Recently, I had the fortune to go to Revelstoke, B.C., to try my new sled in the fresh powder on Frisbee Mountain. The day was one of promise with scattered clouds and a good foot of new snow. We headed off after a fine breakfast with the anticipation of a Christmas morning as this was the first rip of the year. There were 12 riders of varying experience, mine being the least. My mountain experience has been cut from skiing and hiking but none on a snowmobile. This was my first kick at the sport, and to say I was pumped would be a gross understatement.
We hit the trail in good time with the sun poking through the clouds and the fresh powder beckoning us to abuse it. With a cloud of two-stroke smoke and the revving of engines, we took off.
There were bowls, trails, meadows, creek beds and everything in-between with not a track in them until after we went through. It was a steep learning curve with the odd roll, stuck, fall-off and dig but all of the experiences were full of smiles, laughter and fun—I was in the mountains, on an amazing piece of engineering in the most beautiful of conditions.
Around 1 p.m., we stopped in the bottom of a treed bowl that we had been playing in for some well-earned munchies. The fragrance of Muff Pot cooking permeated the forest with others enjoying simpler fare of jerky, gorp or granola bars. The mood was light and filled with laughter and good-natured ribbing.
An unfortunate turn of events
After about 20 minutes, our bellies sated, we played some more in the bowl we were in. I decided to go around a bluff to see what was on the other side and found a creek wash that once I got into I was committed to. Down I go with the hope that once at the bottom I would be able to turn around and come back up. As I reached the bottom of the drainage, the turnaround was a little tight but with my new-found skills I got the machine to lean and carve a beautiful arc. Three quarters of the way into the turn, I ran out of skill and track. Here, I was stuck. I had extricated myself a couple of times before and felt confident I could get myself out of this one too.
After about 45 minutes, the trench was dug, my gear back on and the machine fired up again. Off I went only to get 50 feet from where I started and up the bank of the creek. Out came the shovel again. After a little digging, I rolled the machine over, putting it back on its track and in the direction I wanted to go.
After a couple of attempts to get going, I found the snow too deep and the incline too great to move. Stuck again. This time, however, there was going to be no half measure—I needed a better plan. Off came the jacket, up went the sleeves and out came the shovel, my new best friend, again. I dug. The tar sands would be proud. I made a trench that was as wide as my machine and around 25 feet long, with the top of the trench being over the top of my machine. I dug and packed as I went, dragging the machine down my runway. Reverse was not doable in this trench, as I found out, and I subsequently had to lift my sled up out of the hole I had dug with the track—I did not want to do that again. The school of sledding was in!
After about two and a half hours, my masterpiece was done. I gave myself a pep talk, geared up again and fired my chariot up. With fingers crossed, throttle to the bars, I launched up the creek bed. My trench worked! I was out of the delta of the creek and heading up the valley—until my foot slipped off the running board, changing the weighting of the sled and putting me right into the wall of the creek.
This now had me at about an 80-degree angle and stuck again. This was a turning point for me. I was a little tired but not fatigued. It was 4:30 and I was losing light fast. I took out my shovel and after a couple of minutes decided that I was beyond my abilities and needed help. I could hole up here and wait for help that may or may not arrive, or make tracks on foot—this was the option I chose. So with my trusty pack, shovel, resolve and not a look back, I headed away from my steed.
Hiking the steep and deep
The going was slow. Most of the steps were up to my knees. Some spots where there had been more than one machine packing it down were like walking on a sidewalk. Unfortunately for me, this was the exception, not the rule. My plan was to head back to the bowl where we had stopped for lunch. I had not heard another machine for some time but figured I would find them once I was out of the creek.
After 45 minutes or so I got back to the bowl and found it beautifully peaceful. The only sound was a gentle breeze through the snow-laden spruce or the falling of snow. I was alone now, but not concerned. It was beautiful here, and despite my predicament, I had a plan. So after a pause to enjoy my surroundings, I knew I had better get moving.
The hill out of the bowl was long and steep and I was almost out of light. My plan was to get out of the bowl and into the meadow that led to a funnel we had taken to get to where we were. This led to the trail which, after a few kilometres, would lead to the cabin. My thoughts were that if I could make it to the funnel, I would re-evaluate from there. If I still had stamina, I would continue on to the cabin. The trail would be more packed from our path in and, if it was not, I would hike back down to a copse of trees, dig in, build a fire and wait till morning. I had food, water, flint and steel, some dry toilet paper and a small light. This was my plan.
The hike up out of the bowl was a difficult one. The tracks were all over the place and not in a straight line. Most were soft, and there were times when the only way to proceed was on hands and knees, using my shovel for support. There was one occasion when I missed the trail altogether and found myself up to my chest in the white stuff. After commenting to the mountain that this was not very friendly, I pulled myself up and continued.
