I’ve had some close calls in my life. My last one wasn’t close, it was right under my feet and over my head.
On February 16th 2014, I, Martin and Maria remotely triggered an avalanche in our “home” mountain range in Kittelfjäll, Sweden. The avalanche broke about 100 m above us and caught and partly buried us all. The crown was roughly 300 m wide and the path was about 400-500 m. In some miraculous way, we all survived and got away with minor physical injuries – I broke both of my legs, got a crack in my chin and a hell of a black eye, Maria got a dislocated femur fracture, while Martin strained his groin and got a small bruise (I am starting to think that he is unbreakable). In time, our bodies and minds will heal, but I suspect that the process will be long and winding. There are so many questions banging against my forehead: How could we let this happen? Where did we go wrong? So many emotions swirling around in my chest; guilt, fear, shame, and an immense gratefulness of being alive.
To learn for ourselves and hopefully provide others with information that will reduce the risk that the same mistakes are done again, we will of course write a full avalanche report of the incident. However, to process what happened that day, I also want to write down in my own words what happened that day in Kittelfjäll.
So here it goes.
It had been a hellish week. The Saturday before, I detected a weird rash on my butt. For some reason I immediately knew that I had acquired the shingles. It swiftly spread all over my right butt cheek and thigh. Very foxy and quite painful (it felt like someone put electrified needles into my ass). Since I am a bit of a hypochondriac I was a bit reluctant to go to the mountains when the weekend approached, but it had been snowing really well for Sweden and Maria had agreed to come, so I just couldn’t stay home. Consequently, I, Maria and Martin packed up Steve and headed for Kittelfjäll after finishing work on Friday. Since Maria had a bad foot and two bad elbows, and I had my shingles, we all agreed that we would take it real easy and just do half days.
When we arrived in Kittelfjäll, the temperature was substantially higher than I had expected. It was very close to freezing, and I remember fearing that the skiing wouldn’t be all that good. However, the next day when we headed out towards Borkan, the snow was all creamy and sweet. As usual, we dug a couple of pits. Our compression test showed a surface instability. With just a few taps from the wrist, the surface layer collapsed. After good number (about 20) of harder taps, a deeper layer below all the new storm snow collapsed on a clean shear. We wanted to do a ECT, but had forgotten our strings and were therefore unable to test propagation. From our CT, we drew the conclusion that there was high risk of a surface release and a smaller risk of a deep avalanche. We therefore decided to take great care in choosing our ascent and descent. Of course we made sure to spread out as we traversed risky slopes and skied one at a time.
It was a glorious day. I was so impressed with Maria. She used to snowboard, but due to her bad foot, she had taken up skiing just 3 months earlier, and now she was skiing like a snow queen and even doing some drops! Martin was doing his premier in hardboots and dynafit toeclips. He said he felt a bit like RoboCop, but I must say he got some pretty nice turns in. At the top of Borkan, we spotted a line on the backside of Kittelfjället. Some open fields, some big trees and the usual mountain birches on what seemed to be a slope with decent inclination. It was very close to where we usually ride, so if it was no good, we could always head in that direction. We decided to check it out the day after.
After three fun runs we decided to let our bodies rest and head back home to charge them with some wine, pasta and a shit ton of Parmesan.
When we came out to the car the day after, it had snowed an additional 10 cm. Pretty good for Sweden, and the snow was colder than the day before. It looked like it was going to be a good day. We easily found the treed small and low inclination ridge that would safely take us to our run. On the flat land, we hear several “whumps”, some of them big. I remember saying, “This is starting to sound like Centennial Ridge :)”. To get a sense for the instability, jumped on a test slope on the side of the ridge. The inclination was about 35 degrees. This produced a settlement but no movement in the snow.
When the slope got a bit steeper, the whumps stopped. Since we knew that the snow pack was a bit unstable, and since visibility was poor, we had no intention of skiing alpine terrain. However, we also wanted a run of decent length, so we aimed for the tree line. As we approached it, we all agreed that this was not a day when we wanted to have big snow fields above us, as the current snow conditions implied that there was a heightened risk to remotely trigger an avalanche. Since we needed to traverse to get to our run, we stopped to discuss the way forward. We had a small open snowfield above and below that we needed to cross, then a place where we would pass underneath cliffs without much snow, then what seemed to be a very safe spot. After a lengthy discussion, where everyone had the right to say “no”, and I was the most reluctant one in the group (and therefore can say with comfort that I could have said no), we decided to skin one at a time over to the other side. Martin went first. While we waited, I and Maria isolated two snow columns with our poles and did hand shears. It was very, very hard to get the snow to go anywhere. It seemed as if the new snow had sintered really well with the old one. When Maria put her full weight on the snow and pulled, however, the snow came out with a very clean cut.
