Taking it to the slopes

ALYS CULHANE/For the Frontiersman

"Make sure your probe line is straight," Alaska Avalanche School instructor Kip Melling yelled.

As if on cue, we six students thrust our poles into the snow pack, aligned our feet, stood palm to palm, and waited for our next order.

"Go ahead, John, you're in charge," Melling said.

"Probe left, probe center, probe right, move forward," 17-year-old line leader John Hundley shouted.

"Keep moving in lockstep," Melling urged.

"Hey," Alaska State Parks employee Robin Kling yelled. "There's something soft and squishy here."

Together, we circled Kling. With probes in hand, we poked gingerly at the soft snow.

Something soft and squishy turned out to be Melling's backpack. I glanced at our instructor, who was smiling broadly.

As Melling repeated something he'd said in his early morning lecture - that keeping yourself from becoming an avalanche victim is as important as knowing how to conduct rescues - a potentially life-saving realization came to mind.

Probe rescues are tedious, time-consuming, and leave a far larger room for error than do beacon rescues. So, obviously, it would be in my best interest (should I decide to go into the backcountry) to purchase an avalanche beacon, and be vigilant about using it.

I'd do a beacon check, and strap the device under my coat before stepping out of the parking lot. I'd also insist that my traveling companions do the same.

"Okay, let's get back to work," Melling said.

In preparation for the course, I'd read the required text, Doug Fesler and Jill Fredston's "Snow Sense." Then I took a pre-class quiz. This should have, but didn't, alert me to the fact that this was to be a comprehensive course. Instead, I continued to assume that rescue-related information was to comprise the bulk of the Alaska Avalanche School level 1 backcountry avalanche hazard evaluation and rescue course.

I soon discovered that the rescue-related material was the top surface of a multi-layered snow pack.

Little did I know that in addition to learning a great deal about the ins and outs of avalanche rescue, I'd acquire the hands-on skills needed to recognize and evaluate potential avalanche hazards.

I'd also, in the next two and a half days, learn a great deal about terrain analysis, snow-stability evaluation, decision making, safe travel procedures and backcountry route selection.

After doing three more role-playing sessions, our group - named the Depth Hoars by instructor Nancy Pfeiffer - returned to the interior of the Hatcher Pass visitors center, where we again joined the Spatial Dendrites, the Hard Slabs and the Sastrugi Warriors.

My 24 classmates, who ranged in age from 16-55, came from all walks of life. Four high school students, two Fairbanks-based engineers and 10 members of the FBI were included in the Jan. 22-24 class. I was one of three female enrollees.

Snowmachiners, snowboarders, skiers and snowshoers alike had to meet the course prerequisites, which were to be able to remain outside in foul weather, and be able to ski or snowshoe up and downhill in variable terrain and changing snow conditions.

We'd introduced ourselves to our classmates at 8 a.m. I said that I, a cross-country skier, had recently purchased backcountry skis. A day trip to Hatcher Pass with Pfeiffer had piqued my interest in backcountry travel.

I added that my neighbor affirmed what I'd been thinking, that I should take the course before embarking on any long trips.

My classmates and I thought similarly - our collective goal was to become more avalanche savvy when traveling off the beaten path.

The four instructors did not disappoint.

Eagle River resident Melling, 40, Palmer resident Pfeiffer, 44, Eagle River resident Blaine Smith, 40, and guest instructor Eric White, who lives and works in Mount Shasta, Calif., assisted us in developing what AAS founder Doug Fesler called our "avalanche eyeballs."

Our teachers were well-prepared for the task at hand. All are expert backcountry skiers and trained avalanche educators and forecasters. All take their jobs as avalanche educators seriously.

And, as do their more academic counterparts, Pfeiffer, Melling, and Smith give papers at national conferences, converse with other avalanche educators, and internalize written findings. Melling, Pfeiffer, and Smith have hands-on avalanche-rescue training experience, and have assisted in avalanche rescues and body recoveries.

The three are longtime employees of the Alaska Avalanche School, a nonprofit organization that's an offshoot of the Alaska Mountain Safety Center. The school's courses were originally designed and taught by Anchorage residents and avalanche experts Jill Fredston and Doug Fesler, who founded the center in 1977.

