This Month's Story
I was skiing at Alta in Utah, quite a few years ago, when this happened. It was cold and a friend and I decided to stop at a small way station and have some hot chocolate on our way down the mountain. I went inside, grabbed two cups of chocolate and came back outside where my friend had held a table. I handed him his chocolate and sat down.
The sun was starting to come out and the view, the chocolate and the chair was a wonderful way to spend a mid-morning of hard skiing. I had met my friend on the chairlift on my first run of the day. As we rode, he introduced himself and asked if I’d like to try a run with him. No one likes to ski alone and I said yes. Now, as I sat there nursing my hot chocolate, I felt glad I had said yes. It turned out that Jim, my new friend, was a good skier that liked to run the hardest runs on the mountain, those slopes marked with black diamonds. I had managed to keep up with him and now sitting there resting, I realized that although by the end of the day we would both be exhausted, it would be the type of exhaustion that was the reason we were skiing in the first place.
At the moment, I was tired however and, as I sipped my chocolate, I did it slowly. I wanted to take full advantage of our rest stop.
We were a little way off the main run and the view from where we sat looked over a fairly flat white expanse that was probably used to grow wheat during the summer.
When we first sat down, I had noticed a skier cutting across the field to get to the way station. I leaned back closed my eyes, letting the sun’s rays warm me. When after a few seconds, I sat up and looked at the field again, it slowly came to me something was odd.
The skier was gone.
I sat up straighter and stared, wondering if I had been mistaken.
Puzzled, I got up, put my skies back on and telling Jim I would be right back, started out across the field. As I moved, farther from the station, I began to see what appeared to be a faint line running across the field and a few moments later saw ski tracks leading up to the faint line.
But at the line itself, the ski tracks stopped. I went a little way on, moving more slowly. In the stillness of the open field, I thought I heard a yell. It was very indistinct and too faint for me to be sure I had even heard anything. It sounded like it had came from in front of me, but there was no one there!
I stood still for a few seconds. The voice, or whatever it was, had stopped. I stood still for a few more seconds and then turned and poled my way back to where Jim was now standing watching me.
“Jim, I saw a ski patrol guy inside getting chocolate earlier. He’s probably still inside. You’ve got your skis off; go in and ask him to come outside for a moment.”
A young ski patroller came out, a cup of chocolate in his hand. I told him what I had seen.
He stared across the field puzzled and then putting down the chocolate, went to the ski rack, put his skies on and the two of us headed toward the distant line. We stopped where I had earlier and as we did so, we heard again a faint yell. This time there was no mistake; it was very faint, but it was a cry and whoever it was needed help.
The patrolman pulled his backpack off, uncoiled a long rope he had attached to it and began tying one end around his waist, and then around me
“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m going to tie the two of us together. I’ll go ahead about fifty feet. You follow me and back me up if I fall.”
I nodded and he started off. When the rope became taut, I started after him.
Just as he reached within a foot or so of the thin line, he let out a yell and disappeared.
I threw myself down and began pulling back on the rope as hard as I could. It was heavy, but in a short time the patrolman’s head reappeared covered with snow.
“Come closer. I’ll clear away the snow so you won’t fall in.”
With this he began waving his ski pole about to make the hole wider. I got on my feet and moved forward cautiously, hitting the snow as hard as I could as I came.
Suddenly, in front of me a large part of the snow caved in and as I looked down, I saw ten feet below me, the patrolman covered with the new fallen snow. Worse, he was standing in about a foot of water.
“There’s a guy down here. I’ve wrapped my end of the rope around him. I’ll climb up to give you a hand. He’s too cold to climb out by himself.”
The patrolman scrambled up the now wide opening and, coming up beside me, the two us began hauling up the fallen skier. When he was up, we sat beside him and rested for a moment.
“I’ve called ahead.” The patrolman told the skier, “A skimobile with a basket will be here soon to take you to an aide station and get some dry clothes on you and warm you up”
“It happened so quick.” The man gasped. “I fell smack down in the water. I was soaking wet. I tried climbing out, but the snow kept falling back on top of me. I called and called, no one came.”
The patrolman slowly shook his head. “You would have never been able to get out.” He turned to me, “The place is like a tunnel down there with the stream at the bottom ten or so feet down. The snow’s been blowing across the opening building a thin canopy over the top so there is just that small gap we saw that follows the stream across the field. The whole thing forms a sort of echo chamber.” He turned to the skier, “Your yelling reverberated against the snow and was trapped inside. We were less than a hundred feet from where you fell in and we could barely hear you yell.”
Now he turned back to me, “Look, our skis are still down there. I’m going back down and tie the rope to them. Pull them up and then do the same with me. I’m getting a little cold myself.”
With this he went back to the edge of the hole and scrambled down. I had taken my skis off and crawled closer to the edge. While the patrolman was tying the two sets of skis to the rope, I looked downstream. The thin snow canopy let light in and you could see quite well. Except for a one or two foot thin line of open air at the surface, there was no indication of the stream running far below. It was truly a snow tunnel; eight feet wide at the bottom where the shallow stream ran. Anyone on the surface would never realize what lay below until the roof collapsed and he would be trapped in the stream’s channel.
I looked down at the patrolman who was signaling me to pull up the skis. I quickly undid them, put them aside, and then threw the rope back down to the patrolman. In moments he was up beside me.
As he did so, there was a loud noise and a skimobile towing a rescue basket pulled up beside us.
The shivering skier was soon inside the basket, covered with blankets, and the patrolman was soon sitting behind the driver.
“Thanks for your help. We’ll get a crew up here to put warning flags up. Come down to the aide station when you get a chance and we’ll give you something hot to drink. I’ll make sure you’ll have something extra in it. Thanks.”
With that they left.
I put my skis on and went back to where Jim was watching the happenings from the way station. He handed me a new cup of hot chocolate and we went both went inside to get warm and for him to hear my story.
We sat at a table and he listened. When I got to the end he leaned back and smiled.
“You really shouldn’t have worried; they would have found him in the spring. Now, if your through lollygagging, let’s go skiing. I know a really neat place we haven’t hit…”
