Downhill skiing/boarding resorts under the closely controlled operation of a myriad of trained workers from lift maintenance to pyrotechnic avalanche control, grooming, ski patrol medical staff and a host of other activities, in general have good safety records. However, the liability waiver printed on the back of each and every ticket is there for good reason. There are many factors in the skiing/boarding environment that are simply uncontrollable and that skiers and boarders accept as an inevitable part of the sport. The fact was brought home to me a few years ago when I and four others experienced it the hard way skiing Whistler mountain 120 kms north of Vancouver, Canada. It was early January hence daylight hours and in consequence lift operation times were limited. There was and is no night skiing at Whistler thus when the lifts close the mountain, and especially the upper mountain, very quickly empties save for maintenance and grooming staff. Late in the day with the temperature forecast to plummet to -15 celsius the five of us, much to our surprise and dismay, found ourselves in serious difficulty with few options but to attempt a self rescue.

At about 2:30 pm just 30 minutes before the lifts were scheduled to close, we had started down on a 5,000 feet (1500m) of vertical last run of the day from the 2180m (7,155 feet) above sea level peak of Whistler to the valley floor at 670m (2,200 feet.) A vertical mile. The greatest lift serviced vertical in North America. Because of a single navigational error made less than ten minutes from leaving the peak, we were to very quickly go from on-piste intermediate to expert to off-piste expert only skiing. This was soon followed by dangerous, rock strewn part hiking part skiable terrain, through the high alpine and on down amid deep snow covered coastal rain forest back country – as in raw wilderness. Not a good prognosis. Given also the late in the day start of the incident, there was a good chance that we would be be benighted on the mountain and considered missing. 

Skiing off Whistler’s then just opened peak chair on that cold but sunny early January day, around 2:30 pm three people skiing together were about to take their last run of the day. It was to be their second run off the new chair. One of them was a friend of mine on duty as a Whistler ski patrol medical doctor. With him were two friends of his, another male doctor and a female nurse. By chance, my wife and I arrived at the top of the lift just after them. Seeing us, my doctor friend invited us to join the group mentioning that they had just done a run through newly opened up (thanks to the new lift) high alpine terrain and on down to the resort’s mid-station at 1220m (4,000 feet.) We eagerly accepted the offer this being our first run off the new chair and like the other three, planned on skiing out to the valley floor base station via the mid-station. Both of which lay to the west of Whistler peak. We all agreed on descending via Whistler’s west bowl an area well known to all of us as it had been accessible for a long time from a somewhat lower lift. We set off immediately with the nurse leading the way as she had apparently done on the trio’s previous run, also via the West bowl. We elected to ski behind the others with myself skiing as the ‘tail end Charlie’ and thus by staying in that position acting as a ‘sweeper’. That way our group was unlikely to become separated – important for safety as this took place in the era before cellphones.

Not long after we started down, with the others all in clear view if a considerable distance ahead and below me, I stopped having noted that they did not seem to be heading towards the West bowl which was both visible and accessible to me from my higher elevation. Since the original trio had just done the run I took it that very soon I would see them make a turn to the right towards the bowl and enter it lower down. Instead I saw the now four of them stop and although then quite some vertical distance below me, I could see that they were engaged in conversation, likely I figured, debating the route. I was right. I was doubtful that the bowl could be reached from where they had stopped. They were already it seemed too low. It was thus with some reluctance that I headed down to join them. Sure enough upon joining them the consensus was that they had indeed missed a critical right turn. We were about fifteen minutes skiing from the starting point and about six or seven from my previous stop. However to retrace our route up the 60 degree plus slope to the latter, either by side stepping on the skis or by carrying them and kicking steps would be daunting, slow, physically very demanding and outright dangerous. Climbing up carrying heavy downhill skis wearing ski boots without crampons is a recipe for disaster on steep snow. A long, fast, dangerous fall, quite possibly into trees, would be a strong possibility.

