We take Stone’s snowmobile to the far western ridge and ride about halfway up.
“Do you want to do the honors?” he asks, almost sounding bored.
My face lights up at the question.
“Yes!” I’mfartooexcited, but I don’t care.
Assessing avalanche risk is something every backcountryskier and snowboarder should do, but the sad truth is, most either don’t know how or are too lazy to do it because they assume getting caught in an avalanche would never happen to them.
I used to fatigue really fast when digging a pit to test the snowpack, but CrossFit has taught me how to pace myself as well as helped to increase my tolerance to physical activity.
As I grab the shovel and start digging, I feel Stone watching me. He isn’t hovering, but I know he’s watching for signs that I’m going to tire out. Ever since the episode at the gym, he’s kept a close eye on me.
Somehow, it still feels different from when Mom and Dad do it.
By the time I finish, Stone’s jaw is tight, and his teeth are clenched. I can’t tell if he’s pissed because he thinks I’m being careless again, or if he’s annoyed because of how long it took me to dig out the pit.
I have to admit. The heated gloves are clutch, as is the heated vest, but with all the physical effort I’ve just exerted, I’m sweating under my base layer, and my skin is begging for air. I shrug out of my jacket and throw it over the back of the snowmobile before getting back to work.
The layer of crust is easy to see in the snowpack. Wanting to prove that I know what I’m talking about for the sake of my grade, I talk him through what I see and what I’m doing.
“Now that the pit is dug out, it’s easy to see the layers, including this layer of crust here,” I say, pointing to a six-inch thick layer of icy snow delineated from the rest of the wall. “This doesn’t look good, and I’m honestly surprised it’s already this aggressive since it’s so early in the season.”
Usually, the separation of layers comes much later, after several more layers have been piled on top.
“Can you hand me the saw?” I ask, my gaze still trained on the snowpack in front of me.
Stone doesn’t answer, but a moment later, I feel the handle of the saw against my palm as I continue my explanation.
“I’m going to place the shovel scoop-side-down to get an outline for my snow column. Oh, can you grab me the measuring tape, too?” I ask.
Stone’s wearing a bemused expression as he passes me the tool. I ignore his facial expressions as I continue with my presentation.
“I’m just going to carve out this pillar here using straight lines. As I cut, I can feel the differences in the layers, which again is surprising since it’s still so early in the season. Once I’m done freeing up the remaining sides, I’m going to push my shovel back into the wall, under the crust, roughly eighteen to twenty-four inches down, and then pull that column of snow toward me.” I do as my words suggest, and strain to balance the heavy snow on the end of my shovel. “Now, I’m going to tap lightly on the bottom to see if there’s any separation of the layers.”
By the fifth tap on the bottom of the shovel, the bottom layer separates from the new snow.
My eyes snap to Stone.
“A little early for that, don’t you think?” I ask, mildly concerned.
“Maybe, but we had an early snowfall at the end of October, and November tied the record for recorded inches. We should do a compression test as well,” Stone says. “You know that one?”
“Backcountry one-oh-one,” I tell him before starting another explanation. “Moving back to the test wall, I’m going to carve a thirty-centimeter by thirty-centimeter cube, isolating all the sides. I’m going to place my shovel over the top of thecolumn and tap it ten times from the wrist, ten times from the elbow, and ten times from the shoulder, looking for any sign that the snowpack is unstable enough to collapse the weakest layer.”
The crack comes four hits in from the elbow, and the entire cube shifts off that slab.
“I’m going to call this in to the Forest Service. The backside of this ridge is technically their jurisdiction, but I’m always happy to blast it while we’re doing the resort’s side,” Stone says, walking back toward the snowmobile to grab the satellite phone.
Meanwhile, I can’t wait to get back to the office and pull up the predicted forecasts for the next couple of days, last year’s snowfall numbers, and basically any other data I can get my hands on.
“You ready to go?” Stone calls a few minutes later. I’m still mesmerized by the wall of snow in front of me, issuing a warning to anyone who will listen while greedily hoping to be ignored so it can wreak havoc and claim victims.
“Yeah,” I call back, making my way toward the vehicle.
“That was a good catch,” Stone praises.
Ihatethe way it makes my stomach flip. Making Stone proud used to be my goal in damn near everything I did. Too bad it wasn’t enough to make a difference in how he felt about being stuck with me as a brother.
