The depths
I stood in the middle of the 93 North Highway, one of the most scenic drives in the world, surrounded by icefields moulded between majestic mountains and jagged cliff faces. Skis were slung over my shoulder, digging through my thin nylon jacket. Traffic was non-existent and I grasped the moment to revel in my recent descent, my legs still burned from turns supported by splashes of powder. The sun was intense and an avalanche broke free and slid down a steep run towards the road, bringing me back to the present. More came, sounding like exploding fireworks and I swivelled in place to spot cascading snow chasing gravity to valley bottom.
This is Mother Nature at her most brilliant, unpredictable and unsatiated self.
I knew to not turn my back on Her. I was safe.
Across the valley, a month later, my group had just finished a picnic lunch at a wide pass. We were rolling over the edge when we triggered a size 3 avalanche. The snow moved and dropped, kicking my skis out from me and I fell hard onto an ice layer. I lifted my head and watched the avalanche continue to grow as I struggled to gain control of my shaking body. Nothing pinned me down, but it was as if I’d been tranquilized and couldn’t get up fast enough.
Thankfully, my friends skied out from the bottom.