Since its inception, Fredston and Fesler's school has led the country in avalanche education.

The AAS offers a variety of avalanche courses for all levels of expertise. In addition to the three-day, level I course offering, the current curriculum also includes a three-day level II backcountry avalanche hazard evaluation course, a one-day avalanche refresher course and a one-day, springtime, wet-snow seminar.

Pfeiffer explained that the level II course is for those who have attended a three-day level I workshop and are serious about acquiring more information. The focus of this three-day workshop is on enhancing skills in avalanche hazard evaluation and decision making, with an emphasis on avalanche forecasting. New ideas in snow science and documentation techniques are also covered.

The avalanche refresher course is a review-based course in which the instructors go over level I material. The evening portion of the course takes place in Anchorage and the day-long portion of the course takes place in either the Talkeetna Range or the Chugach Mountains, depending on where the snow is most interesting.

AAS is also currently working on a nationwide study on the effectiveness of avalanche education.

Because the instructors believe people learn best by doing, they emphasize hands-on training at all the major workshops.

Pfeiffer and Melling pointed out that Fesler and Fredston designed the original Alaska Avalanche School course materials; however, Melling noted that the current instructors have modified it and made it their own. In part, they've done this by putting together a series of PowerPoint presentations. According to Melling, the goal, in using this form of technology, has been to keep the audience's focus on the subject matter, rather than on the technology itself.

Pfeiffer added that another technologically related plus is that the use of PowerPoint enables students to see a wide variety of snow packs and terrain types in a short span of time. This is something that can't be accomplished during three days of class time.

My classmates and I listened attentively as our instructors talked about the conditions that lent themselves to avalanche formation - terrain, snow pack, and weather included.

What Melling, Pfeiffer, and Smith were saying made sense to this forecast-challenged individual - the only college class I ever failed was an introductory weather course.

I wrote in my journal at the day's end: Terrain-related causes of avalanches include steep slopes; weather-related causes include strong winds, new snow, and temperature fluctuations and snow pack-related causes include more cohesive layers that form slabs over weaker layers.

On day two, we followed our instructors out into the field and collected the data we'd later use in compiling a group forecast.

Pfeiffer led the Depth Hoars. We skied and snowshoed in the direction of Friendship Pass, stopping frequently to take observe the snow type, wind speed, amount of drift - all variables that are central to assessing avalanche stability or instability.

We also practiced using our inclinometers - yellow plastic, credit card-sized devices that have lead weights attached to fishing line. As I repeatedly checked the area slope angles, I recalled what I'd been taught - the dangerous "prime time" slope angles are between 30 and 45 degrees.

Lunch was next on the day's agenda. But seeing as younger members of the group were digging snow caves, Pfeiffer refocused their energies by having them dig three snow pits.

Cutting into the layers exposed the season's snow pack, and subsequently allowed us to do stratigraphy, resistance, hardness, compression and, finally, shear block tests.

I peered over her shoulder as Pfeiffer recorded our initial data findings in her snow pit book. She explained that her written seasonal findings enable her to determine if area snow packs are getting stronger or weaker.

"Strength," she said, between notations, "is a sign of stability and weakness is a sign of instability."

In this instance, stability was further determined through the use of the Rutschblock and banzai jump tests. The former test is used to test the snow's shear strength in response to the weight of one person and the latter test is used to test the snow's shear strength in response to the weight of several individuals.

First came the Rutschblock test. The snowpack failed to budge when Harlon Guthrie repeatedly jumped on it, indicating it was very stable.

Next came the banzai jump test. I watched, chagrined, as Pfeiffer, Guthrie, Bryan Quimby and John Hundley linked their arms, flexed their knees and applied considerable force to the apex area of the cut. The cut held.

Our teacher drew an imaginary line across the upper one-third of the block.

"Now," she said, "on the count of three, I want you to do a coordinated jump. And aim for this line," pointing to it with the trip of her blue ski boot.

"I know what we're to do next," Guthrie said.