Martin’s traverse went well, and the rest of us followed one at a time. Once we were over on the other side however, we decided that the run that we had planned was too convex and steep, and too uncertain concerning exactly where we would end up. So we decided to turn back. One at a time again, to the place where we had started. All good. We decided that we would try to get to our usual run. It would be a bit of a slog, but we would at least get one good run. We then discussed how to get there, if we should try to stay high or go down through the trees and skin back. Since we didn’t want to have that big snow field above us, we chose the latter. Better safe than sorry.
And then we got greedy. Going down the way we got up would basically mean that we would skin down, that seemed just a bit too boring. Instead we chose to traverse just a little bit to the west, where a sweet little snow field with what looked like a mellow inclination opened up. If we would just climb up say 20 meters, we would get a good run. Visibility was relatively poor, so we couldn’t really see what we had above us. I saw something that looked like a cornice that worried me, but since we were heading back, I didn’t really think more of it.
Martin had only gone a few meters out on the snow field, with me and Maria just a few meters behind, when we heard the whump. I remember Martin saying, “This is us turning back, this is not the place to be”, and starting to back towards me. I did the same. Then I saw him running backwards towards me. “WTF?”. Then, from the back of my eye, I saw a huge wave of snow charging down the mountain. When I realized what was happening, I tried to grab the trigger to my ABS, but before I could, I was knocked over by the avalanche. I reached for the trigger again, and this time I managed to pull it. However, at this point, the balloons were of little use. The snow threw me right into the trees. I felt them slamming against my head and ripping the skis of my feet. All I could think was, “protect your head” as the snow pushed be forward. Then, as soon as it had started, everything went still. My back against a mountain birch, my head above the snow facing uphill.
Silence. Breath in , breath out, in, out. Stillness. Breath. Heartbeat. I was alive.
I heard Martin shouting my name, “I’m ok!”, then Maria? Maria!! MARIA!!!! Until then, it had not even crossed my mind that something really bad could have happened. I could see her helmet on the top of her backpack but not her head. Finally, I heard a faint, “I’m ok”. I tried to get up, but I was buried to my chest, stuck with my butt and back on one side of a mountain birch and my legs folded on the other side. I tried to dig with my hand, but was shaking to hard. Martin was surrealistically fast at digging himself up. He came running, asking if I was ok, then ran forward to dig up to Maria. I could hear her scream. Blood freezing in my vains. “Is she ok?!!”, “She has a broken bone”. Damn. Then the fear of a new avalanche. My backpack was pulling me down towards the snow, but I couldn’t make myself take it off, even though one balloon was completely empty and the other only partially filled, and even though it wouldn’t have done any good with two filled balloons in an avalanche coming down from a mile above in the trees. So I just dug frantically with the one hand I had been able to free. As soon as Martin had checked that Maria could breath, he dialed 112 and the police and tried to give directions to our position and warn for the risk of additional avalanches in the area. We knew that a big group from Stockholm was planning an off-pist day, and were terrified that they would come over “flygarskalet” (a crest above us), to ski “Norgesvängen”, since they would be likely to set off a new avalanche.
