reepress.ca Why you and your Choosing to backcountry ski with people who had the latest avalanche rescue training saved Fernie photographer Todd Weselake’s life. He tells Rebecca Edwards what he learned from being buried 2 metres deep in an avalanche. By Rebecca Edwards Free Press Staff A s Todd Weselake travelled into the backcountry with his friends Ian Bezubiak and Janina Kuzma on January 8, 2008, he chat- ted to them about the new avalanche rescue tech- nique they had been taught weeks earlier. As an experienced back- country user and the moun- tain photographer at Island Lake Lodge, 23-year-old Todd had plenty of ava- lanche training, but Janina and Ian were among the first students to learn the new digging technique – and hours later became the first people to use it to res- cue their friend. Previously, avalanche rescuers had always locat- ed a buried victim using a transceiver and probe, then dug straight down the probe towards them. The new technique – which is now standard worldwide – sees rescuers pinpoint the victim’s loca- tion and then move down slope and dig sideways into the mountain, moving snow faster and preventing it from blocking the hole. “I said it to Ian and Janina, I said it in the guides meet- ings – why didn’t we think of that before?” said Todd – who did not realize that hours later the faster, more efficient technique would save his life. “I don’t think the old dig- ging technique would have got me out,” he added. “I don’t think two of them could dig a two metre hole that quickly.” That day, the avalanche rating was “consider- able,” and the Canadian Avalanche Centre’s local bulletins were warning about a significant ice layer at 1 to 1.5 metres deep. “We knew the ice layer was there, we knew the risk of triggering it was quite low but if it did it was going to be quite big,” says Todd. “We had it in our minds to stay out of terrain to limit the size of any ava- lanche that did happen.” They decided to head to Cold Feet Bowl on the north side of Mount Proctor near Fernie, where they felt there was shallower terrain and treed areas that would be safe to ski. “We had skied it the day before so we were fairly confident, we didn’t see any natural slides or any- thing that we triggered,” said Todd. “ It was average backcountry conditions in that sense – we knew we had to choose our terrain but we could still go out there.” The trio started taking it in turns to ski the slope, with Todd taking photos of the others as they passed him. He describes what he remembers next. “At three-quarters of the way down Ian took a turn into the side of the slope and it slabbed out on itself in a size 1.5 avalanche. “At that point we knew something had changed and decided to meet at the trees at a very safe place to discuss what to do now. I said I would go down first and see what was up ahead. I went further down the slope where there were some old growth spruce trees then called back ‘It’s good to go’. “At that moment I heard Ian yell ‘Avalanche!’ The first thing I thought was ‘no way’ – it wasn’t typical avalanche terrain. “I grabbed onto a tree as hard as I could. The front wall of the avalanche hit Todd Weselake. Submitted photo Prepare to Love Winter is The Free Press’ winter safety campaign. We want you to have the equipment, knowledge and training to enjoy all winter activities safely and will be running a series of articles on winter safety this season. Sign up as a supporter at thefreepress.ca/prepare thefreepress.ca/prepare Prepare to Love Winter “I couldn’t move my fingers, couldn’t move my arms or anything. All I could think was I’m dead. I was 100 per cent convinced I was dead at that point.” Todd Weselake www.thefreepress.ca THE FREE PRESS Thursday, April 1, 2010 13 me and blew me off the tree backwards. I landed on my back on the snow and that part started to slab so I was sliding back- wards down slightly under the surface but I could still see light so I was pretty sure I was okay. “As it started to slow down I actually yelled up ‘I’m ok’ but, as I yelled, the remainder of the avalanche hit me and plunged me downhill. “I was on my back trying to swim but could feel it pushing me deeper and deeper under still. “Then it just stopped - I couldn’t move my fingers, couldn’t move my arms or anything. All I could think was I’m dead. I was 100 per cent convinced I was dead at that point, that I was way too deep to get me out in time. Then I passed out.” Watching the avalanche from above, Janina and Ian followed their train- ing – first checking the area was safe, then switching their own transceivers to “receive” mode before covering the area in search of a signal from Todd’s beacon. They finally got a signal several hundred metres away at the crown of the ava- lanche and probed the snow until they hit his helmet, 2 metres down. Following the new digging technique, they dug into the slope, first clearing Todd’s head and then chest of snow. “My camera bag was around my chest,” says Todd. “When they took it off, all the weight came off my chest with it so my lungs filled up with air and I started breathing. “Shortly after that I opened my eyes and started mumbling. They said my first words were “We should take pic- tures.” The digital photos taken that day show that it took about 15 minutes from when the avalanche happened until Todd began breathing, and then another five minutes again to get him free. He was uninjured but was hypother- mic so they decided to make their own way back to Fernie, meaning Todd had to get back on his snowboard to get down the mountain, then take a 10km snowmobile ride back to their trucks before driving to Fernie Hospital, where staff were waiting with heating blan- kets. Two hours later, Todd was released from hospital and, he admits, “there was a lot of alcohol involved that night – it probably wasn’t the wisest thing but it was the only way I got any sleep that night.” The next day Todd made himself go back to work taking photos of cat skiers at Island Lake Lodge. “I wasn’t going to give up on the back- country – it happened it and it really sucked but I wasn’t going to let that stop me in any way,” he said. “Going back to Island Lake meant it was still the backcountry but I was with experienced guides and in controlled situations – it was a very good way to get back into it.” Several days later he had the chance to fly over the avalanche path in a helicop- ter, and could still see the hole that he was pulled out of. “It definitely made it real to see the actual size of it. It was quite remark- able,” he said. Todd says the experience has made him want to take every opportunity he can and not waste any days. He adds that he sees high-profile ava- lanche incidents differently. “I don’t like the way a lot of people judge people right away, without hav- ing all the information. The people it happens to are people who love what they are doing - we all know the risks, they might have made a mistake but whatever we do in life it’s guaranteed you will make a mistake at something eventually.” He says the key thing for any back- country traveller is to ensure they have training and then to use that training to assess the terrain and conditions. “There is always the risk management side to it – you don’t jump straight into the big terrain, you have to read the ava- lanche bulletin in the morning and ask people who are out there a lot. “Do your own visual research - look for clues. “It will never eliminate the risks but you can control the risk. The only way you can do that is by going out and get- ting the education so you know what to look for.” friends need avalanche training Outline shows the avalanche path. The circle in the middle is where Todd was buried. Photo by T. Weselake