- Times Highlights - - Aspen Snowmass OnLine Home Page - Sheriff, staff cite caution as the reasoning behind rescue delay February 25 & 26, 1995 By Cameron M. Burns Aspen Times Staff Writer Steve Crockett, the Pitkin County Sheriff's Department's beleaguered emergency management coordinator, summed up his position this week by loosely quoting avalanche handbook writer Ed LaChappelle: "The avalanche doesn't know you're an expert." Crockett's comment came this week after Mountain Rescue Aspen members questioned his decision to wait two days before allowing a Mountain Rescue party in to look for a missing Ohio man who was buried 8 feet under an avalanche in the Conundrum Creek Valley, Feb. 14. Mountain Rescue members began questioning Crockett's decision Friday, Feb. 16, when Doug Hamilton's body was recovered. It was found within a small air pocket, "about the size of the trunk of a small car" according to one person involved in the recovery operation. Added to that was the fact that Hamilton was found with an electric cord wrapped around his neck, which has prompted theories that Hamilton was trapped alive (possibly for days), and strangled himself. Some MRA members think Hamilton might have been saved, had they been dispatched faster. The second-guessing of Crockett's decision has reopened a nasty rift between the Sheriff's Department and MRA. Mountain Rescue members say they have been excluded from the decision-making process in emergency situations in recent years and that they have valuable experience to offer the Sheriff's Department. "We do have some strengths on the team that could be better employed than they have recently," said Hal Clifford, MRA board member. But Pitkin County Sheriff Bob Braudis said he hired Crockett to be the county's chosen person to make the tough decisions in stressful times. Crockett is highly trained, and the county's legal exposure is reduced when he assumes command, Braudis pointed out. That still doesn't sit well with MRA members, many of whom don't like Crockett's blunt style. "We've tried to work within the system here," said one member. "I feel Crockett is trying to demoralize Mountain Rescue here and solidify his position and his job" by leaving Mountain Rescue out of the decision-making process. Braudis and Crockett stand by their decision. Crockett examined the Castle Creek Valley Wednesday, Feb. 15, with renowned avalanche expert Hal Hartman, and both thought the entire valley extremely unstable. Rescuer safety, Crockett said, is his first responsibility. Late this week, doctors who examined Hamilton's body are beginning to piece together evidence they feel indicates Hamilton died quickly. The evidence consists of a deep burn on Hamilton's left forearm, along with the existence of a burning stove. The burns indicates Hamilton was knocked down by the slide and knocked immediately unconscious, while the stove -- which was burning at the time of the slide -- likely used up any oxygen in the air pocket. "He'd be dead within 30-40 minutes without the stove," said Steve Ayers, a former county coroner who examined the body. "With a hot stove sucking it up, it was probably 2-3 minutes. The supposition that he lived for any length of time is crazy." "It sounds right," said Pitkin County coroner Bud Glismann of Crockett's decision. "It was dangerous on Tuesday." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ - Times Highlights - - Aspen Snowmass OnLine Home Page - Avalanche! - Coping with winter's nightmare By Cameron M. Burns Aspen Times Staff Writer February 18 & 19, 1995 While the sharp "whump" of avalanche charges on Aspen Mountain reverberated off the walls of the upper Roaring Fork Valley this week, a grim scene of terror and death played itself out in the backcountry of Conundrum Creek southwest of town. A monster snowslide 150-yards wide and 300-yards long roared down the steep slopes that frame the confluence of Conundrum and Castle creeks, leaped a ridge, crashed through a winterized teepee and killed its 31-year-old inhabitant. Similar avalanches ripped down mountainsides all across the central Rockies all week, blocking highways large and small, burying cars and the odd out-of-bounds powder skiers and generally reminding all who live and play here that this region, though beautiful, is often dangerous. The irregular, but frequent, boom of avalanche-control efforts around the valley began immediately after the fierce wind and snowstorm last weekend dumped an estimated 3 to 4 feet of wet, heavy powder on top of old "tender" layers of snow that had been weakened during a midwinter drought, according to snowpack experts. While the new snow proved a boon for local powder hounds, the differing layers of old and new snow failed to adhere to each other on steep slopes, creating the sort of unstable snowpack that is one of the terrors of the mountains. Whole strata of snow, many feet thick and weighing tons, suddenly broke loose from their moorings in hundreds of locations and rained down on the valleys below. "It was spooky," said local skier David Hale, minutes after skiing the Midnight Mine area on the "backside" of Aspen Mountain Tuesday, one day after two skiers had been caught in a slide there. "Spooky is the word. There's a lot of avalanches out there right now." Buried alive That conditions were both extreme and deadly was obvious by Monday, when Aspen Mountain ski patrol director Jef Aldrich was buried in a small avalanche while testing snowpack stability above Lud's Lane, and two skiers on Aspen Mountain's backside were caught in an avalanche in an area they'd skied "a thousand times" before. All three were OK. The pair of backside skiers - Aspenites George Vicenzi and Bruce Gordon - were unharmed. Vicenzi was buried to the chest and Gordon knocked down. Aldrich, however, was completely buried except for one hand sticking above the line of snow. Remarkably, the