Having done that, Martin continued digging up Maria. I could hear her scream. My blood froze. Maria is one of the toughest people I know, and she usually do not whimper, now her screams were ghastly. Martin came running, “Maria has a femure fracture. Her leg is dislocated. I don’t know if I should reposition it or not?” By then, I had managed to dig a hole deep enough to get my own phone. Luckily it was still working. So while Martin stayed with Maria, I called 112 again to ask for instructions and to try and give more directions on our position. We got the instruction to leave the leg as it was, implying that Maria had to lie as she landed; flat on her stomach on the very cold snow. Martin tried the best he could to push things under her for protection, but it was hard since every movement also moved her dislocated leg. And all we had in terms of pain relief was one pill of Ibuprofen…
Giving directions to our location was difficult. We were only a few kilometers from Kittelfjäll and from the main road, and we were close to a, by skiers, well known run. But the the people on the other side of the line did not know the run and therefore did not understand where we were. We should have had a GPS… Luckily, we had some friends skiing another line a few km west, and even more lucky, they had exactly the expertise we needed. One is an ER nurse, one works for the ski patrol in Abisko and one has a lot of experience of the backcountry. While we waited for our friends, I dug myself out. It never occurred to me that I might be injured. I had trouble kicking off the snow from my legs, but I thought that it was just due to the heavy snow and maybe that my foot was stuck in a shrubbery or something. However, when I had freed my legs completely, I could still just move one of them. Fuck. Since I was resting against a small birch, I could use it as a lever to move myself. I finally got my backpack off and pushed it into a position so that I could sit on it and lift my right leg in a high position. Then I just sat there, trying to keep warm.
Our friends were with us within half an hour (I think). Three helped us with warm clothes and hot tea, and three headed down to guide the rescue patrol. Without them, I’m not sure how this story would have ended.
After what seemed like an eon of time, we heard snow mobiles. It was such a relief! However, the large amount of snow that had been falling made it difficult for the machines to get in and without skis on their feet, it was difficult for the rescue patrol to reach us by foot. Luckily, the rescuers managed to contact a local snow mobiler, who’s skills made it possible for him to charge up the mountain in a way that I will never forget. What a hero! This enabled the other snow mobiles to come as close as possible on the relative flat land, and made it possible for the patrol to reach us on snow shoes with sledges and blankets.
Until that moment, I had been totally calm, just focusing on keeping as warm as I could. But when I saw the trees getting filled by people, something burst inside of me. I started shaking all over, crying and laughing at the same time. Then my mother called. She had heard about the avalanche on the news and immediately knew that I was one of the injured women. Hearing her voice really got me crying. I was so ashamed of our mistakes, I felt so guilty that we had exposed ourselves and others to danger, and I was so relieved that we were alive.
With the arrival of the rescue crew, Maria got some morphine. I’m sure it helped some, but her screams when they repositioned her leg will haunt me for a long time. Hearing her pain, and knowing that there was nothing I could do to help her is something that I hope I will never have to experience again.
About 4 hours after the avalanche released, I and Maria were tucked into sledges and on our way down the mountain. Safe, warm and carried by the most amazing people in the world.
We were all taken to the emergency at Lycksele hospital (about 230 km from Kittelfjäll). As expected, the ex ray showed that Maria had a femure fracture, but in spite of the dislocation, it looked relatively good under the circumstances. My ex ray showed that I had managed to break both of my legs and that I had a crack in my chin. But that was all. No back injuries, no severe head injuries, nothing that wouldn’t heal.
We were extremely lucky. This was an avalanche that could easily have killed a person: we were only carried about 75 meters in a relatively slow pace (probably due to the trees we were standing above), but in the middle of the avi path, the force was strong enough to break big trees. We were immensely fortunate to survive and get the chance to learn from our mistakes. Because mistakes we did, otherwise I would not be sitting here with two broken legs. So, where did we go wrong?
On that day, we never dug any proper pits, but I don’t think that was our main mistake. We knew about the funky layer and high density snow on top of it, and we had therefore decided to not ski anything steep and alpine. We were determined to ski mellow trees. However, in contrast to when I skied in Wyoming, Colorado and Utah, where I kept a continuous eye on how the snowpack and avi conditions evolved, I had just checked the snow forecast for the Västerbotten mountains concerning precipitation, wind and temperature for the QUALITY of the snow, rather than the stability. I remember thinking that there was a risk of me getting a “home safeness” illusion. I definitely got that. Even though I know that snow can slide practically everywhere where there is snow, the thought of a big avalanche in Västerbotten was never in my attention span. When I said that conditions started to resemble Centennial ridge, I should have immediately drawn the conclusion that I should be just as cautious as I was in Wyoming. I got home blind. The temperature had not changed over night, and the relatively warmer weather that had resided over Västerbotten had made the snow sinter, but we failed to consider that the relatively large amount of heavy snow that had been falling in combination with the relatively strong wind had put a strong pressure on the existing weak layers. The destabilizing factors were stronger than the stabilizing ones.
