How I Survived Two Consecutive Avalanches

When the snow falls heavy and its traction shifts in changing weather conditions, there is nothing inherently safe or certain about mountain skiing. The thrill of such conditions, like on fresh powder days, brings us to the mountains or expansive rolling slopes guided by signs in ski resorts that inform us of routes ranging from beginner runs to double diamond terrain, rated on the unique character of each locale.

 
Skiers typically have a “home” ski area where they know the terrain. Often the story of the local mountain is known and is an aspect of its lore and assumptions skiers make about its terrain. Yet the unexpected event lurks in our ordinary lives like a mountain lion on its haunches waits in the shadows to pounce.

The management of skier risk assessment came into play on Silver Mountain in Kellogg, Idaho on January 7,2020, when two avalanches buried “in-bounds” skiers, killing three with another four injured but rescued. As the Spokane TV station KREM reported: “An avalanche on an advanced run at Silver Mountain near Kellogg, Idaho killed three people and injured another four...The avalanche happened on a black diamond run that was in-bounds called 16-1 off of Wardner Peak. The run is accessed by the No. 4 chairlift.” 

According to local skiers there had been no history of slides on Silver Mountain over the last forty years and the “in-bounds” runs have a benign pitch. Yet, two men were completely buried in the incident that fateful morning, not once but twice. One of the survivors was buried for 50 minutes to an hour, remaining unconscious throughout. The other skier was entombed for over an hour. Below is his first person account, but first some background.
 
° ° ° °

Ken Scott was born to ski. He knew it from age six.
 
He and I share a mutual friend who put us in contact days after the avalanche mentioned above. They had met on one of the mountains around Big Sky, Montana. Ken visited the area on professional ski business and my friend, Tim, turned him onto some memorable runs. Both are cut from the same cloth of character: daring, fit and competent, seeking joy and solace in high country slopes.
 
Tim called and asked me to confer with Ken about what happened. Ken seemed at ease in talking even though our phone connection was tenuous. At the end of our first hour call I asked him to write his first person narrative immediately before it slipped away into the trauma cellar.
 
I know that trauma is always looking for a way to go underground. Our defense mechanisms are cognitive maneuvers that our brains take to save us from the experience of trauma and terror. Yet if we do not keep this content on the surface and engage it now, it’s shape morphs into demons later. That’s why Ken wrote it down and sent in an email to me on January 13, but was unable to look at it or read it for weeks thereafter. What follows is his account, which he agreed to share with Mountain Journal readers.

 
 
A skier. That's what I ever wanted to be. At six years old, living on Vancouver Island, my best friend's family would take vacations to ski at Whistler Mountain in British Columbia, Canada. I remember watching a ski film and wanting to do that.
 
I started begging my parents to let me ski. At age 12 they finally relented telling me that they would put up half the cost of skis if I came up with the other half. And finally, there I was with my new skis, no goggles, or helmet, since helmets did not exist, skiing a foot and falling, hiking up another foot or two fall, repeat. 

I hiked two to three nights a week for a month until I reached the top of the hill. Then I figured it was time to ride the lift and try a run. I approached the lift ticket window waiting there self-consciously, for a half-an-hour as a twelve year old boy, terrified to buy a ticket, no confidence, terrified of heights. No one skied in my family. On that first chairlift ride up the mountain I gripped onto the chair and I didn’t let go until I was in my 40s. I simply wanted to be a skier. It’s what defines me.”
 
This is how I remember the day in January 2020  that the mountain nearly swept me away.

The following sequence is in approximate times:

8:45 am
Arrive at the top of the gondola. Silver Mountain received a 16” dump the day before the incident so the powder skiing was expected to be great. I saw Rebecca (a woman who also ended up in the avalanche and a good ski friend as well getting geared up. We did not speak much. No trivial greeting just going about the business of getting in a good powder morning. “Are you ready?” she asked. 

I responded: “Yes!” Rebecca responds with: “Let me get my skis and I’ll meet you there.”
 
“Ok, I will meet you at the turn”. Then I gathered my skis and poles and went out the door.

