I cruised west up I-70 to join Tom Holmquist from Boulder at the base of Breck's Peak 8 for first chair. I rarely ski that mountain. It was March and by most resort skier's standards, the season was nearly over... and this was my first day at Breck for the 2013/2014 season. The mountain reported 14" of fresh overnight and anticipation grew as we charged for North Bowl below Imperial Express chair, gunning for what we hoped would be wind-loaded deeps on the wind-sheltered north side of the ridge.
Tom dropped into North Bowl first. As he vanished into powder on his first turn, it took less than a millisecond for my brain to register that conditions were way... beyond... expectation. I stared in amazement, eyes transfixed on the oscillating blur of Tom's jacket as he floated down the fall line, barely visible through the powder cloud. Oh my god. My turn. A quick traverse to skier's right to the entrance to my own untracked line and off I went. It was bottomless. The winds overnight must have persisted through the storm and North Bowl was offering us first dibs on 5-6 feet of blower. The next chair was the same. And so was the next, and the next, and the next. Where was everybody? Why were Tom and I the seeminly only two skiers yo-yoing this line? Who cares really.
Soon 12noon rolled around and with tired legs and eyes on a beer, we decided it was time to head out and leave the sloppy seconds for the throngs of spring-breakers who had finally found there way up the mountain to Imperial Express. We dropped south below Chair 6 and into the south-facing spruce glades, feeling gratified and full after devouring face shots all morning. Still pillowy and skiing well despite full sun, I didn't adjust my skiing for the new south aspect, which we were now charging at the same pace we'd been skiing all morning on a north aspect.
Funny to look back and recognize the exact moment where things went wrong. I must have hucked 4 or 5 rock bands on that last run down toward the base of Chair 6, somewhere in the trees between No Name and West Snowbird. The powder wasn't as deep, but the landings were soft enough. What hadn't dawned on me was what would have crossed any backcountry skier's mind... that is, this is a new aspect, it's later in the day, it's full sun and this slope has baked in the sun all winter, so there are bound to be femur-breaking downed trees and boulders just under the surface. Why didn't I take a moment to stop and process the variables before dropping in? I think I fell victim to the resort skier's mentality that everything inbounds in generally "safe" and if not, ski patrol will have staked out problem areas, right?
Approaching the last 100 yards of steep snow before the cat track at the base of the run, I traversed far left into a band of rocks for one last blind huck. It all happended so quickly. As I transitioned, my left ski landed on a submerged boulder and the ski released, propelling my body forward in Superman position, flying a foot or so above the surface of the snow. While still airborne, I caught a glimpse of the nose of a large boulder poking out of the snow below me and we were on a collision course. I managed to get my right glove out in front of me with my aluminum pole still in hand. As my hand made contact, my body followed, sandwiching the pole between my chest, hand and rock. It was a hard, direct hit on my sternum that brought me to an immediate stop. My pole had snapped a few inches below the rubber grip and, somehow, it didn't impale me. I immediately sat upright on my knees, knowing something bad had just happended. I took a deep breath, half expecting to hear girgling blood sounds and broken ribs rubbing together. Nothing, just pain. I pounded my chest hard to listen more for possible broken bones. I continued to sit for a few minutes, my hightened senses acute and fully aware, waiting for any possible indications of internal bleeding... nausea, loss of consciuosness... nothing. Just pain in my sternum. I stood slowly and called to Tom below me about 200 yards that I wasn't okay and to wait for me. I booted back up the hill, spent a few minutes searching the powder for my lost left ski, then my broken right pole, stepped back into my bindings, and made a slow sideways descent to meet back up with Tom.
I think I knew at that moment that my season was probably over, but denial is a funny thing. I took the next chair lift up with Tom and realizing that it was difficult to move, called it a day and made my way down the mountain to my car and eventually home. It was four days and three sleepless nights before I went to urgent care to request painkillers so that I could sleep. The CAT scan confirmed what I already knew... the upper sternum plate had been completely cracked in half laterally. Luckily, no broken ribs and more importantly, no ruptured thoracic aorta immediately behind the sternum.
Thank goodness for aluminum ski poles.
No comments:
Post a Comment