As we got close to the alpine terrain, we made the decision to stay away from exposure from above, and when we saw that the run we had planned to ski was too steep and could be a terrain trap, we chose to turn back. All our decisions until then were made together and with the attitude “What are the reasons why we should not do this?” and “Does anyone feel that we should not do this?”. However, when we had made our decision to turn back, we dropped our guard, and we got a bit of a summit fever. In spite of just having said that we didn’t want a big snow field above us, we chose to enter in the middle of exactly that kind of place; a snow field with enough inclination to slide above (slightly above 30 degrees), and we actually intended to climb it a bit to get a better run. I still think that THAT was our biggest mistake. Our greed.
To sum up; we noticed several lemons, but we failed to take them seriously enough due to home blindness and greed.
I have also thought about a number of things that made the rescue situation worse that it could have been. 1) None of us had any education in “first response”, so we did not know how to handle Maria’s dislocation. We did have first aid kits, but no pain killers and no proper knowledge. We were extremely lucky that the fracture did not produce an open wound. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened in that case. 2) Due to my shingles, and since we where only doing a “small day”, I had left my blizzard blanket in the car. There are no “small days” in the backcountry. As soon as you are out there, you are exposed. If I had brought it, Maria’s wait for rescue would have been much easier. 3) We were extremely lucky to have functioning phones. I had mine in my pocket (airplain mode not to disturb my beacon). It could easily have been broken. From now on, I will always keep it in my backpack, fully charged and off so I know I have batteries. 3) I don’t really know how, but from now on I will also try to carry something that can be used as splints to make it possible to get down the mountain with a fracture. If Martin had been injured as well, it would have been vital that I could have made it down to get help. The shovel handles may be an option, but I have to make sure to have some proper straps that can be used to tie things together.
I realize that we could have died that day. But we didn’t. We are alive and we will all heal. It will take time, both physically and mentally, but we will get there. I know that a lot of people questions the risks we take. How we can expose ourselves and our loved ones to the risk of losing us. I understand that from an outside perspective, our choices may seem risk loving and irresponsible.
When I started going off pist (side country), I was actually irresponsible. I wasn’t risk loving, but I was an ignorant fool. I didn’t want to look like a coward, and I wanted to be cool, so I followed others who I presumed had adequate knowledge. But I was always terrified of avalanches. Back then I wanted guaranties that there was no risk what so ever going down a slope, but I never took any responsibility in checking that the risks I took was in line with the risks I wanted to take.
Over the past few years, I have lifted the responsibility for my safety from my comrades and put it on myself. I have tried to learn as much as I can about snow. I am still nothing like an expert, but I am learning more and more each day. I know that regardless how much I learn, there will always be a risk that I will get injured or killed. But the more I learn, the more I can minimize the risk of that occurring, and the more I learn, the more I know what the risks I take are.
So should I take these risks at all? The way I see it, we take risks everyday; falling in love involves the risk of getting your heart broken, going outside means that you can get run over by a car, and sitting on your butt increases the risk of a heart attack. I love being outside, in the mountains. It makes me the happiest person on earth. Without it, I would not be me, and I would not be happy. In addition, it makes my body and mind strong, and it has given me the best friends I will ever know. I of course hope to live a long and healthy life, but if I eventually get killed in those beautiful mountains, it would still have been worth it because my life would have been a happy one.
I feel a lot of shame of the mistakes we made last Sunday. With our experience, we should have known better. But we cannot change what have already happened. What I can do is to learn as much from our mistakes as I possibly can, and make sure I don’t do them again.
Some last words that needs to be said:
Martin and Maria, I love you both and I cannot express how happy I am that you are both still around. Mattias, Oskar, Martin, Linda, Desiré and Johannes. I owe you my life. There is no thank you enough for that. Fjällräddningen, SOS alarm, the police, the local snow mobile hero and the other volunteers, the same applies to you. There are no words. How do you give thanks to someone who saved your life?
And now, I will rehab.
Martin has also written about the incident. You can read about his experience here.
Maria’s take on it
Some follow ups:
Kittelfjäll revisited in summer
Kittelfjäll revisited in winter
Edit 2017: I am currently the project leader of a research project called “White Heat”. The focus of the project is on risk-taking behavior in avalanche terrain. Read more about the project here: whiteheatsite.wordpress.com
The Hungry Hen Report 
Thank you for sharing this so openly. Very well written, although I’m sure it was hard to write. I hope all of you recover quickly and fully.
