Pacific and Atlantic Peaks (Avalanche)

Journal Entry June 23, 1998: Whoop…Wind? I hoped but thought not. Terry, Summit, and I had been climbing for five hours. Two successful peaks and now we only had a snow bowl to negotiate before easy terrain.

       Whoop. I heard it twice while traversing between Atlantic and Pacific Peaks. Although the first day of summer was two days prior, we spent 80% of time above 12,000 feet in heavy snow. Blue skies told only partial truth; wind penetrated through layers, and I thought the “whoop” could be – hoped to be – wind.

       After climbing Pacific, we retraced our steps to the saddle. Six hundred feet below stood a frozen saucer. Reaching that point involved glissading a 45 degree slope or descending a tedious boulder field. I opted for the few second ride. I did not opt for the world to shatter below me.

       Summit, our nearly two year old climbing border collie and I were fifty feet ahead of Terry when I heard it again. Whoop. Each time I turned expecting a gust, expecting Terry to say something. She never heard the warning. “Terry, in case of an avalanche, let’s unbuckle our packs, and take the leash off our ice axe.” Then, when I turned back to Terry, I saw a break in the snow. She was on the upper side, and we were below the mark.

       I really did not think the multiple football field of snow would avalanche, but I did not want to hike back up the slope and have it bury me either. I took the option of a “controlled” glissade. She said-she yelled-screamed-cried-“AVALANCHE!” Of course I could not hear Terry. I heard IT. The “controlled ride” lost control as tons of white concrete pushed on my back. One glimpse over my shoulder and I knew it was time to release my backpack. As I did, I thought only briefly, maybe a second, how stupid to die after being warned. Then I saw Summit tumbling beside me. His brown eyes lost in a river of mist. “Break!” I yelled. He did know a command for swim.

       The rush, noise, and violence stopped as suddenly as it began. I sprang from my perch, watched Summit sprint, yes, sprint away, and waved with full arms spread at the speck hundreds of feet above. The rushing noise was replaced by a sobbing voice, and I knew at once this ordeal was worse on my wife than me or Summit. We had not a scratch. Although later in the day Summit wobbled on his way out…concussion? She nearly watched her husband break his neck in a few seconds of hell. I waved, “I’m fine!” I jumped to prove it. “We are fine! I love you!” 

Summit lived 17 wonderful years and climbed 200 more peaks. I guess the avalanche did little damage.