Taylor Musings

Looking up the south face poop chute on Taylor Mountain the afternoon of January 24. The drainage is filled with debris from the powder cloud. Photo: Aaron Diamond

This story first ran in vol. 30, No. 4, April 2012 edition of The Avalanche Review and is republished here with permission. Lynne Wolfe, the author, is also featured on The High Route Podcast where she discusses the January 24, 2012 incident on Taylor Mountain.

Some background

When you last heard from me, TAR readers, on January 23 I had just penned an editorial labeling myself as one of those people about whom I warn my classes, a human factor crucible, impatient for fresh powder. December drought had left the Tetons high and dry; two powerful storms stressed the weak snowpack and heightened powder fever. We submitted the February TAR, 30-3, to the printer the next morning, and I went skiing with two friends, also avalanche professionals who were intimately familiar with the intricacies and problems of the current Teton snowpack. 

The day

After 3.76″ of SWE from January 19-22 caused a huge avalanche cycle (see photos these pages), we were pondering where to ski on January 24. Mid-elevation trees were rejected out of hand; one friend vividly recounted the pockets of sturdy 3-4mm surface hoar perched on a melt-freeze crust that were well-preserved down in those same trees. A late-December hearty inversion had perhaps helped to cook the surface hoar and some of the widespread depth hoar with warm temps up high. And those were just the indirect problems to consider. Overnight temperatures had dropped to 4ºF with clearing skies; the first sunny day on a loaded snowpack. We opted to stick to the lower angle (33-34 degrees), skier’s left side of the south face of Taylor Mountain, stay in the shade and scoot out of there as the January sun rolled around south.

All the way up the southeast ridge we bantered back and forth, discussing and debating the merits of our arguments: snowpack, weather, terrain were all dissected for data and desire. I also asked my compatriots for input on the theme for TAR 30-4; we emphatically declared that today’s ski was just within our risk tolerance personally, but there were way too many unknowns to venture there professionally, on an avalanche course or with even the best ski clients. Charlie Ziskin’s essay on decision-making (see cover story) articulates the process we were trying to use.

As we stripped skins on the southeast shoulder, we noted a party above and to the northwest of us, skiing further out into the south face; we all remarked how that part of the bowl was beyond our risk tolerance. We were on good behavior as we inched beyond the shoulder, one at a time, to a safe spot tucked in thick trees. The skiing was fabulous, but there was an undertone of “can’t make any mistakes, this is serious terrain and conditions.”

The second pitch brought us lower onto the face, but a slice back to the ridge eased the slope angle and exposure. One of our party and an add-on friend departed; my good friend and long-time backcountry partner Fitz and I continued up for another lap, noting that the sun was beginning to make its mark, conditions changing, so we agreed that our next run would be even closer to the ridgeline, in the step/bench terrain. 

The south face of Taylor Mountain is visible from much of the road down the west side of Teton Pass. The fracture line weaves in and out of the tops of the steep drainages along the south ridge, on the left side of the photo. Photo: Kevin Emery, www.lifeisfly.com

The Avalanche

We skied that second lap with no consequences, but noted that the previously light surface was starting to settle and moisten, acting more like a slab. We then descended glade to glade, garlanding back toward the up-track on the southeast ridge. We had stopped to look at a moose when we heard a loud “crack,” like a rifle shot. I thought it might be a huge collapse; Fitz thinks it might have been air blast noise, coupled with trees breaking. Shortly afterward, we saw waves of roiling powder cloud billow down the confined track, boiling up, sounding like a full-speed freight train. From our safe zone well out of the path our thoughts went to the other ski party who had been above us on the second lap; our shorter trip up the skin track put us ahead of them in the circuit.

As the cloud dissipated we sped to the valley bottom in time to see a drainage packed with snow; a final wave of slow-moving wet debris oozing toward us. We immediately began a signal search, our initial fears alleviated by the sight of one of the members of the upper team who told us none of them was involved, although he had indeed triggered the huge face by jumping on a rollover near a rock band. Attempting to release the recent wind slab, it went much bigger than he expected, down to the depth hoar/drought surface from December.

My partner and I went into “dealing” mode, thankful for years of training that helped us know what to do and how to stay cool in this situation. Worries were amplified by the fact that debris from the south face over-ran almost a half-mile of Coal Creek, one of the most popular out-tracks in the range. Luckily, our no-signal finding was corroborated by Teton County Search and Rescue, who deployed a helicopter with an analog Long-Range Receiver (LRR).

But the real fun was about to begin. The south face of Taylor is prominent from the west side of Teton Pass. Motorists and skiers had called 911, prompting the TCSAR call-out. Facebook and the blogs erupted with commentary; TetonAT went viral with a Taylor Mountain Avalanche post, currently with 256 comments. 

Fitz and I returned to Teton Valley, where we cracked much-needed beers and proceeded to debrief our day. When I teach an avalanche course I often extort my students to ask themselves, “Did we make the right call, or did we get away with it?” Certainly snow can often be a forgiving material, but I strongly believe that, especially as we gain experience, we know the difference between the two.

In a show of delicate maneuvering, the Teton County SAR contract helicopter set down in the Coal Creek parking lot, where they connected the analog Long Range Receiver to hang below the ship in preparation for a signal search of the debris. Photo: Lynne Wolfe

Reflections

On January 24, we were granted a rare opportunity to review our actions in the light of the huge slide that swept the face where we were skiing. On close examination, our tracks were still intact; you can see them on the far looker’s right of the face. Did this mean that we made good decisions? Well, we thought so, but we also acknowledged that, in many ways, we got away with it that day. A quote from Karl Birkeland gave me some perspective:

Sounds like you guys ended up on the right side of the line. However, it also sounds like you ended up pretty close to the line. My experience is that if you are too close to that line too often, sooner or later you’ll end up on the wrong side of the fracture. The older I get – and the more I learn what I don’t know – the further I like to be away from that line!