Thanks Lea! I think writing about it helps processing what happened, the mistakes that we did, and how to move on. It was definitely hard, but it also felt very good. I’m super happy if what we write can be of use to others. Thanks for reading!
Tack för öppen och mycket bra berättelse som verkligen ger eftertanke. Mycket glad att ni alla klarade livet. //Peter
Hej Peter,
Tack! Jag (vi) blir väldigt glad av att läsa din kommentar. Det känns otroligt bra om vi kan bidra på något sätt till att andra undviker att göra samma misstag som vi gjorde. Ha en fin dag!
/Andrea
Tack för en ärlig och eftertänksam beskrivning av era upplevelser. Allt handlar ju egentligen om riskbedömning och det är inte alla som väljer att backa över huvud taget. Ni gjorde ju en hel del kloka val också och de ska ni inte glömma!
Jag är petig med vilka mina vänner är på berget men ni kvalar in på min korta lista alla tre. Erfarenhet och klarsynthet är viktigt, ni besitter utan tvivel båda.
Jag är glad över utgången för er del och hoppas ni snart står på skidor igen.
Hej Lasse,
Tusen tack för dina peppande ord, de betyder väldigt mycket för mig! Hoppas vi ses på berget nån gång!
Det är inte varje dag man får läsa en så ingående beskrivning av en lavinolycka. (I synnerhet inte från “hemmabacken”) och ändå med så mycket känsla att ögonen vattnas…
Att du/ni delar med er av era erfarenheter och misstag visar på en kunskap/erfarenhet och mod som långt ifrån alla besitter. Good on you!
Det kommer garanterat att kännas läskigt att ge sig ut på branta sluttningar igen, men känslan som gör att du vill vara “där” kommer att segra. Ni kommer dock alltid “säkrare” åkare.
Berättelser som din, gör kanske inte alla till säkrare offpiståkare, men jag tror att den kommer att öppna ögonen för många andra som blivit “hemmablinda”. Tack för att du gjort mig “säkrare” i vinter och lycka till med rehab!
Hej Peter,
Jag blir väldigt glad och varm i själen av din kommentar. Det känns otroligt bra om vår olycka kan föra något gott med sig i termer av att andra undviker att hamna i en liknande situation. Ha en kunglig skidvinter!
Väldigt välskrivet och ruskigt otäckt inlägg. Jobbigt att läsa, men bra mycket tuffare att skriva kan jag tro. Väl dokumenterat också och jag hoppas det kan hjälpa er i bearbetandet av detta. Tvivlade ju aldrig på att det här skulle sätta punkt för din längtan till bergen, väldigt skönt att se dig klargöra detta i klartext också, delvis av egoistiska själ ska medges, ty jag vill hemskt gärna fara till berg med dig och de andra igen!
Återigen, krya på dig! Och ta väl hand om er under rehabtiden!
Tack Karin! Ja, nog var jag lite vattnig i öjna bitvis :), men bra för att bearbeta. Att tvinga sig själv att skriva ned allt i elektroniskt bläck gör ju att man tvingas att verkligen fundera igenom vad som hände. För mig är det precis vad som behövs för att komma vidare. JA! Jag längar som tusan till sommaren och cykelsäsongen. Jag kommer att vara helt överpepp när det väl blir dags :).
Det du berättar får en att förstå att det som hänt är så nära oss alla som är, eller varit, del av snön på något sätt. Starkt av dig och er – på alla sätt!
Starkt och viktigt att du delar med dig. Tack för det och lycka till med läkandet!
Hej Johanna,
Tusen tack! Jag blir väldigt glad av din kommentar!
En obehaglig och tänkvärd berättelse. Hoppas att läkningen går fort, både mentalt och fysiskt.
Stort tack Mattias! Att skriva av sig gör helt klart att den mentala läkningsprocessen går snabbare. Jag kör stenhårt på rehab för att jobba på den fysiska :).
När jag läste detta kände jag att jag måste prata med någon av er, vill inte lämna ut min historia här men jag håller på att gå igenom samma sak just nu och känner mig ärligt talat jäkligt ensam, vi var två som åkte jag kom ner. Om ni orkar och har lust hör av er till mig på min e-post så får vi se.
