Spring Touring: Lessons from a Fall

When avalanche danger falls, don’t take other risks for granted

Mark Bunge, SAC Vice President

I like Jeremy Jones’s saying, “December is for fitness, February is for powder, April is for sending.” Winter 2018-19 was a big one, and with a deep snowpack heading into the spring, a friend and I headed south to Tioga Pass hoping to cross a couple of bigger lines off our Sierra ticklist.

Our main objective was Solstice Couloir, a 45-50 degree chute that drops 1,500 feet from the west shoulder of Mt. Dana. Most years the couloir is topped by a large, overhanging cornice, requiring a mandatory air into the chute, which is a level of risk that had stymied both of us in the past. But in 2019 we found ideal conditions: just a small cornice drop followed by a quick hop over the bergschrund. We assessed the overhead hazards, tossed a few rocks to check the snow, and confirmed that we were both comfortable with the line. I puckered up, dropped in and skied the top third of the couloir, before stopping in a safe zone to radio back to my partner. He skied two-thirds of the way down, then waited for me to join him for the final pitch and a celebratory pond skim on Dana Plateau.

Our second target was Banana Chute, a 2,000 foot couloir that isn’t quite as steep as Solstice, but has two doglegs and a narrow section in the middle. My partner had skied it before, so this time he dropped in first. Again we skied in pitches, my partner waiting in safe zones and radioing back that it was okay for me to ski. The crux is a 40+ degree section that narrows to about 15 feet wide. By then it was early afternoon, the snow was quite soft, and I definitely felt some nerves. But I cleared the crux and joined my partner with a big exhale.

The final pitch was a bit wider and less steep, so I took the lead, letting my skis run a bit as I traversed the final dogleg. Coming around a blind corner I found my path blocked by a band of rocks, so I stopped and let my partner take a lower traverse. With rocks in front of me and below me, my options were to back up 30 feet and take the easy traverse, air over the rocks below me, or whip a quick turn between them. Feeling good now that the hardest skiing was behind us, I opted to shoot a gap in the rocks. As soon as I tried to set my turn I knew I had miscalculated. With the steep slope and soft afternoon snow, my skis slid further downhill than I anticipated, and I was going to clip the rocks.

In consequential terrain when slab avalanches are not a concern, I usually lock the toepiece on my tech bindings to avoid pre-releasing. I had done that on Solstice Couloir, and assuming my toepiece was still locked out, my plan was to stop/stand on the fast-approaching rocks, even if that meant bashing my skis. But after our lunch break at the top of Banana Chute I had forgotten to lock my toepiece for our final descent. My skis hit the rocks and double-ejected. Although I was carrying a whippet and immediately tried to self-arrest, the steep slope and soft snow made it so the best I could do was keep my feet pointing downhill and slow my fall a little. Even still I quickly gained speed, tumbled through a scree and talus field and over an 8-foot cliff, fortunately landing on snow rather than in the moat next to the cliff wall that would have stopped me like a lawn dart. I was eventually able to arrest my slide after falling about 800 vertical feet.

My partner and I radioed each other to check in. He saw one of my skis, but the other one had disappeared. While he brought one ski down, I continued my self-assessment. Amazingly, other than being shaken up, the only real injury was a big bruise and small cut on my hip from bashing talus, but I could walk. My helmet was dented but I wasn’t showing any concussion symptoms.

At that point the smart (and obvious) decision would have been to cut our losses and descend the final 1,500 feet to the road. I didn’t relish the thought of downclimbing, sliding down on one ski, or replacing my 1-year-old skis and bindings, so I decided to climb back up the couloir to look for my lost ski. My partner didn’t love the idea, but he didn’t try to talk me out of it either. I spent the next two hours kicking steps back up the chute to look for my ski. Of course I never found it, which left me higher in the couloir, still with just one ski, and facing an icy downclimb with afternoon shadows now filling the couloir. I gingerly climbed down until I could transition to slide out on one ski. It wasn’t until a falling rock whizzed past my head that I finally realized how dumb and dangerous it was to spend all that extra time in the couloir.