area that had "sloughed" down on top of him was relatively small, estimated at 30-by-35 feet in area. He was quickly dug out by two fellow patrollers, and was back at work within minutes. While Aldrich is new to the ski area, and in the process of learning its quirks, the readiness of the tiny slope to break away was a harbinger of what was to come this week, as entire mountain ranges developed delicate fracture lines along their ridges, and valleys became giant snowdumps. Controlling mother Aldrich - along with his counterparts at Snowmass and Aspen Highlands ski areas - represent the first and preferred official responses this community makes to soaring avalanche conditions: control. Unbeknownst to the average skier, many portions of some local ski areas are prone to slides. At Highlands, for example, there are probably close to 150 areas within the ski-area boundaries where slides regularly occur. They have names like "Epicure," "Max 6" and "Wine Cabin" 1 through 3, and can be a few feet in width to several hundred yards. O.J. Melahn, ski patrol supervisor at Highlands, Thursday morning pointed out about a dozen slide paths directly above the base of the mountain. He said 70 such paths exist on the "front side," or western face of Highlands' ridge; another 30 paths lace the massive Highlands Bowl, and dozens of other areas sit across the face of the resort. "It got to the extreme," said Melahn of conditions this week, noting that 5 feet of snow was recorded at 10,800 feet on Highlands, the most ever recorded in a 7-day period. At Snowmass ski area, ski patrol director Steve Sewell was busy dealing with an estimated 104 mapped slide areas at that resort. In just a few days, Sewell estimated his department had set off 1,800 pounds worth of explosives, bringing down "an awful lot of acreage" on the Hanging Valley Wall, in the Cirque, and other steep parts of the mountain. "Wednesday morning we blasted 'AMF' and it went very big," he said. "We got a 12-14 foot (deep) fracture line." While Sewell's patrollers are generally used to setting off 1-, 2- and 5-pound explosives, one at a time, this week's extreme conditions called for extreme measures. Wednesday, patrollers lowered a cafeteria tray down "West 2" - a steep area just west of the Headwall - loaded with 30 2-pound explosives, a record quantity of explosives, and shook loose a "substantial" amount of snow. "The public's been good about waiting," Sewell said. "We open this stuff up as quickly as we can. If you get anybody who's antsy, you just take them over and show them the fracture line on 'AMF.' " The rescues The other obvious response our community has during periods of extreme avalanche danger is much more serious in its nature: search and rescue, and victim recovery. Pitkin County Sheriff Bob Braudis is only too familiar with this part of the avalanche game, an aspect he doesn't like. After a large slide blocked off Castle Creek Road late Monday, and a second one buried a tepee containing Conundrum Creek Valley resident Doug Hamilton Tuesday morning, Braudis was faced with making the decision of whether or not to immediately search for the missing man, or wait until conditions were safer. "This was the tough decision," said Braudis Wednesday afternoon after the moist four-day storm abated. "But our decisions are based on the best available information." What Braudis learned on Tuesday, when Hamilton was buried, was that after the slide between six and eight neighbors had searched two hours for the missing man, and that the slide which had buried him was enormous. The survival rate for anyone buried 30 minutes is 50 percent. Beyond 30 minutes the chance of survival plummets. Perhaps key to the entire consideration was the fact that avalanche dangers Tuesday and Wednesday were generally regarded as extreme, even in areas that had already slid, as they had been "reloaded" with snow by the continuing storm. Braudis decided Tuesday afternoon it was too risky to search. "I didn't sleep too well last night, thinking about all the what-ifs," he said Wednesday. "But you know, I can tell you today, no (additional) citizens are dead, no volunteers are dead. The only guy who is likely dead is the guy in the tepee. But there's a horrible second-guessing of myself. We continually ask ourselves, 'What if it was my brother, would we do anything differently?' " Braudis spent a lot of time Wednesday afternoon wandering in and out of meetings with deputies, nervously smoking cigarettes behind the courthouse, and having an awful time second-guessing decisions he'd already made and decision he was yet to make: whether or not to go up Wednesday. He decided against it. "The old-timers tell me they've never seen it like this," Braudis said. "Two years ago it was similar, but not this bad." That left Mountain Rescue, a group of volunteers trained in all phases of backcountry search and rescue, in limbo. The organization is under complete control of the Sheriff's Department, and doesn't move until Braudis gives the go-ahead. Often, said Mountain Rescue member Scott Messina, waiting causes members of the public to get "frustrated" that Mountain Rescue isn't responding. "I haven't gotten any nasty phones calls," said Messina Wednesday morning. "But people are scratching their heads saying, 'Why aren't you out there looking for the guy in the tepee?' We're under the control of the Sheriff. If he wants us to go, we go. If he doesn't want us to to, we don't. Mountain Rescue is not dragging its feet. It's the Sheriff that's always made the call." Building a deadly dream While both rescue teams and ski patrollers were dealing with the periods immediately before and after of avalanche "events," some county officials took the broader view this week. Specifically, they questioned the judgment of landowners who build in areas that are known to experience avalanches. "Honestly, I