Hej Johan,
Åh satan, tack för att du skriver! Jag skickar ett mejl till dig!
Scary and touching story. And fortunately with a (relatively) happy ending to it.
As you wrote, some risks are worth taking, even necessary, to lie a fullfilling life. But a few suggestions for the future: simple GPS app to phone showing you coordinates and a proper wilderness first aid course (leading to being little better equipped and more so to better skill set). I’ve done Wildmed’s WAFA course and it was good. I also heard that WMI courses (based on NOLS curriculum) are available in Sweden and I’d assume they are good too.
Take care and get well!
(Disclosure: I’m not really a (down hill) skier so not a specialist, neither involved in the recommended training.)
Hi Korpiljaakko,
Thanks for your suggestions! I need to either get me an app or a proper GPS, and I really need to take one of those wilderness first aid courses! The VMI course sounds good. I got in contact with NOLS in Jackson and Landers and they seem to have a very good curriculum. I will look into wether they have anything in Sweden. If they do, that would be great! Once again, thanks!
Oh shit Andrea. Du skriver så jävla bra att jag sitter här på kontoret, benen darrande, adrenalinet pumpande, ångesten stigande och tårar som vill tvinga sig ut.
Vilken fantastisk återgivelse av något som jag bara kan börja inse var otroligt traumatiskt. Jag får flashbacks till “touching the void” (tror vi har pratat om den tidigare?) och känner en otrolig lättnad över att ni kom hem utan några livshotande skador.
Det finns en jävligt viktig läxa att lära sig här för oss alla som slentrianmässigt eller regelbundet ger sig ut i branterna, upp i bergen, ut på isen, eller bort på havet. Naturen är brutal, kompromissar aldrig och kommer försöka sluka oss klena människor med hull och hår om vi inte är redo.
Man har bara innehållet i huvudet, ryggsäcken och de vänner man tar med sig när man är där ute – jag vet hur lätt det är att bli hemmablind och börja tumma på de här sakerna av ren bekvämlighet eller slentrian.
Din berättelse är verkligen ögonöppnande för mig. Sen vet jag att du kommer vårda den här erfarenheten, för att nästa gång gå ut med ett ännu vassare innehåll i huvudet, en mer välplanerad ryggsäck och med vänner som också tänker på samma sätt, där banden nu är knutna hårdare än någon annanstans.
Så jag måste slutligen säga, Grattis! Du har nu fått en insikt som aldrig går att läsa sig till i en bok, som kan bara upplevas på plats – naturen satte dig på prov och du kom ut segrande, det är fanemej imponerande! Läk väl och glädjs över den ovanliga och ytterst dyrköpta erfarenheten du nu kan toppa CV’t med: “Avalanche Survivee: A hardcore empirical study”
❤
Ha ha, det vore nåt! Om inte annat borde jag ju ta tag i mitt sovande projekt just om skidåkares risktagande och riskperception. Tack för dina ord Chrill, de gör mig glad på många olika sätt!
Tusen tack till dej för den lärorika, tuffa och känslosamma historian (för att inte tala om välskrivna!). Den fick mig verkligen att tänka till.
Lycka till med läkandet och må gott.
❤
Tack Annika!
Hej Andrea
Väldigt intressant att läsa din berättelse. Rikard Eriksson berättade att du varit med i lavinen. Som du skriver så reagerar man olika. Jag drog iväg med ett litet flak en gång och satt fast tills en kompis kunde dra loss mig. Min reaktion: asgarv.
Ni verkar ha bra lavinkunskap trots att ni kanske blev lite hemmablinda. Lätt att glömma att även ta hänsyn till de mer övergripande vind, temp, och nederbördsförändringarna i området under se senaste 24 h som komplement till groparna. Men det går aldrig att skydda sig helt eller? Jag menar proverna man gör på en punkt kan ge information som skiljer sig av olika anledningar från vad ett likadant prov skulle visa 200 m upp. Det gick en jättelavin i Abisko 2002 när jag jobbade i Björkis. Som terrängen ser ut där (dvs till höger om liften om man tittar upp) med en hängande kam ner mot mer låglänt björkterräng, är jag rätt säker på att gräv- och tryckprover skulle ge lite olika resultat beroende på om man befinner sig där uppe eller där nere. Det var dessutom en skitvinter när det aldrig snöande, således tänkte man att inte fan kan det gå laviner då. Ändå kan de gå en 300 m bred bamse med en 4 m brottkant.