9:00 am
Skis on, I skated over to the top of Paymaster on the Cat track. Our group refers to this as “the turn” because you can go a variety of ways from that point. It is our customary meeting point at the lodge morning and after lunch.
 
9:10 am
We headed down the hill to load chair 2. Skied various runs on chair 2 for at least an hour or more. Everything skied great. First tracks everywhere. I fell a couple of times, due to muscle fatigue from the previous day’s ski, and Rebecca gave me a hard time. After that I found some new energy.

We headed to chair 4 skiing to the bottom of the lift via lower Centennial. When we arrived at the top of 4 the Wardner peak closure was still in place. So we skied off the chair to the left. We proceeded to ski “Bootlegger” and back to Midway chair 4.

10:40 am
Approaching the top of chair 4 we could see the closure had been removed. Rebecca said “Let's go” and off we went. We skied off the chair to the right, skated up the slight incline and skied out to the Wardner traverse, passing some snowboarders and a couple of skiers on the way.

10:45 am
After entering the traverse and skiing out 20 or 30 feet we noticed a group of people stopped ahead of us. We halted to see what was going on. At this point there is no good way to get back off the traverse. There are many tight trees and the hill at this point empties into a large basin. So it would be unwise to ski down from there.

We quickly realized that the delay was due to the fact that the traverse had not yet been created and the person in the front was breaking trail. We agreed that, alright, we can wait. We skied across some sluff from a hand charge the ski patrol had set off while doing their prep to open the area. A small amount of debris with black residue. Not unusual.

10:48 am
At some point while we were moving slowly along the new traverse a man and a woman skied up behind me. I had some passing conversation with them about the traverse not being in and that it was being created as we speak. Rebecca said isn't it unusual that it had not been created by ski patrol. I said I had never been on the traverse this early. It has always been in place before I skied this area. She said she had never skied it so late, meaning late in the ski season.

I said: “Well patrol have done their avalanche control from above and must feel it is ready and safe for the public.”

As part of this conversation about it being unusual, that patrol had not created the traverse, I said: “Well patrol have done their avalanche control from above and must feel it is ready and safe for the public.” The ski patrol had not opened the area previously in this season. Traditionally this area would have been opened with less snow. Everyone had been eyeing the area looking at fields of perfect snow laying just out of reach.

10:50 am
At this point there would have been about 10 people in front of me on the traverse. At the first narrow opening in the trees a man decided to ski the slot. He made about ten turns and stopped. There was some whooping and three more guys dropped in with him. We kept moving along the traverse. I could see the front person and realized it was a seasoned backcountry skier I knew who does a lot of side country hiking and skiing so I thought, ok, we have a good man out front. 

At the next possibility to drop in, two guys in front of Rebecca peeled off the traverse. We continued along the traverse to the edge of the trees. Soon after the trees the two people behind said they were going. I said, “Have a good run,” and they were gone.

10:55 am
Rebecca and I slid forward a few feet. At this point she said, “Shall we go?” And I replied, “Yeah, let's do it.” She turned to face downhill. Before she could make a turn everything started to move. I looked and saw the whole traverse start to slide. I was down on my side quickly and softly. I Iooked to my right and saw the slide propagate to the trees. To my left I saw it go to the ridge. I think I said, “Here we go.” Rebecca shouted back: “Stay on top!” Her skis were still pointed down hill. I had yet to make the turn downhill so was now sideways in the slide. My feet were washed out from under me.

Rebecca shouted back: “Stay on top!” Her skis were still pointed down hill. I had yet to make the turn downhill so was now sideways in the slide. My feet were washed out from under me.

Ok, I remembered in the moment, we are moving. Everything is breaking up. “Keep your head up,” I think to myself. “Stay up! Try to swim!” Skis are still on, can't move my feet well. Can't get skis off. “Just try to stay up on top,” I’m saying to myself. “There's a terrain trap. I'm lined up to hit it. It's filling with snow. I'm going to be in it. That's death! How high up will I be?” I'm stopping. Snow over me!

Seconds later
Ok, I'm stuck in a shallow burial.  I can see daylight. Compose yourself., I think. “What can I move?” Nothing. Ok. I can move my right hand. And forearm. I can clear my face. At least I can breathe.

