Humbling

That sound. Crack! Sound waves wrapped around me like violent blanket as I watched the ground split apart and fall away from my feet.

This scenario from two years prior was on repeat as I watched Haines, Alaska get nuked with a late season storm from the entrance of my Yurt. Snow fell like golf balls filled with helium, filling in any remaining exposed chutes high up in the mountains. I was back. Back for redemption. Back to prove that this particular line on this particular mountain in Alaska was not going to take me out. Narcissistic? Defiantly. But you need to be somewhat of a narcissist in my line of work. Big Mountain snowboarding is what I do and if your not overly confident then your not going to get a second chance like I am now.

Two years ago Haines received a much higher than average snow fall and I was there to film back country snowboarding. This particular face of the mountain, I had my eye on for years, disecting each cornice, making sure I knew where every rock and cliff was. I had the run dialed. I knew when to make my turns and in which direction. Once the weather lifted and we got the okay from Avalanche Control to go up there, I dropped into my Garden of Eden and set off one of natures most humbling natural phenomenons.

Crack! It’s an odd sensation hearing such an overwhelming, fear inducing sound and not knowing where it came from or where to look. It was a cracking sound that had no business being there. Like hearing “touchdown” at basketball game. It doesn’t make sense. I was physically struck by the invisible force of the sound wave. My spine tingled up and down. I tried to let out a yell but was interrupted. The mountain had one last thing to say before unleashing its wrath onto whatever lies below.

“Whumph”

The layer of fresh, soft powder and the hard, packed, older snow underneath acted as vocal cords and the mountain cried “whumph” as the air between the two layers of snow escaped as they separated.

It felt like minutes but in reality, milliseconds had past when I knew what had happened. The entire face of the mountain had came loose and I set off a massive avalanche. Instinctively, I tucked into a ball to gain speed. “Maybe I can out ride this one”. But as soon as I made that decision, the vibration turned the once angel soft powder into solid, obscure boulders of concrete. I no longer had solid ground beneath me. I was in a white out. I couldn’t see up or down. I didn’t know if I was being sent over a cliff or tumbling down the mountain, my body acting like a Tomahawk. The only stimuli that was registering was loud, fast and white. Then dark. Then still. Then the silence. Peace. I had never been so relaxed, so content.

Beep.

I tried opening my eyes but, confused, I couldn’t.

Beep. Beep,

“What the hell is going on?” I can’t move.

Beep.

“Okay, What Hurts?” My legs are burning but I can feel my muscles tense when I try to move.

“I’m not Paralyzed.”

Beep. Beep.

“What the hell is beeping?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Reality had returned.

“I was in an avalanche. I was in an avalanche and survived but I’m buried.” How deep? Deep enough for the pressure to prevent my eyes from opening. Deep enough to confuse paralysis with being buried. The burning sensation in my legs turned into the realization that they were broken. I was rendered helpless.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. BEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

“What is that!?”

It was my beacon going off. Two feet above where I had came to a rest, Avalanche Control was searching for me and the final elongated beep meant that they had located my beacon that was strapped to my chest. Not a moment too soon because the volume of snow I had swallowed had melted and refrozen into a solid chunk, blocking my airway. I’m told that when I was pulled out of the snow I was blue and barely breathing. After CPR was administered, out came a 4 inch chunk of ice that had formed in my airway.

I was evacuated by helicopter to the local hospital where I learned about my multiple broken ribs, broken collar bone, concussion, two obviously broken legs and the real reason why I didn’t die on that mountain that day.

I set off one of natures most humbling phenomenons. The avalanche was 1500 vertical feet and 10 football fields wide. Avalanche Control was already aware and on their way before the slide had come to a rest. On top of that, in Alaska, you help each other out. It’s just what they do. So when word got to town about a big avalanche with a rescue operation, about 25 locals showed up high in the Alaskan back country on snowmobiles with shovels and probes ready to be directed to where they were needed most.

That was two years ago to the day. Hypnotized by the beauty that is Alaska, I pull my face away from the window and rejoin reality. I’m back. The helicopter hovers inches above the peak as I hop out. I crave redemption. I’m a big mountain snowboarder and riding big mountains is what I do and I’m not going to let this particular line on this particular mountain in Alaska get the better of me. I know I’ve got this. Avalanche control, who is at the bottom, watching, knows I’ve got this.

I shield my face from flying snow as the rotors of the helicopter pick up speed, inevitably leaving me behind on the mountain ridge that nearly took my life two years ago. Alone. Alone on this mountain peak, where few will ever get to stand, I step onto the Frozen cornice. My leg starts to tremble. I know this mountain face so well. I feel good! I’ve been building up to this moment for the last two years. Now is now! I reach down and tighten my bindings one last time. No turning back!

I begin my descent. As I gain speed, the location of my first turn get larger. The turn that changed my life forever. Confidently, I dig my toes into the powder and lean back, making a personal, yet temporary white room of snow. Endorphins flooded my brain. I fly out of my room and my stomach hits the floor. A peculiar feeling it is, seeing a vision play out in front of you that's been previously burning into your memory. At the same moment I hear the grossest sound Mother Nature can produce.

Crack!