Sometimes, however, in order to know where that line is, I must turn around and look, saying, “Oho there it is behind me – I have crossed it and now how do I escape this one gracefully?” Taylor Mountain allowed us all to escape without injuries or casualties, but now we are obligated to put that free ticket to use, to contemplate the lessons of the incident and of this winter of uncertainty.

Don’t outsmart the instability

The first free lesson reminds me not to underestimate the deep slab problem; underneath it is really a human factor problem, a patience issue that doesn’t heal overnight or after one storm. We even stress in our courses not to to outsmart the instability. Did we do that? Perhaps. But I believe that our terrain management (staying in the planar lower-angle part of the bowl), not our intimate snowpack knowledge, kept our tracks in place as the steeper and windloaded portion of the bowl widely telegraphed the failure around ridges and drainages. 

Instant media vs critical thinking

The second lesson reveals the immense power of modern instant media. Camera phones, Facebook, blog posts, Twitter; we rush to comment because we can. We say things anonymously that we’d never say to someone’s face, but manners lubricate civilization. I’d like to make a plea for critical thinking, for the process of taking the time to gather information, considering it against facts and beliefs, then crafting an argument, being willing to change your mind, be convinced, listen and speak and write thoughtfully and civilly. Often our instant response is reactive, defensive, based on ego. Over time we can gain clarity, lose our initial defensiveness, then really figure out how to change our behavior, learn the lessons, act like the evolved apes we are supposed to be. Perhaps this evolution will cause us next time to save that comment as a draft, re-read and edit it before hitting send.

Likelihood and consequence: taking it another step

One of the systems I use when making decisions at home or in the backcountry is analyzing likelihood and consequences. High likelihood leads me to attempt to minimize consequences, rope up on a glacier with thin soft snow over the crevasses. 

With snow we talk about the size and distribution of the problem, factor in its sensitivity, then consequences point to the potential destructiveness of the avalanche against bodies or buildings. Ski patrollers test likelihood by use of explosives, jumping on rollovers, executing ski cuts; but a regulated environment ensures that human consequences are minimized, slopes are closed, and no one is below. 

The backcountry these days certainly remains a place to test oneself, to find wilderness, to make good or bad decisions and take the brunt of their consequences. I posit, however, that often unsaid but equally important is the potential damage to the community: a rescue helicopter crashing in the inevitable storm can hold the deepest consequences for the rescuers. A mistake of assessment in heavily travelled terrain can affect casual passers-by; is that fair? For example, the recent loss of two energetic pioneers in our Teton backcountry community has affected more people than they may have ever imagined: blog readers, casual acquaintances, educators, family, friends, rescuers, co-workers – much more than just Man vs Nature alone in the wilderness. We need to consider the ripples of our actions beyond the slopes or the immediate decision. What obligations do we have to ourselves and to one another while in the backcountry?

As our backcountry becomes more traveled, we will need to surmount our competitive natures and communicate where we are going so we know who is above and below us, who we might affect directly or even indirectly

In this photo you can see that the final two phases were characteristic of wet debris. The last wave carved a smooth trench in the preceding wall of quickly hardening snow. Here, Trevor Deighton and Maya explore the runout of the poop chute. The avalanche has been characterized as HS-AS-R4-D3.5-GI Photo: Kevin Emery, www.lifeisfly.com

Call for leadership 

I still treasure my collector’s volumes of The Snowy Torrents; looking at accidents, not just the fatalities, is a fabulous learning tool. Before internet resources, I would photocopy case studies from the volumes and hand them out to students to help them develop their own critical thinking. Fatalities since 1998/99 are catalogued on avalanche.org, but the analyses are inconsistent, incomplete. Fatalities deserve in-depth investigation, insightful analysis. Accident case studies are crucial for education, not just for us to use in our classes, but for the public and the participants. I call upon my peers and mentors in the avalanche forecasting field to speak out formally in your forecasts, call out your constituency as did Dudley Improta of the Missoula Avalanche Forecast Center in this forecast:

Monday February 20, 2012: Sidecountry Ramblings

It’s time for my mid-winter rant about backcountry (I should say sidecountry) behavior. I was inspired Saturday when I watch three people ski an avalanche chute just outside the Snowbowl boundary together…at the same time. This particular slope had a large skier-triggered avalanche on it this year. I doubt these three riders read the avalanche advisory, so I’m aiming my comments at Snowbowl parents who may have kids, teenagers or older, ducking the ropes or skiing out-of-bounds. Once you leave the ski area, you’re on your own. The areas just outside the ropes are backcountry. There is no slope management or patrol. You should be prepared to deal with a burial or trauma. It would be a major operation to extract someone from the Rankin Lake basin just outside Snowbowl. Folks are treating this terrain as part of the ski area. It’s not. Do you think people who would ski three at a time down an avalanche chute know when the snow is stable and when it isn’t? Everyone wants to ski the gnarly terrain; the sidecountry is popular. Have you talked to your kids about drugs, avalanches, and skiing out-of-bounds?

I also call on us as a varied community of avalanche professionals to think critically and speak fairly in informal settings as well. Craft a post for a forum, a response to a blog. Talk to folks you might not otherwise at the trailhead, share conditions reports, reach out to help educate the ripper kids, take them on a tour with you. Step up as a leader in your community.

Conclusion

So, after almost two months, did we make the right calls or did we get away with it? I think some of both, this time. But all of us make mistakes, enter crisis from time to time. Often the true test – the measure of character, individually and as a community- comes after the event. The real questions revolve around how we handled crisis and its aftermath. Have we assimilated the lessons into our practice, owned our actions, handled ourselves with grace?