Hoppas ni kryar på er.
Jonathan Borggren
Kgeo
Hej Jonathan,
Ja, alla reagerar vi nog olika, och jag skulle nog ha reagerat annorlunda på en annan lavin. Jag har dragit mindre slasklaviner förut och då har jag mest tänkt; hm intressant. Den här gången kände jag mest skam och skuld för att jag inte hade tagit varningssignalerna tillräckligt allvarligt.
Jag håller helt med om att gropar mest säger något om väldigt lokala förhållanden. De kan ju gen en bild av vilka lager som finns i snön, men tjockleken på lagrena och hårdheten varierar ju mycket mellan olika höjdnivåer och sluttningar och även inom sluttningarna beroende på t.ex. stenar och klippor. Vinden och terrängen gör en jäkla skillnad. Vi har därför börjat göra allt mer snabbtester för att se hur snön förändras där vi går, titta hur terrängen ser och och följa vind, temp och nederbörd. I USA var vi sjukt noggranna med det, här hemma betydligt mindre. Nu vet jag bättre, hoppas jag. Fint att höra ifrån dig! Hoppas att du får en riktigt bra skidvinter!
Det var kul att läsa lite på din blogg. Jag blir melankolisk och tänker på ett annat liv jag levde för längesedan.
Vi bor i Skåne numera och min skidvinter har inbegripit en tur till Vallåsens dalstation (39 möh) där jag betraktade lystra köpenhamnare en stund. Nej, Mantrorna är sålda och tiden fördrivs istället med Byggare Bob och tankar på vinodling.
Ev blir det ett återbesök i Lindvallen om en vecka där jag inte varit sedan 1988.
/jb
Ah, lystra köpenhamnare är alltid intressanta att bevittna :). Hoppas att ni får en fin tur till Lindvallen och lycka till med vinodlingen!
Stort tack för att du delar med dig av dina erfarenheter.
Jag har gått ett par lavinkurser själv, men när jag läser ditt inlägg inser jag att jag förmodligen skulle fattat ännu sämre beslut än ni gjorde den dagen. Att läsa detta gör mig ännu mer ödmjuk inför laviner och det vill jag tacka dig för.
Hej Håkan,
Jag känner att det är som att man har lärt sig en massa grejer, men inte riktigt lärt sig hur man ska använda den kunskapen. Vi gjorde observationer som var korrekta (tror jag) men brast i vår förmåga att analysera dem korrekt. Dags att ta upp Bruce Tremper och fundera igenom igen och sen he sig ut på fjället (hm, ja när gipset är borta iaf) och praktisera. Hoppas att du får en fin skidvinter!
Ja, precis så känner jag också! Märks att du också fått din lavinteori på engelska med tanke på allt pratet om Lemons :). Jag tycker mig kunna en del teori, men det svåra är som du säger att veta hur man ska analysera informationen. När är ett CT så dåligt att man ska vända om? Jag tog mina kurser i Kanada och tycker att ‘Avaluator’ är ett ganska bra verktyg, iaf i början. Blir väldigt konkret. Två bra citat jag fick med mig hem också:
– “I’d rather be down here wishing I was up there, than up there wishing I was down here” (ett krångligt sätt att säga rather safe than sorry)
– “Would I ride this slope without my ABS-pack and beacon?” Man ska alltså känna sig så pass trygg med ett vägval att man skulle kunna göra åket även utan sin lavinutrustning.
Hoppas rehaben går bra!
(hittade förresten hit via en gemensam vän, Johannes Zackari)
Bra citat! De tar jag med mig i ryggan!
Jag tycker inte du ska känna skam, även om det är en naturlig reaktion…
Jag tycker det låter som om ni tog en massa bra beslut innan ett eller några få kanske blev sämre. Dessutom tycker jag att det kommer något positivt ur allt det jobbiga genom att analysera och diskutera det så att ni och vi andra kan lära av det. Starkt att skriva så analytiskt så tätt inpå!
Lycka till med läkning och rehab!
