Christmas Avalanche
written by: Lina Lambert
Not long after my 21st birthday, I accepted a dream job on a winter-sports crew in the Sierra Nevada mountains. Even though it meant skipping Christmas with my family, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to work alongside professional snow rangers and ski patrollers, as a Dispatcher.
“You’ll be skiing to your office, at our mid-chalet hub,” the sun-bronzed recruiter explained, pointing to a trail map with a red-cross on a small building. “Of course, you’ll get a season pass, and guaranteed overtime. You ready?”
“Yes sir!” I said, grinning from ear-to-ear, “When do I start?”
Luckily, all the equipment I needed was provided by the ski area; from heated boots to an exclusive pom-pom beanie, custom made for the 1979 holiday season. While this would be my first Christmas away from my family, landing a job like this was worth every delayed unopened present. Ever since I was a kid I’d been daydreaming about working in the mountains, long before I unwrapped my first pair of skis, almost a decade ago.
At my new job, I’d be up at the crack of dawn, riding the chairlift solo, the bitter 20-degree wind stinging my cheeks, like tiny mosquitoes. With a hot thermos cupped in my wool mittens and my ski boots dangling over the chair, I’d blow o-rings in the air with my frosty breath, thrilled to have kicked the nicotine habit. As the first rays of sunlight crested over the mountain, snowfields sparkled with a sea of pink diamonds all around me. Further down the hill, the ski village twinkled, festive with lights and ready to welcome holiday visitors from all over. This was a world-class resort, and working with a prestigious dream-team was the cherry on top of all my Sundays.
Each day brought new challenges – navigating icy slopes, communicating in blizzard conditions, and making split-second decisions. Dispatching pushed me to my limits, and the natural buzz surpassed any high I’d ever experienced. The camaraderie among the search-and-rescue team bonded us like a family, and while I missed my folks and siblings, I knew I was in the right place.
During frequent emergencies, our closet-sized office swarmed with activity, as we synchronized crucial life-saving efforts. Ski patrollers scrutinized fracture lines for avalanche danger after blizzards, when a heavy snowpack could upheave without warning, at the slightest sound or touch.
One morning, the radio crackled to life with a chilling report: “Avalanche on The Chutes!” The familiar surge of adrenaline hit, and we sprang into action.
“Let’s go! Timing’s everything!” the squad captain yelled, tossing radios and beacons at waiting crews.
He swore as loudly as his joints cracked, and his voice alone could have triggered the avalanche. But it wasn’t his booming tone that caused the slab to collapse. A group of early-bird skiers, ignoring the clearly marked boundary ropes, had ventured into dangerous territory, triggering a massive release of a wall of snow onto a popular run known for its steep pitch and narrow escape path.
Every second counted. With quick synchronicity born from countless drills, our rescue crew jumped into action. Scouring the area with probes, transponders and rescue dogs, searching for victims that might be trapped, the morning hours flew by. Finally, after an exhaustive search, the captain’s voice crackled over the radio, “Area clear. No signs of victims. I repeat, the area is all clear.” A collective sigh of relief swept through the team.
Once back at the command center, the room erupted in joyous chaos. “We did it!” Whoops and hollers ricocheted off the walls, with hearty slaps on the back and hugs all-around. “Cheers!” Mugs of hot chocolate clinked in celebration of another successful mission. While the higher-ups meticulously studied the causes of the avalanche, our close-knit crew focused on the rewards – an emotional situation diffused, a potential tragedy averted, and order restored.
Those memories stayed with me long after I left the mountains. Nearly fifty years later, I was thinking back to that time, now navigating life as a newly widowed woman facing the holidays alone. Often during my bereavement journey, I have jokingly compared my unprovoked emotional outbursts to weather occurrences, equating the ferocity, unpredictability and brute force of grief to an earthquake, tsunami, hurricane or tornado.
This week, I found myself in an avalanche.
Without warning, I was hit by a wave of despair, a victim swept up in the blink of an eye, by the thunderous power of grief. Its weight as crushing as any monstrous snowmass. As much as I tried to pinpoint what backed me into a corner, shattering my progress and semi-stability, I was baffled. I’d been following the rules, paying attention and being mindful of boundaries.
What on earth had triggered this sudden blast of intense sorrow?
Thank goodness I have close friends on my personal search and rescue team. With impeccable timing, these pals showed up, probing with empathy and digging deep into my wreckage. Guiding me with sweet compassion, they pulled me out of my emotional debris, warmed me up with a cup of Oh-honey tea, and gave me freedom to be honest with my distress.
It leaves me wondering; What’s more important? Ruminating over what triggered the unexpected turn of emotions — or focusing on the reward; the gracious team that shows up at the right time, surrounding you and helping you emerge from the rubble? Perhaps springing into action and coming to someone’s rescue is the greatest gift of this holiday season.
- Christmas Avalanche - December 17, 2024
- I See You - January 1, 2024