"Yeah, jump and yell 'banzai,'" Pfeiffer said.

The four yelled and jumped hard, three times. The top layers of the block broke off at the place where they'd predicted they would. Pfeiffer noted that both jump tests confirmed what the less physical tests indicated - the snow pack layer was stable. Before leaving the pit area, we, as a courtesy to other travelers, filled it back in.

The second day's field lesson culminated with an hour-long lesson on backcountry travel safety. Individually, we hiked to the base of Friendship Pass, putting an equal amount of distance between each traveler.

Beforehand, Pfeiffer explained that traveling one at a time would reduce the likelihood of a mass burial. Furthermore, the other travelers would be in a better position to assist, should someone run into trouble.

Later in the day, all groups under Pfeiffer's direction compiled a collective group forecast, which indicated that all conditions for backcountry travel in the immediate Hatcher Pass area were favorable.

Although some thought otherwise, the class day was not yet over. Heads turned as Smith, otherwise known as "Dr. Science," bounded down the Hatcher Pass visitor center stairs.

Smith organized his experiment by first picking two "assistants" from the audience, who allowed him to pour sugar, flour, and potato flakes into their cupped hands. The grinning students then sifted the individual materials onto a flat board that was studded with fake rocks and trees.

As Smith raised the board, yet another assistant pulled his inclinometer from his pocket, and measured slope angles.

The unstable layers slid to the bottom of the board, burying the "town" below. After the laughter died down, Dr. Science again took command of the situation by pointing out that what remained on the board were the characteristic components of an avalanche - the crown, or uppermost portion, the flanks, or sides, the bed surface, and the debris pile.

At 8 a.m. on day three, we students grew quiet when it was announced that the day's plan included yet another backcountry trek. To this end, Pfeiffer said, the morning's lectures would focus on human factors and route selection.

As his voice rose and fell, Smith stressed the importance of picking knowledgeable group members, keeping the lines of communication open, working as a team and collectively paying close attention to field data.

At the conclusion of the early morning talks, Smith called the Depth Hoars together. First came a brief lesson on how to read a topographical map. A talk on the importance of essential gear-related backcountry essentials followed.

From his pack, Smith extracted a blue Ensolite foam pad, which can be used to hold broken limbs in place; a voluminous red nylon bivy sack, to provide shelter and warmth to hypothermic individuals and a handsaw, for cutting pit layers and fire and shelter wood.

On our way to our destination, Murphy Lake, we stopped and examined the remains of the Jan. 6 slab avalanche. From where we were standing, we could make out the crown, flanks and debris pile.

Inclinometers in hand, we measured the slope angle and speculated about the possibility of yet another avalanche.

Much to my relief, Smith said that based on given terrain, weather, and snow pack information, an avalanche in this area would be an anomalous occurrence.

Our last task involved doing an informal stability analysis of the crown of the Jan. 6 avalanche.

Upon returning to the lodge, Pfeiffer initiated the final group-led activity. She explained that we would determine what course of action to take on what would be an imaginary backcountry trip.

Pfeiffer then asked one member of each group to come to the front of the room and pick up cards, which, on the reverse side, contained terrain, snow pack, weather and human factor specifics.

We were instructed to give each variable a red, yellow, or green rating, then, based on our findings, determine if our trip merited green light(go) or red light (no go) status.

All but one of my group's variables indicated it was OK to do our proposed trip. We were experienced backcountry skiers, visibility was excellent, temperatures had been stable, the wind was calm and the slope angle in the terrain where we'd be traveling was 26 degrees.

There was one red light. The card indicated that the snow pack consisted of an unstable, six-inch surface layer.

Should we go or wait? The next 20 minutes' debate was lively.

We finally concluded that since our slope angle was barely within the avalanching range, we could proceed. But, we agreed, we'd need to be extremely careful in selecting and following our route.

As the other groups provided the class as a whole with their findings, I realized I was now far more equipped to make educated decisions about the pros and cons related to embarking on backcountry travel.

In essence, the course instructors had succeeded in making me more avalanche savvy than I had been before signing up for this course.