From our position and after much soul searching the only practicable route to the valley floor base station open to us we concluded, was to bushwhack down the southerly non-lift serviced side of the mountain taking us far beyond the well marked ski area boundary visible to us a short distance below. This we unanimously if reluctantly decided to pursue rather than attempting the long, strenuous, difficult and risky climb back up. Going outside the boundary on any commercial ski hill is normally an absolute non-starter subject even to one’s lift privileges being revoked. Given it would be safer, the end we felt, justified the means. Once down to about 2,000 feet (610 m) we would intersect a logging road with which we were all familiar leading to the main highway back to the ski resort. Fortunately, my ski patrol doctor friend carried a hand held VHF radio. He would call in to the base station to report our location and self rescue plan. The station staff in turn would radio other ski patrollers of our situation and would advise his wife (who was skiing elsewhere on the mountain) that he and the rest of us were safe, not in any way lost and were making our own way out. He would advise also that we were accepting full responsibility for our decision. No external rescue required.

VHF (very high frequency) radio is line of sight. If the transmitted signal cannot ‘see’ the antenna of the base station there can be no connection. VHF radio is also public. That is any VHF radio on the same frequency within range and with line of site on the transmitting radio will pick up the signal. Both parties can then talk. Our good doctor could raise neither his base station or any other radio. We were after all on the ‘wrong’ side of the mountain. We were on our own with no way of communicating, absent any other skiers with VHF radio at some point coming within range and having a line of sight. Not likely given we heading further down the wrong side of the mountain and, adding insult to injury, outside the ski area boundary. 

The chances of us successfully transmitting a message through to anybody were thus slim to none. Our on duty ski patrol doctor would very soon after the lifts closed for the day (by now just minutes away) be considered missing by his fellow patrollers. They would attempt to raise him by VHF however with him on the other side of the mountain, the odds were very much against contact being made. The lack of a response would trigger Whistler’s search and rescue team and his wife would have the worry of not knowing any details of the situation including if he was alone or with others. Certainly she would be in contact with the ski patrol at the end of her day’s skiing. As things stood, they would almost certainly have no information available.

Conventional wisdom in the scenario described says go up not down. We had unanimously agreed on going down considering that to be, in this case, the safest of the two challenging options described. A third option was to stay put overnight, build a fire and hope for rescue. This we discussed and discounted as the least attractive option. Staying on our skis, we set off and did a long traverse well spread out (in case of avalanche) west across a steep slope at the end of which we were hoping that we just might then see a way around to the west bowl. There was none. Fully committed at that point to the descent to the logging road (which was not yet visible to us) we crossed the ski resort boundary and continued to descend still on our skis. 

We did not get very far. We were quickly among trees, rocky outcroppings and steep ice covered gullies. Shoulder carrying our skis we kicked steps in the snow and soldiered on deeper into the forest as daylight slowly faded. Fortuitously, the close to full moon rose into a clear night. The temperature quickly plummeted well on it’s way to the predicted low of -15C. Reaching a point we deemed again skiable we stepped into our bindings and gingerly continued down. We had not gone much further when, at the back of the pack and unbeknownst to the others, I caught an edge, lost control, fell into a tree well and became stuck, both my skis having penetrated deeply into the loose snow making it impossible for me to move.

Many people have died stuck in tree wells. Such wells, circumscribing trunks can be as much as ten feet deep. Loose snow surrounding the trunk tends to collapse and fall into the well covering hapless victims and smothering them. This can happen at any time and quickly. I was stuck not because of loose snow covering me but because I could not reach my rear bindings to release them. A snowshoe hare happened by. I noted with envy its’ inherent ability to survive the environment.  The skis continued to be held tight by the snow making it difficult for me to change their position. No problem I thought, the others will soon notice I am not behind them and come back looking for me. Just to make absolutely sure of this, I blew the whistle I always carried around my neck when skiing and hiking. Quite some time passed by with no sign of the others. I tried again to dislodge the skis, risking snow falling on me like a mini avalanche. Still no sign of the others. I blew the whistle many more times. Very concerned by then (perhaps something had befallen them I wondered) I fought hard to reach behind to one of the bindings. Finally with a super human effort generated by a combination of fear and the survival instinct I managed to release one ski. I could then move somewhat and quickly had the other ski off. Grabbing the skis, I wasted no time scrambling out of the deep well using my ski poles as make shift ice axes. Just as I reached the rim the others arrived. They had not heard the whistle but finally had realised I had lost contact with them. We re-grouped and debated our best next move since it would very soon be completely dark save for the moonlight. 

