The other day I ventured out into the backcountry to film with Two Plank Productions. After digging out snowmobile after snowmobile for two days on the way up to the location we wanted to ski, we were pretty confident about the snow pack in the particular valley where we were playing. Having involuntarily dug numerous pits on the way up, we expected the conditions to be similar to the light fluff that we had experienced. The snow was so light and fluffy that is was nearly impossible to snowmobile. The slightest hesitation left you spinning straight down as your forward momentum was lost and you were yet again getting out a shovel. Over the two days it took us to break the trail, including time dealing with Jeff Berman’s Dukes of Hazard experience where he was broadsided by a 60’s steel Toyota Land Cruiser, the sun had been out and the conditions were ever changing. The sun had come out the day before, although the temperature hadn’t gotten much above two degrees Celsius, however the snow that was once ready for the Champaign cork to pop, was turning into a fleeting window of opportunity before it was totally cooked.
Yesterday however the sun was not only out, but it was on high. As we skinned up the south ridge we found the snow to be conspicuously different on every aspect we crossed. We could feel the snow change as it started to stick to our skis and clump on the bottom of our skins. We could feel the temperature change as the sun melted snow off of the trees and baked our exposed skin. My buddy Bunt and I took turns crossing precarious slopes on the way up, but with nothing moving or settling we felt semi confident about the conditions. When we both got to our respective lines, we spoke with Corey at the bottom. Corey had perched himself on a hill looking at the slope to film, so he gave us a play by play of where we were expecting to ski.
On the way up I periodically checked the snow for texture, depth, and density and at no point did I question our decision to ski that zone. However, after I had gotten my gear together and looked down the line the sun was hot. My skis were on and I was ready as Corey said, “Rolling!”
I pensively dropped in and made two turns above the cliff. The snow felt solid yet soft, however when I reached the end of the rock I saw there was a wind drift in my landing. I expected the landing to be firm, but the dense snow was more then I anticipated. My skis hit the firm snow instantly driving my knees toward my chest. Unfortunately my elbow followed the path of gravity and lowered between my knee and chest just as my body compressed together. The impact from the 50ft cliff was enough to press my chest so hard into my plastic protected elbow that it fractured a few of my ribs. Immediately I knew something was wrong as I skied towards Corey who was operating the camera just below me. I removed my gear and inspected my chest like a JV football coach. I did not know what I was looking for, but I looked anyway.
A short while later, after deciphering the best way to get back given the situation, I hopped on my snowmobile and cautiously drove down. I felt surprisingly in control and in a lot less pain then I expected when we reached the road, so I asked the others if they wanted to go check on our buddies who were building a jump up another valley. Feeling confident in my body’s condition, I thought it would be okay to go help the others and hang out, since we were already in the backcountry. When we arrived to the others location however, we found the jump building had turned into the typical backcountry junk-show and there were snowmobiles stuck all over the last hill that had to be overcome to get to the jump location. After looping around the group, we drove the track to smooth it out so as to help the smaller sleds make it up the hill. When I came through the trees to make another pass, one of the sleds were stuck in the path so I was forced to leave the track and tempt the fresh powder with half the speed I would have needed to make the top. Needless to say I got stuck, as I was unable to maneuver the sled with my throbbing chest. When I stepped off the sled I looked at Tanner Rainville who was stuck below me and jokingly said, “shitty.”
Eager to get moving I climbed on to my sled to cross over to the lower side so I could start digging it out, but as I stepped over, my boot slipped and I fell chest first on to the handlebars. Landing on the ribs that I had damaged earlier, I clearly answered my previous question wondering if they were broken. Well, they were, and the second impact on the sled was just enough to separate the bones and drive one in and the other side out. The sound of the grinding bones resonated through my body just as the shocking pain of tearing muscle tissue tore screams of agony out of my vocal cords. I fell off the sled into the snow in complete shock, all the while possessing a heightened empathy for those who have been shot or stabbed.
I was not worried at first, but as I tried to move I found the pain to be intolerable. Every muscle attached to my ribs pulled and separated the bones as I tried to wiggle into a comfortable position. However, as I sat in the snow pondering my options I knew that I had to get out of the backcountry and time was of the essence. My options were get search and rescue or suck it up and start moving. Corey, being a member of the Fire Dept. as well as the Search and Rescue in Crested Butte, had a radio to the dispatch ready, but stubborn and determined I knew either option was going to be painful. Zipping my coat to conceal my obviously deformed chest, I ardently climbed on to the back of Corey’s sled as we started down the hill. At first I was able to hold on and control my motions, but as we started up the other side Corey had to drop the hammer to cross the fresh powder snow without getting stuck, but the bumps, vibration, and rocking back and forth were too much to handle. I screamed over the sound of the engine in total agony for him to stop. Barley able to compose clear words I begged for another option. I told him there was no way I was going to be able to hold on given the hills that we were still up against in order to get back to the road. I thought it might be better if I drove my own sled because that way I would be able to predict the motion and act accordingly.
I sat with tear filled eyes as Corey and Bunt went to dig out my sled. The group started lapping the dauntingly steep slope looming in front of me to smooth out an unmistakable trail for me to follow. Apprehensively watching and fearing the inevitable, I could feel the separated ribs tearing the surrounding muscle tissue with each nervous breath. I tried ardently to slow my panicked breathing, but the combination of pain and panic had me hyperventilating like a nun in a brothel. After preparing myself mentally for what had to happen, I bit down on my zipper and lurched the sled forward before grabbing a fist full of throttle. Holding on to the sled with all the energy I could muster, the miles started to click off as we made our way down to the trailhead. Time could not have gone any slower on the way down as every bump and turn caused havoc on my pain tolerance.
After a visit to the hospital, I learned that I fractured two ribs and tore the cartilage connecting them. The muscle tissue between the ribs connecting to my abdominal, latissimus, and serratus muscles was torn when the ribs separated upon the second impact on the snowmobile handlebars. I guess I can take a lot away from this experience, such as go home after you know one thing is wrong with your body, but I never thought laughing would hurt so badly.