10:56 a.m.
I can hear Rebecca yelling frantically for me. It takes several attempts to connect with her. I raise my pole so I can be seen. I tell her I'm ok. I'm fine. “Don't let anyone ski in above us and trigger a second slide!” I don't say it, but it's what I am thinking.

I try to take stock of this. Ok— relax, breathe, re oxygenate! Relax, breathe.

 10:59 a.m.
Above, I hear the second slide release. I feel it coming down on me. "This is it," I reckon. It's huge and roaring toward me. "I am dead!”

The giant wave of fragments arrives and churns me with a strong fluid force. Snow is now over me. I feel the pressure increase and settle on me like a vice over my entire body. I can't take more than a half a breath, at most, due to the heavy pressure over my entire body and smashing my chest. Can't move anything at all! I open my eyes. Nothing but dark. No light. Close your eyes! I don't like the dark! Better to be in your head, I try to counsel myself. Don't look, there's nothing there. And I realize. Ok, there's no surface sign of you for anyone else to see! I've got my skis on, got my poles, got my hat, got goggles, got my gloves.
 
And the realization grips: No way anyone else knows where I am.

11 am
After this second slide, I don’t know if Rebecca is buried, too. And it sinks in deeper of what's happened. A quick thought: there is no way a meaningful rescue will be here in time to find us and dig us out. A surge of reality: I'm going to be dead! I'm a statistic on the wrong side of the equation. I'm going to join the boys! Time seems suspended.
 
[Ken is referring to friends he has lost in other avalanches, most notably in the Tunnel Creek slide at Stevens Pass].

 A quick thought: there is no way a meaningful rescue will be here in time to find us and dig us out. A surge of reality: I'm going to be dead! I'm a statistic on the wrong side of the equation. I'm going to join the boys!

11:05 am

So I’m still alive and trying to size this up. I can’t move. I tell myself, "You've got five, ten minutes, max." I probably will pass out in that amount of time. "If you want any shred of hope conserve air as much as possible. You need to stay controlled, not lose it, not panic."

11:10 am

I am completely constrained in darkness. know it’s stupid but I gotta yell! Ok, that was stupid and just confirmed I’m screwed. I can’t control anything but my own demeanor. Try to stay calm. Images of my life flash forth.

11:20 am
I’m thinking now of Ruth, Tash, Grandkids! [Ken’s wife, daughter and her kids]. No more good times. No more bad times. Don't have to worry about making a living. Don't have to worry about anything. So this is how it ends?

11:25 am
I can’t accept this. You have to move! Ok, push!" Nothing budges. That is horrific torture. Futility. "Get it under control!" I realize it's way more painful being out of control. Controlled terror versus uncontrolled. Controlled wins! Now it is constant struggle to breathe, to move air in and out.

11:30 am
"How long can this go on? Why is it taking so long? Why can't I just pass out? Why haven't I lost consciousness?" Ahhhhhhhh! Ok, I'm trying to focus the internal conversation. "Control the pain of losing your mind." Wow!

11:40 am
Starting to get cold. Real cold. Ok, I can feel things changing as I lose feeling. Alright breathing seems different. Perception is changing. Almost more calm. I am resigned to what's coming.

11:45 am
"Wait! What was that?"  Fells like something poked me?  Hmm. Strange. Am I hallucinating? "Was that a probe by my hip?". Feels like the diameter of a piece of bamboo "It's real! I am not imagining!". Stopped short of my hip. Not a solid hit. Soft contact.

11:47 am
I try to call out. "Heyyyyyy!"  Nothing. Not a sound from them. Shit! They missed me! They don't know I'm right here! They are moving on.

11:55 am
Numbing. Slipping away now. My condition, what alertness I had, is definitely changing!

12 noon
The light ball in my head is getting smaller and more intense. Breathing changing, slowing, I am in a dream state.

12:05 pm
In my grogginess, I feel a poke. "There's something there? There's something coming from above?" Is this real?  It's changing. I sense shoveling. "Whatever you have left, yell! damnit! Yell! Yell!" 

