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OwnerMITOC Gallery Administrator
Creation Date2007-04-16 19:49:18 UTC-0400
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Tucks Avalanches Instead of Hunts Climbs
April 15th 2007
Laura and Vesna

Our plan was to start early from Boston and be the first at the Huntington Ravine floor for one last ice climb this season, and Laura’s first gully climb. According to rangers, Odell and Pinnacle were in perfect condition, but the avalanche danger considerable in the fan that leads to the gullies and also due to runoffs from the wickedly loaded Central gully. We thought we’d decide when we get there.

As usual, we run late, got distracted philosophizing and took I-93 by habit instead of NH-16. No, we’re not going to Rumney nor Flume. There is still 302—at least for once we didn’t have to make a V-turn. It was 11:30am when we finally got to Harvard Cabin. Hmpf, that’s late… By then the rangers ruined most of our hopes—wind increasing instead of dropping as forecast, loading the slopes everywhere including Hunts and, yes, we’ll have a perfect climb in Pinnacle or Odell’s IF we manage to avoid an avalanche while approaching them. Lovely.

I still thought let’s go and see, but changed my mind at Harvard Cabin. The kiddies there were playing king-of-the-castle: “cabin is closed for general public” even for few minutes we needed for reorganizing our gear. So, as it looked like they were also going to climb in the Hunts, I figured a kindergarten on top of avalanche danger was just too much to take on such a gorgeous but loaded day, so we decided to drop the adventure and go laze in the sun at the base of Tucks and look at the skiers’ shennenigans, just for the fun of it. Did I say fun…?

As we approached the deck at the base of Tucks, I pointed out to Laura the avalanche fans on the slope directly in front of the deck. One guy heard me and turned: “Yes, it’s a wicked slide, it came down just 10 min ago.” Gasp! I realized the huge crowd that seemed to be just standing there, was actually watching anxiously for the survivors. So we joined the watch, looking at tiny figures scattering around the debris, probing and digging. No words to describe the helpless feeling one got in the situation, and then the anger for their stupidity when it was announced no-one was buried. Three skiers got caught, but managed to run it out, only one injured with bruised ribcage, whatever that means.

How eerie, I thought. It was the kind of day that makes you want to hop around from rock to rock and hug trees—crisp periwinkle sky, strands of clouds whipped about by wind, perky firs shaking off the last remains of old snow onto fat whipped cream covering the earth as far as eye can see—how can anything ugly happen on a day like this? And how absurd: the rangers standing around fully geared, waiting for the next fool to get buried. Trying not to implore the hotheads to forget it, but telling anyone who’d listen to take the Sherbourn Trail. And Sherbourn fat and marvelously safe, totally abandoned. Volumes have been written about human folly, and we are still at it…. Beats me. Couldn’t swallow it down without a chaser, so we pulled out the scotch I brought to celebrate when we’re on the top of Laura’s first big climb. I chased the upset with Talisker and Laura chased the Talisker with rooibos tea. Just as we were starting to feel better, enjoying the beauty of the mountain face in front of us, drinking in the sun, commenting on the dainty hiking trail the skiers made on a low-angle ramp that snaked all the way to the lip, another slide shot down.

One moment all was peaceful, 4 dots high up on the ramp hugging its left edge, 2 dots close to the base advancing up along the middle of the ramp. Then a blink. Then nothing there but a huge violent cloud of powder rushing down. Gasps and shouts rippled through the crowd, rangers running, gathering volunteers with probes, a fat knot in my throat, me frozen by tachycardia. When it cleared up we could see the 4 dots still standing—thank god!—high up on the ramp, not more than 5-6 body lengths above the fracture line, but the 2 dots lower down were nowhere to be seen, only the rubble of debris and two figures and a dog running around and probing frantically. The dog seemed to have found something on the right edge of the debris because the both rangers run there and probed and probed with no success. The 4 dots higher up gathered their cool and descended wisely one by one in a vertical line down to the floor. They were shaken but trying not to show it when they finally made it back to the deck. A father, two teenage boys and another man, each a picture of daredevil. I wonder what lies they told the mother…

The two rangers and the dog finally gave up and came back, forlorn and impenetrable. I asked another ranger what now, and he said the search is called off, they couldn’t risk more lives, no-one would survive being buried so long. Him trying to sound calm for the sake of public, while still figuring out how to deal with it himself. Dog’s job, that.

We never found out what happened to those 2 that were located lower on the ramp. We left after another little drama that played out in front of everybody’s eyes. Just as the search was over and people started dispersing (finally found the Sherbourn Trail attractive enough), a pair of skiers was spotted on the little buttress of trees and rocks to the right of the ramp, at the level slightly lower from that of the group of 4. At first I got excited thinking it’s those two that are missing, but then realized they couldn’t have gotten so high up from where they were. These 2 must have been even higher up than the group of 4 and now they were just trying to get their asses out of that mess. They stood there forever hesitating with ski tips pointing to the right, towards the exact same large snow face on which the first avalanche happened. People started shouting ‘idiots’, ‘you better head directly down’, etc. but before you could gasp one of them started traversing the slope right through the middle, in a perfectly horizontal line perpendicular to the slope fall line!! How stupid can one be, scared or not scared!? Everybody could practically feel another slide starting, but miraculously, nothing happened. He made it safely to the other side of the slope and milder terrain and gained the little saddle leading to the bowl proper. His friend just stood there, probably thinking the same thing as we did. He was definitely not going to follow as it was obvious he would have triggered a slide. After what seemed as an eternity, he shot directly down and made it safely to the floor in few bold turns, to the scattered cheers from the dispersing crowd.

When we finally caught our breath, we decided we couldn’t bear another one, and we bailed out. We hiked a bit further towards the bowl, as I wanted to check whether the ice bulge we played on last year in preparations for Katahdin was in, sort of hoping we could at least symbolically stick our tools in some ice—but it wasn’t in. There were only a few lonely icicles hanging off the cliffs to the right of the trail. The bowl was coming in and out of view partially obscured by rushing clouds, but even then the debris from several huge avalanches could clearly be seen on the floor. Unbelievably, there were still maniacs skinning up to ‘give it a try’ with a squadron of rangers prepared for anything standing at the last first-aid cache. Too much for our wimpy little hearts—we practically run back, stopping at the deck only to say buy to three old-timer rangers and take a picture of them. We hoped the geezers had no more drama that day.

If it wasn’t for the accidents, we could have said we had a great laidback day, crowned with a scenic drive along the Kanc and a sumptuous dinner of crab and mussels chased by martinis at the Common Man in Lincoln. Basic pleasures make it easy to forget the drama, but thinking of it now, I realize I will never be able to understand what makes people forfeit the common sense, discard the instincts screaming ‘don’t go!’, and surrender themselves over to chance. Screw chance, life is too short as it is.

Vesna