Upcoming
courses:
Survival Skills, Jan. 20, 21 and 24; Mar. 10, 11 and 13.
Avalanche Awareness, Feb. 3, 4 and 6; Mar. 3, 4 and 6.
$75 per course.
Further information
can be found on the PMR Web site (www.pmru.org)
or by calling 223-6251 ext. 522.
In 1998, seven backcountry snowboarders died in the Western United States.
Two more died in an avalanche in Utah on Jan. 3. They died not because
they were unskilled boarders but because they were riding out of bounds,
or in the backcountry, unprepared. Once you've departed from the groomed
trails, chair lifts and toasty lodges of a ski resort, a day in the snow
can easily turn into unplanned days and nights spent in unmarked territory.
If you don't know what you're doing, you're probably screwed.
Portland Mountain Rescue, the search and rescue unit responsible for
combing the Mount Hood area, has seen plenty of injured and disoriented
skiers, boarders and climbers. PMR is the first mountain rescue team
to participate in the Backcountry Snowboarder Safety Project, the brainchild
of the Mountain Rescue Association, an international group. Backcountry
areas beckon snowboarders who want to escape lift prices and crowds.
But unlike mountain climbers, riders seldom anticipate the hazardous
situations that can await. This winter PMR is conducting courses on
avalanche awareness and survival skills. On Dec. 9, 10 and 13, as a
participant in the first survival skills workshop, I tried to put my
fears of frostbite aside. The course included two three-hour lectures
and a field day on Mount Hood. This is how it went.
Days One and Two: The Lectures
The 11 students--among us an eighth-year Nike research technician,
a senior skier, a preschool teacher, two Lewis & Clark College outdoor
club employees and a woman who had never been to Mount Hood--were greeted
with a four-page syllabus at the first evening lecture. Umpteen handouts
followed. The two night classes were spent discussing everything from
lenticular clouds and avalanche-prone slopes to global positioning systems
(and why they're unreliable) and the snow shelters we would build on
Sunday. Although PMR conducts a separate course on avalanche awareness,
substantial time was given to this subject. I was impressed by the knowledge
and dedication of the staff--all of whom are volunteers--and more than
a little anxious about our looming day on the mountain.
Trip Preparation
The classes were lead by PMR president Don Adamski,
Chris Van Tilburg (a snowboarding MD and the author of Backcountry
Snowboarding) and Doug Striker, the director of the course. At our
final lecture they dissected their backpacks, showing us everything
we needed to bring to simulate a backcountry experience. The idea was
to do a "shakedown"--to pack as if we would be out overnight, with sleeping
bag, sleeping pad, shovel, ice axe and stove. It all seemed daunting.
The two days between our last class and the excursion to Mount Hood
gave me plenty of time to stock up on Clif bars and long underwear and
let my imagination run wild: Would I be the only one descending on snowshoes
instead of skis or a board? Would six layers of clothing keep me warm?
Would I have to use a blue bag and pack out my waste?
Day Three: Timberline Lodge, 8 am
Groggy but well-outfitted participants gathered in the upper
parking lot to sign out equipment from PMR. Then we headed to the climber's
registry to discuss wilderness ethics, the day's schedule and the dreaded
blue bags.
The Ascent, Part I
I was in luck. There wasn't a howling wind, the sky looked
calm and the temperature was only a few degrees below balmy. On snowshoes
and skins (a traction device for skis), we started heading up the west
side of the Salmon River Canyon. The going was easy, and the sun came
out as we reached our snow-shelter construction site.
Snow Shelters
Apart from the promise of exploring the "survivor mentality,"
the prospect of building a snowcave had caused me the most worry prior
to the trip. We had been instructed to study diagrams for each shelter
(snowcave, tarp-covered trench, A-frame trench, tree-well shelter and
PMR quick shelter) and be ready to construct any of the above. While
doing my homework, I doubted that I, or anyone else, could build a sturdy
shelter from snow. But it turned out to be fun and empowering. In groups
of two or three plus an instructor, we shoveled our way to comfort.
If someone had invited me to sleep in the snow before this course, I
would have brought a tent. I have since learned that 32-degree snow
(in the right conditions, i.e. not completely frozen) is a much cozier
insulator than a nylon tent. I was completely taken with my A-frame
shelter; with a candle and good book, I would have happily spent the
night nestled inside. (Alas, I opted for a visit to the local brewpub
instead).
The Ascent, Part II
After lunch, we started trekking up the east
ridge of the Salmon River Canyon with the intent to evaluate group dynamics
and practice self-arrest--using an ice axe to stop a fall. As it turned
out, the sun disappeared, the wind started whipping, and we headed into
white-out conditions. Half the group turned back to the lodge, but my
platoon continued to about 7,000 feet. White-outs are a bit disconcerting.
With PMR staff leading, the group was in good hands, but the incident
proved the importance of carrying a map and compass, being familiar
with the territory and knowing when to turn around. We safely made it
across to Silcox Hut and prepared to ski, carve or snowshoe down.
The Brewpub, 5 pm
Fatigued but satisfied after our descent, about
half the class reconvened at the bar by the Mount Hood Inn to assess
the day's events. Our time above timberline had been a very real mountain
experience; clear skies gave way to steady snow, and critical decisions
had to be made. Throughout the three days of instruction, PMR staff
had stressed preparedness--carry a complete pack, understand nature's
hazards, learn wilderness first aid, know when to quit--and self-reliance.
The latter is perhaps the most important piece of safe backcountry travel.
Don't go riding out of bounds, even with people who are backcountry-savvy,
until you, too, are competent. When it comes down to it, carving up
the corduroy doesn't count for much if you can't splint an arm or build
a quick shelter.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Willamette Week | originally
published January 13,
1999
|