The debate at this point, now for the second time, revolved around carry on or hunkering down for the night and starting a fire. We still had a long way to go almost none of it skiable in any conventional sense. In fact we had already taken to mostly side-stepping on the skis which gave more control but at the expense of being much slower both across and down the very steep snow pitches we were now encountering. With the last of the daylight we could at least see the targeted logging road. We were on course but with we realised seeing the distance involved, several more hours of strenuous and risky slogging ahead of us. We decided to press on none of us being keen on spending the night on the mountain at -15C fire or no fire. My doctor friend who from the start of our self rescue decision had become our natural clear and strong leader, accepted as such by all, had by this time, made numerous attempts with his radio to no avail. He tried again. Nothing. It was by now about 6pm. The ski patrollers, the leader’s wife and likely other of our next of kin would be filled with rising concern.

Although it was by now quite dark we did have considerable help from the moonlight. Just as well as we now encountered a steep and frozen stream bed on either side of which was dense and equally steep-sided forest. The stream bed at least was going straight down the fall line. Loosing altitude as quickly as possible had become the name of our game. In spite of a very steep pitch, we decided to side step down the stream bed digging the skis’ edges into the ice as securely as possible and using our ski poles driven into the ice for balance. Our leader, the other doctor and my wife slowly made it down about 100 metres to where the stream bed leveled off some and turned to the west. The nurse was next in line and set off with me close by above her watching.  Had it not been for the fact that others has already successfully side stepped down on this very steep ice, I would not have thought it possible to do so. 

The nurse was about half way down when she let out a scream and started falling. As often happens to those in or closely witnessing accidents, I had a sense of watching her in slow motion. (As a teenager I had once ‘watched’ in apparent slow motion as I crashed my motorcycle at 50 mph.) Strangely, I remember wondering even as she continued to fall, if our self rescue attempt would make the following day’s local newspapers. (for all the wrong reasons – idiots out of bounds, etc). The nurse was injured in the fall and quickly attended to by the two doctors. In spite of considerable back pain, she said she was able to continue. With some trepidation I then started down briefly loosing my edges and thus control twice but luckily  was able to complete the descent without further incident. It was by now about 7pm and getting colder and colder. We regrouped and the VHF radio was tried yet again. Success at last! The doctor had made contact not with the base station but with other Whistler ski patrollers who had just arrived at a pub conveniently (for VHF reception) located on the same southerly side of the mountain. They wanted to come rushing out immediately. No, our leader insisted, we are fine, we are almost out. We do not want nor need to be ‘rescued’. 

The stream proved to be the last major stumbling block in the bushwhack off the mountain. Almost. We still had we estimated about an hour to go before reaching the logging road and then about thirty minutes hiking out to the main highway. The terrain if rocky was by then almost level with scrub bushes and small trees. Just as we reached the logging road we heard the unmistakable sound of skidoos and saw their bright headlights. The ‘cavalry’ so to speak, could not resist (and rightly, would not) the opportunity to meet us with hot drinks, food and first aid if needed. We were all very tired yet also high on endorphins and adrenaline. The ski patrollers wanted to evacuate us on the skidoos. After about six hours of self rescue none of us wanted to be ‘rescued’. We would walk out to the highway we said, call cabs and go home. Of course the patrollers would have none of it and persuaded us to ride out using the four snowmobiles. Two of us, our leader and myself, volunteered to be jointly towed out on our skis by one of the machines while the other three rode pillion on the others. The skidoo carrying my wife set off first. Almost immediately it rolled over dumping both riders! With no injuries evident, they both climbed back on and our now group of nine arrived at the highway in quick order where cars (and more food and drinks) were waiting for the us. It was then about 9pm. Over six hours since we set off from Whistler peak on our last run of the day. 

I subsequently wasted no time in buying the loudest whistle I could find.

More recently I was involved in another self rescue; but that’s another story.