gets increasingly committing
as you progress. The area's foreboding yet beautiful
nature coupled with the mountain we circumnavigated
was befitting of the name: The Forbidden Tour.
Martin
Volken
A
UIAGM certified Swiss mountain guide, owner of Pro
Ski Service in Seattle and dedicated BD gear tester,
Martin guides all facets of mountaineering including
the Forbidden Tour—one of the best multi-day
ski traverses in the North Cascades. Check it out
at www.proguiding.com.
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