AIARE 1 - January 19-21, 2019

[lizolas]

AIARE 1 - Decision Making in Avalanche Terrain

January 19-21, 2019

In contrast with the two other courses I’ve taken in the past year, AIARE 1 was much less stressful. At the end of their presentations, the instructors frequently asked things like “Ok, who’s more confused now than you were before the course?” I didn’t feel suddenly proficient an avalanche terrain safety, but through every step of the course, I felt like I was understanding what they were teaching, and had a good idea of how I’d incorporate that into my backcountry travel. Of course, I’m a snowshoer looking for the easiest way up and down, not a skier looking to get into steeper terrain, but overall the concepts were logical and straightforward. Not that everyone’s questions reflected my feelings.

The reason I wanted to take the course was to have some idea of whether the assessments I’d been making up to this point were reasonable or if they were actually flawed in some way. I finished the course thinking I’d not made any poor decisions that I could recall, but only by virtue of erring on the side of caution in every trip I took. I hadn’t actually known how to assess anything that wasn’t unquestionably safe in all conditions.

In a decision that I would end up almost regretting, I chose to drive by myself and avoid paying for a hotel room with Brett and Pat, who were also attending the course. I left Sunnyvale at 11am on Friday, figuring I would avoid East Bay traffic. Of course I was wrong, and Caltrans was doing road work on 680 with traffic narrowed down to just one lane eastbound. I arrived in Gardnerville at 6:30 pm after some additional slow traffic on Highway 50. After grocery shopping I decided to spend the night there and drive the rest of the way in the morning. I set off bright and early and caught the sunrise over Mono Lake in Lee Vining.

Day 1 started with an introductory lecture and some basics, then we went out for an afternoon field session doing rescue practice. Using the equipment was the easy part; organizing a group and working efficiently was more difficult. I don’t think I have any confidence in my ability to actually rescue someone, but that’s ok because I won’t be skiing in avalanche terrain with a partner (or with a beacon, for that matter) for quite some time. I kept expecting a kind-but-firm lecture about what I was doing wrong, but evidently this course wasn’t going to involve much of that. Barbara pointed out inefficiency in the group, but didn’t harp on how inefficient we were as beginners and instead stressed continuing practice to solidify the skills we were learning.

During the postholing I did on Saturday, I caught an existing hole in my pants on my snowshoe teeth and made it even bigger. I decided to go looking for a sewing kit and found a green one at Vons. On Sunday morning I sewed my pants back together well enough that they stayed together for the rest of the weekend. The tear was an awkward flap of fabric that I couldn’t just sew back together tightly. At least not while sitting in the back of my car with poor lighting.

All better. Or at least kind of better.

Day 2 was a micro-tour to go over some testing methods for evaluating the snowpack. We learned hand-shear tests and some other observations you can make quickly while moving, then got into groups and dug test pits to perform more extensive tests in. After that we went back to the classroom to talk about human factors and how important it is to communicate with your entire group, as well as select your group members thoughtfully.

Hand shear test

There was an example used in a lecture of a man-eating lion you hear about who lives in a certain area. Sure you could go see how close you can get to the lion, verify its existence, and hope you don’t get eaten, but you could also avoid that area and be certain you won’t be eaten. While preparing for the student-organized tour on day 3, we went around giving our instructor an idea of our goals for the course. I said I wanted to know what actually was and wasn’t hazardous (in any given terrain, specific to my personal risk tolerance, of course); she asked if that meant I wanted to go pet the dragon (the lion was also a dragon and a shark at various points in the weekend). That didn’t sound right to me. I’m not a pet-the-dragon kind of person at all. I thought about it for a few seconds and realized that what I wanted to know was how to figure out where the dragon actually might be, and where I’ve been unnecessarily avoiding travel despite there being no risk of a dragon.

Navigating to a tree right in front of me.

During the tour, we went down several slopes measured at less than 30 degrees (not avalanche terrain and not worrisome as long as there’s no terrain above you) which I would have previously thought were too steep to be safe. Prior to this I’d essentially considered only flat terrain and wide ridges (away from cornices) to be acceptable for travel, and now I realize that there are a multitude of additional options available to me. Later in the season when avalanche danger is lower, there will be further options still.

Descending from the top

While days 1 and 2 contained a lot of valuable information - I certainly want to know how search and rescue occurs, and the snow science was useful in understanding conditions - day 3 was by far the most beneficial for me with my intended goal of solo touring. I'm not quite at the level of the group member who asked, “but why do you even have to rotate the compass if you know that the needle points north?” but I'm not that familiar with navigation beyond looking at a topo map and navigating based on identifiable terrain features. Barbara went more in-depth about how to use a compass, and recommended specific features to look for in a compass for optimal functionality. I felt like I didn't have much trouble navigating when it was my turn to lead, and she didn't stop me to offer corrections (or, more accurately, she didn’t start me, since she was mentioning to most other leaders that they should route-find while walking rather than stopping so much); at one point she did make a separate track for the skiers to go up a hill. Our objective was just a small dome, so any route that went generally uphill and stayed out of steep terrain would have worked fine.

Looking toward Mammoth from our little summit on a dome

We also got to observe some things that I probably would never have thought to test for on my own casual stroll through the woods. At the top of our little dome objective there was hardly any snow, and the southwest side was visibly wind-scoured. We probed the depth of the wind-loaded northeast side, and found that about a hundred meters (walking distance, not vertical) from the top, the depth was too much for a 320 cm probe to measure. A good illustration of the warning that snow can be deposited by wind at 5-8x the depth it originally fell.

I finished the course feeling like I had a sufficient knowledge base to start being more confident in my backcountry decisions, although those decisions will probably always err on the side of caution. It was good to be reminded to not be complacent in groups or with more experienced partners, too.