Over fish tacos and beer at the Mobile Mart, my partner and I took stock of the day’s misadventure and lessons for future trips:

1. Agree in advance that the sober one always drives. We both knew that climbing back up Banana Chute would expose me to cornice fall, rock fall, or a second Mark fall, so why did I make such a boneheaded decision? I remember thinking how scary it must have been for my partner to watch me tumble down the mountain, and in the moment it felt important to prove to him and to myself that I was okay, and that my fall was no big deal. I also felt surprisingly calm, so I wrongly concluded that adrenaline wasn’t clouding my judgement. My partner trusted my self-assessment and deferred to me when I should have been deferring to him. We decided that for any future incidents (falls, injuries, avalanches, etc.) everyone should vocalize their concerns about a proposed plan of action, and that if there is any disagreement, the person/people who were NOT the victims have veto power to choose the more conservative plan. This should be a standing rule that everyone agrees to in advance.

2. Take a wilderness first aid class. Mid-fall I was briefly comforted by the fact that my partner was an urgent care physician whom I trusted to provide first aid. Afterwards I realized that if our roles were reversed, I was not prepared to help him with a serious injury. For 15 years I’ve been diligent about avalanche education and rescue practice, but hadn’t taken a first aid course since high school. I signed up for a Wilderness First Responder course the following winter, and would encourage everyone traveling in the backcountry to take some type of wilderness first aid class.

3. Communicate openly and continually. Up until my fall we had done a good job of analyzing and discussing the terrain, snow conditions, how we were feeling, and descent plans. Both of the bad decisions I made--to try to whip a turn between the rocks and then to reascend the couloir to find my ski--were made hastily with little discussion.

4. Ski pitches in consequential terrain. Avalanches weren’t a major concern that day, but we still skied the couloirs in pitches, from safe zone to safe zone, just in case one of us triggered a wet slide, fell, or was hit by falling rock or snow.

5. Bring radios. Radios are standard equipment for snowmobilers and should be for skiers and split-boarders too. Having radios let me report back on snow conditions after dropping into Solstice Couloir, and allowed us to communicate after my fall when my partner was out of voice range. Radios are also useful if you get separated from your group or need to call for help out of cell range.

6. When in doubt, make the conservative choice, and stay focused until you’re back at the car. Having cleared the main crux of Banana Chute I was feeling good, looking forward to arcing some big turns on the way out, and kicking back with a beer at the car. My first mistake was opening up while we were still in consequential terrain. When that put me in a tight spot, I compounded my initial error by choosing a risky line instead of just backing up 30 feet and taking an easy traverse out.

7. If someone knows the terrain let them go first. My partner led the first two pitches on Banana Chute, but I dropped in first on the final section because it felt like the worst was behind us. He saw that I was traversing too high around the blind corner, but I got stuck before he could warn me. If I had let my partner lead the final section it would have been an uneventful trip back to the car.

8. Bring ski crampons; put them on before you truly need them. I’m a big fan of ski crampons to make icy spring ascents faster and safer. But at least once a year I wait too long and end up trying to clip them on from a precarious stance on steep terrain. Keep an eye uphill and put your ski crampons on before you’re on an icy slope with slide-for-life potential.

9. Consider whether to lock out your bindings as part of a consistent pre-run routine. There are differing opinions on locking out the toepiece on tech bindings. My personal approach is to use the normal descent (releasable) mode in winter snow and if avalanches are possible. However, in terrain where a slab avalanche is unlikely but pre-releasing would be dangerous, I tend to lock out my toepiece so it can’t release. There’s no way to know what would have happened if I had remembered to lock my bindings--it’s possible I still would have fallen and ended up with a knee or leg injury by tumbling with skis still attached--but I think I would have been able to stop and perch on the rock instead of losing my skis. Either way, I ended up in that position because of an oversight, not a conscious choice. For skiers or snowboarders in AT boots, always check that both boots are in descent mode, not walk mode. It’s a common mistake that can be consequential in no-fall terrain.

10. Wear a helmet, even in the spring. I have quite a few friends, including several Sierra veterans, who usually don’t wear helmets in the backcountry, especially in the spring. To me the consequences of a head injury from a fall, collision, or rockfall FAR outweigh the inconvenience of carrying or wearing a helmet. In the spring it might be appropriate to use a lighter, cooler climbing or bike helmet instead of a ski helmet.

I hope everyone enjoys what may be a short Sierra corn harvest this year. And if you happen to find a banged up Blizzard Zero-G 108 somewhere between Dana Plateau and Ellery Lake, I’ll gladly swap it for some SAC swag.