12:07 pm
I hear a muffled question. "Yes!"  Another, and another. "Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! " 

12:10 pm.
Movement from the surface has reached me. My face is uncovered. "Yes! Yes! Yes". Relief." Is this true?" Bodies, legs, arms other people in front of me.

12:15 pm
Guys if you don't believe in miracles you should! This is a miracle! "No way I should be alive! No way!" I turn to the right and see Rebecca. Rebecca comes over. I grab her and pull her through on top of me. I can't let go. I won't let go. "She saved my life!!!!"

Rebecca says to me, “Let them do their job.”

Ok.

12:17 pm
I hear a voice talking about me: “Let's get a collar on him.”

"No way," I think to myself, " do not collar me!, Do not put a collar on me!” Now I say it, ‘Do not backboard me! I'm fine! I'm not injured! Do not collar me! I've been trapped under the snow near death for an eternity. I'm not spending the next hours strapped motionless to a backboard!”

“Ok,” I hear a reply. “Let me do a survey.”

"Fine, great," I say.

“Does this hurt, does this hurt.......?”

Another voice, “Let's get you into the toboggan.”

I need some help to move. I have no feeling.

“We got ya.”

“Don't tie me down!” I say again. “Don't strap me in! I want to be sitting if I can. I don't want to be tied down. Confined!”

“Ok, we are propping you up,” the rescuer says. “Here are some heating pads,; we're stuffing them in your coat.”

“Good,” I reply. “That’s good.”

“We want you to yell if you need to stop.”

“Alright,” I nod.

It's a rough ride. Tipping side to side, snow in my face. "Better than being in that hole!"

“Don't tie me down!” I say again. “Don't strap me in! I want to be sitting if I can. I don't want to be tied down. Confined!”

12:30 pm
We are down mountain to the maintenance shed. They help me out and onto my feet. A person is on either side of me. We walk to the door. Me and one person move through the door, across the floor to the stairs. Up the stairs into another room.

The relative warmth starts to take effect. I am still dazed. I start shaking uncontrollably. I know what or where this is. I have been here before. A trip to Mt Baker gone wrong. Long ride in the back of a pickup at night, during a winter storm. Let's work through the shakes. Ok, I'm able to sit down on the couch and not shake all the time.

12:45 pm
There's a guy across from me in a chair. "He looks really sketched out!" I think. “How's it going?” I ask. Weak response from him. He's looking shocked. “What’s your name?” I ask.
 
“I'm Bill. I was pulled out before you.”
 
I make conversation to try and help him. He looks rough.

1:00 pm.
The aid car arrives. They do vitals on Bill and I. I refuse to take a ride to the hospital. It's a long winding snow covered and icy road down to town. Bill does the same. The lift maintenance manager takes Bill to the lodge on a snowmobile.

1:15 pm
Soon the maintenance manager is back and they decide to take me in a snowcat. I am moving by myself now. We load up. I say to him this is insane, unbelievable! He tells me I was under the snow for at least 45 minutes. He relays his story of what happened while I was under the snow. 

“Unbelievable! Insane! Unreal! Insane!” he says not knowing share the same thought.

That’s what I remember.

"Breathe, repeat," I remember telling myself, and then in the last moment before everything went eternally dark, hearing, "We are here. Now."

 


There are moments in a person’s life when the world as we know it twists into another form before our eyes. It could be the slow motion view of a high speed car crash. It could be a partner walking out the door, never to return. It could be a belay anchor popping loose. It could be an avalanche.
 
Survival in extreme conditions depends on who is confronted with such an incident. It is my experience that individuals who have spent their life following their calling as adventure athletes stand a better chance of surviving unexpected life threatening events then those among us who have a more causal relationship with wild mountains.
 
The call of character gives us the willpower to survive our destiny. Ken’s story is an example of such well-tempered experience brought to bear under impossible, seemly hopeless conditions affording him the opportunity to inspire us with his story, a larger metaphor of what may come.

EDITOR'S NOTE: While ski resorts in the US are now closed, many people are still headed into the backcountry.  It is vitally important for all recreationists to be prepared for avalanche conditions. For more information, click here.