 Poster: A snowHead
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It was only when I got home and took my ski trousers to jan, the polish tailor, that l realised what had been happening. The huge tear in the seat obviously called for an explanation. So I casually mentioned ‘Oh! I tore these digging a girl out of an avalanche’. When I retold the full story, for perhaps the fifth time, I realised that there was something to learn from it.
Five of us were ski-ing in the Valais in high season, late February. The weather proving low and perverse. We knew that snow mixed with rain had been falling for the previous four weeks in the village, and we thought that our fortnight was surely guaranteed for sunshine. We were, however, into the second week and had seen only two glimpses of sun, and were getting a little frustrated. Additionally, the local Town Council had seen fit to host the first World Professional Ski Championship with big names of former Olympic stars performing in circus like the World Professional Tennis circus. Skiers themselves paid little attention to this three-day event, and it was just a colour TV spectacular for ABC. However, we took over the nursery slopes and then later transferred to another slope which took away three piste making machines and half the staff of the slope groomers.
This only sets the scene for degree of frustration in us and probably in many of the other visitors who were getting abonnement vale. On the second Wednesday, however, the sun came out and we were quite pleased with ourselves to achieve top station when the slopes were declared safe. There are really two separate top stations served by cable car and bubble car, and the recommended pistes from these join half way down, leaving a triangle of virgin slope which starts with a rock overhang.
We were enjoying every run down the marked route, which was not fully pisted and we were making what we could of the sections of untrammelled powder. The knees and biceps being what they are I was giving them the treat of short rest after a longish section and came to a stop. I was aware of a pile of textured snow on my right some forty yards away, which somehow didn’t seem right, or it wasn’t there before. Perhaps the piste making machine had been up after all, but, on second thoughts, that surface didn’t look like new mown piste. The horror them struck me. ‘My God!—it's an avalanche!’ I called out to David, who was near me, and who had just seen it a fraction before me. With that a ski instructor broke off from the party at the top of the slope and moved down the deep powder slope from below the rock overhang, going like the bars of hell. The real men of the deep powder seem to relish all there turns and make a meal of it, but this guy was in a hurry. He flashed to a stop just level with us, climbed on to of the avalanche which we established to be 100 yards long, and 25 yards wide, took his skis off and started digging frantically with his hands like a rabbit. David and I watched this and it must have been a couple of minutes before we decided that something was wrong and we should offer to help. Traversing quickly across the beautiful powder slope, I made the mistake dismounting three yards short of the avalanche base and wasting valuable seconds. We were joined immediately by Ian and Enrico from our own party, and helped the instructor in a furious dig. Holds stayed back on the piste and watched from a distance; this she told us later, she did not enjoy at all.
It seemed the instructor was leading his class across the top of the slope when it gave way and carried away three girls at the tail of his class. One bobbed along the top surface and skies free, one was knocked over but not buried or hurt, and the third one he had watched until she came to rest and then he knew exactly where to start. Quickly we found a ski tip and although a body could be contorted we then started where we thought her head might be. Our first sign of hope was a hand about four feet down, but then we knew how careful we had to be because we had perhaps, before then, been standing on the victim’s head and compacting the snow. She was pinned in such a way that she could not clear a breathing space in front of her face and it was with a considerable relief that we found her face, cleared her mouth of snow, and saw her take a breath. About twelve to fifteen minutes had passed and we were also helped by this time a patrol man equipped with a shovel. The girl was really well clear by the time someone else arrived with sounding rods.
Someone told us that the Swiss newspaper had reported she was quickly freed by the efficient patrol team, which made interesting reading. Although there was a degree of coolness about our work, there was the usual shambles of conflicting opinions of how the job should be done. Only two people could work in the hole to free her body, so we contented ourselves with clearing away the snow that they flung out of the hole. Once out and lying on some jackets, she was able demonstrate that her limbs were all right. Although she was seemed to wave her wrist about indicating pain. Her skis did not come off fully and this caught her in the rubble with her leg up and head down. We were told this was the common position.
Somewhat shaken, we cleared off before the blood wagon came. We went back to queue for the cable car ourselves. It was some relief and satisfaction that we saw her arrive at middle station, and, on being unstrapped from the stretcher, she walked in, supported on both sides to travel down the bubble car. We were glad in a way to have this experience, especially when it did not end in tragedy. The girl’s opinion may differ. We hope never to know.
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