PS. Hälsa Martin från Jonas aka Freeskier
Hej Jonas,
Tack! Håller helt med om att det är bra att analysera och diskutera för att lära sig så mkt som möjligt av det som hände. Det är grymt mkt värt att ha en grupp omkring sig som man kan göra det med. Det tror jag både underlättat bearbetningen av olyckan och gjort att vi kan lära oss mer. Ska hälsa Martin!
Otroligt jävla bra skrivet och helt fantastisk att få läsa detta! Har sedan jag fick höra om lavinen på söndags eftermiddagen när jag var i kittel, velat höra vad som gick i era tankar och vad som fick er att ta dom beslut ni gjorde.
Antar att det va er vi hälsade på vid parkeringsfickan intill borkasjön på Lördags förmiddagen när vi körde runt en bil för att ta norgesvängen? Vi sladdade in när ni satt på er utrustningen.
Alla mina peppande tankar till er och jag hoppas så innerligt att ni blir mer stärkta än rädda av det här nu!
//Kalle
Hej Kalle,
Tack, vad glad jag blir att du gillar vad du läser! Jep, det var vi. Vi hade en grymt fin dag på Borkan den dagen.
Var det du som postade bilden på Freeride på bergssidan? Det var otroligt mkt värt för mig att få se den, så tack i så fall!
Jag tror att vi har lärt oss en sjujäkla massa av den här erfarenheten. Klart att man kommer att vara skraj när man ger sig ut igen, men ut vill jag definitivt, så absolut snart som möjligt. Förhoppningsvis med ett bättre huvud på axlarna. Tack för peppen!
Låter bra. Ja det va jag som postade bilden. Kan maila dig en högupplöst panorama bild taget av min kompis från samma tid och plats om du vill.
Men har inte fattat vart ni gick gick upp än. Gick ni upp på “norge svängen” sidan om lavinen för att sedan skråa ut? Eller från andra hållet?
Hej Kalle,
Vi gick upp öster om Norgesvängen. Det går en liten ås upp mot berget som man kan följa. Vi hade tänkt kolla in en ravin som går ännu längre österut, men på grund av snöförhållandena hade vi inte tänkt åka i själva ravinen utan på kanten bredvid. Vi bestämde oss dock för att sluttningen var för konvex och vi var osäkra på exakt vart vi skulle hamna om vi åkte ned, om det var en terrängfälla, så vi valde att gå tillbaka. Vi hade tänkt ta oss till vårt “vanliga” åk som ligger väster om Norgesvängen genom att åka ned i skogen (och på så vis undvika att ha snöfält ovanför oss) och huda tillbaka på platten. För att slippa hatta ned för åsen (som knappt lutar alls) så gick vi några meter västerut. Det var där det släppte. Vi var då fortfarande sydöst om Norgesvängen.
Det vore grymt om du ville skicka bilden som du lagt upp på Freeride. Om det är ok så skulle jag hemskt gärna vilja lägga upp den på bloggen.
Very glad you all survived and thanks for sharing your account. Any chance you could post the latitude/longitude of the avalanche location?
Thanks!
Here is the approximate location of the avalanche:
Latitude: N 65° 14.679563′
Longitude: E 15° 26.992035′
Thanks for sharing Andrea. Makes me even more humble about avalanches. I can confirm that your not especially safe here in Sweden. In Borgafjäll 2012, me and my friend took a shortcut over an avalanche prone area just to get home a bit quicker. We ended up triggering an avalanche that propagated upwards, from about a half meter thick to over 2 meters, about 50 meters wide. I got burried up to my nose, physically unharmed, but not knowing wether my best friend were burried or not… Luckily he wasnt and found me some minutes later and could help me to dig myself up. And yes, there were many signs telling us to not go, leeward slope, strong wind and heavy snowfall. I still feel ashamed fot not listening to the obvious signs. Why dont you….?
Do you have any theory on what layer broke, the super weak top layer, or the deeper layer?
Hope you will heal quickly and return to the backcountry stronger and wiser than ever before
// Martin
Hi Martin,
That sounds like a scary experience. I’m glad you came out ok!
I think that it was the deeper buried layer that collapsed. Thanks!
Hi Andrea, Thank you so much for sharing this with everyone. It is probably the best first hand account I’ve read of such an incident. We can learn so much from what happened to you.
Thanks a million Mike! It means a whole lot to me hearing that, especially from someone teaching avi courses! I really hope our story can help others avoiding doing the same mistakes we did. Thanks for reading!