Help arrives
Now I was in the meadow and heading for the funnel. This was good. It was not as steep and I was able to follow a crisscross track that put me in the line I wanted to follow. By this time, it was about 7:30-ish. I was three quarters of the way up the meadow when I heard a beautiful sound—beautiful sounds, actually. This was not a sound of nature, but one of man—so out of place at that moment, but so sweet all the same. I stopped to get my light out of the pack. Well, sometime throughout the day, it had been turned on so the light was very dim. This is not what I wanted to see. I quickly turned it off and put it in my glove. My hands were warm and my thought was that if the batteries were warm, it would put out a little more light. This done, I continued trekking, listening and watching. Slowly, the sounds grew louder and through the gloom and dark of the night, reflecting off millions of snowflakes, beautiful white light created a brilliant dome that got bigger and brighter.
One rider crested the bluff, clearing the trees, and rode into the meadow. There he stopped. This is when I yelled a greeting. Soon the others shut off their sleds and the area was peaceful, quiet and dark again. Again, I yelled and in unison the riders on the bluff fired up their sleds and raced down to where the first rider had stopped. Off went engines and the dark totally took over again. I yelled, “To your left!” and took my feeble little light, turned it on and gave it a wave. Within seconds, the sleds were on the move and coming right for me. There was a semicircle of man and machine around me now, and the mood went from one of concern for my survival to relief and joy. My fellow riders were worried that I had either crashed, was buried, broken or lost.
My profound disappointment about creating this situation was overwhelming. What was so humbling was that there was not one comment of condemnation. There was only elation in finding me safe and sound and praise for navigating correctly, having a plan and being calm. These men, these fine riders, were not going to leave a brother behind and they too made a plan and between the parties, achieved the goal.
The rescuers
When, with difficulty, they had finally made it out of the bowl and did a head count, they knew they were missing a man. They went to the cabin to see if I was there. When they found I was not, they took the trail down to the trucks and when the realization was made that I was still on the mountain, Search and Rescue (SAR) and the RCMP were notified. SAR made the decision that the conditions were not viable to effect a rescue. It had started snowing heavily and the wind had picked up. The group then decided that they would make the attempt, and with 11 riders, they refueled and headed back up the mountain.
They left two men at the cabin to build and maintain a fire in the woodstove as well as keep in contact on the radio, should I make it to them while the rest of the party continued on. The other nine were going to head down to where we had stopped for lunch, the last place we had been together. They were going to build a big fire and search from there. If I were lost, this would give me something to shoot for and failing that, a centre point to search from. This did not have to be built, however, because we ran into each other at the meadow above the bowl.
What was even more amazing was that after contact had been made, five of the strongest riders in the group decided to go get my machine from the creek. Two doubled up and headed down with the three others following my footsteps; on the spare machine, I rode back to the cabin. I had got to the cabin with the four others and while I was stripping off some of my wet gear, two went to notify SAR and the RCMP that I had been found. Within 20 minutes, there were lights up the trail with my rescued sled being piloted by one of my good friends. What a sight that was. What would have taken me hours was done in minutes. Amazing men were these.
The ride out was uneventful and the loading done quickly, without event. We made it to town only to find it in total darkness, due to a massive power failure. There was one restaurant in town with backup power and off we went to find food and drink. Just before my meal came a waitress passed me a note. It was from four of the men who rescued me. It said, “Better than tree bark?” I turned, smiled and said, “Yes it is!” I kept that note and it sits beside me as I write this. Tattered as it is, I plan to keep this as a reminder of many things.
Lessons learned
From this experience, I learned a great deal. The first and foremost is to never travel alone. It is the first rule of mountaineering and it is in place for a reason. The second is you can never be too prepared. SAR is a resource and should not be your backup plan. I carry a Spot locator, but if conditions are poor, they may not be able to get to you right away. Also, the contents of your pack: some carry gear on the sled, but if that goes down a mountain or if you have to pack yourself out, that gear is not in play. A survival pack of some sort is a must-have. In it there should be bullion, fire starter, flint and steel (practice so you can use it), wire, a glow stick, even some sugar and non-caffeinated tea or coffee. The container it is packed in should be metal so you can put it in a fire and melt snow for hydration. Carry food in your pack as well as water and a first-aid kit, rope and a radio. I am looking at a Rhino as it has GPS locations of all other Rhino radios in the group.
Some other tips I was given: If you can, pack the seat off your sled. It will get you off the snow and offer some warmth to sit on. Another was from the RCMP officer who interviewed me after we arrived back in town. If you are stuck, and it is dark out, leave your sled's light on. If there is any snow in the air, it will reflect a bright beacon skyward and be a great way to pinpoint your location.
The best tip would be to avoid the situation altogether; however, the mountains are untamed and the machines we ride get us deeper and deeper into the wilderness. Preparedness, as I found out, is not just a good idea but a necessity.
A huge thank-you to the fine riders I was so blessed to be with that week. I owe a great deal to them and I hope all groups on the mountain are comprised of people like that.
Ride safe, have fun and know your limitations.