feel we've built on most of the good lots in Pitkin County, now we're starting to build on lots that aren't so good," said Braudis, who as Sheriff advises on development. "We're moving into terrain that affects wildlife, as well as people's safety as it relates to wildfire and avalanches." The newly created Castle Creek Valley Ranch is cited as one example in Pitkin County of this trend. That subdivision, located about three miles up the Castle Creek Valley, has six homesites (numbers 6-13) sitting in what county officials call avalanche "blue zones." Blue zones lie somewhere between areas completely free of avalanches and avalanche "red zones," or known avalanche paths. Blue zones are "run-out" areas, where "rare avalanche events" occur, according to Pitkin County planner Tim Malloy. Also, said Malloy, about 900 feet of roadway accessing the homes in the subdivision lies in red zones. Asked about how such homesites could be approved, Braudis' gut reaction was, "We don't have an avalanche expert for Pitkin County, the developers do." But there's more to it than that. Braudis said that mapping of avalanche areas is a very new science and in Pitkin County maps of avalanche areas only go back a handful of years, meaning many areas that he believes have the potential to slide are not on county-development maps. The other reason homesites are being approved in blue zones, said Malloy, is that some avalanche experts, often hired by developers, explain that homes should be allowed to be built in blue zones, under the condition that protective structures be built to shield the homes from slides, a philosophy that county commissioners bought into a few years ago when the Castle Creek Valley Ranch was approved. County planners are alarmed by the approval, and others like it. "I feel like this was a mistake," said Malloy, "(We) ought not to be allowing new lots in avalanche areas." Using protective structures makes sense for existing lots in avalanche areas, Malloy said, but creating completely new lots in avalanche areas is an unwise decision. Braudis added: "My real concern is the third or fourth owner, who might not read the fine print (concerning potential avalanche danger) and their kids are playing out in the back yard and next thing, we're looking for a body." While Malloy could not say exactly how many homesites in Pitkin County are in avalanche blue zones, he did estimate there are "probably a lot of them." And the Castle Creek Valley Ranch isn't the only place. On the most liberal maps, the 71-unit Moore proposal has been mapped with 15-16 homesites in blue zones, said Malloy. On the most conservative maps, the number is zero. Likewise, Gerald Hines' Aspen Highlands Base Village proposal has portions of some lots (but no actual homesites) that have blue zones across them. While the county's current push to place "rural and remote" zoning across pristine backcountry areas - aimed at preserving them - has met considerable opposition, county planners believe the zoning could help reduce avalanche hazards. "What it will likely result in," said Malloy, "is smaller seasonal cabins, used primarily in the summer. With that level of restriction, some people will likely go 'Aw, who wants it anyway?' " and may decide developing their parcel isn't worth the effort. "I doubt rural and remote will eliminate the situation, but it will cut down on it," Malloy said. Post-slide skiing While the officials reactions to avalanche danger are control and search-and-rescue operations, the public's reaction is often less cautious. When the Conundrum Creek avalanche came crashing through the small subdivision at the mouth of the valley Tuesday morning, a handful of desperate neighbors rushed out into the storm and dug furiously into the concretelike slide, which has been estimated at between 8 and 20 feet deep. After digging numerous holes, exasperated searchers retreated to their homes. Some simply felt the search futile, given the enormity of the slide and the logs, poles and other obstacles that came down with the snow, but others were scared off by official warnings from the Sheriff's Department that the danger was still extreme. In fact, some Conundrum Creek Valley residents are upset they weren't alerted to the incident by the Sheriff's Department. "We could've had 20 people out there digging for him," said one Conundrum Creek guest, who refused to give his name to The Aspen Times. Braudis sympathized with the complaint, but repeated the points of information on which his decision was based. And, even after an avalanche caught Vicenzi and Gordon Monday, skiers were out in force throughout the rest of the week, many skiing in the same general areas. Local powder hounds David Hale, Dean Derossier and Chris Maher took to the Midnight Mine area Tuesday and skied out onto a closed Castle Creek Road where they poled their way back to town. "I'm sure people think it was crazy," Hale said, adding that the group followed all the correct protocol, carrying avalanche beacons and shovels, and were well-versed in backcountry travel. "We didn't ski our regular way down Midnight Mine," said Hale. "We walked a long way to avoid all the exposed slopes. The trio were by no means the only ones, as dozens hit the powder-laden hills on the "backside." Thursday's recovery By Thursday afternoon, Braudis had decided the risk to rescuers had diminished and approved a search for Hamilton's body. The day began with county road crews clearing the about 200-feet-wide, 10-feet-deep avalanche-deposition area that had blocked Castle Creek Road. Then, Sheriff's deputies and Mountain Rescue volunteers arrived at the site of the avalanche and Hamilton's buried tepee,an area about 50-feet square surrounding the tepee's platform. Aided by an avalanche dog, with shovels and 12-to-15-feet "probe" poles in hand, searchers marked out the general location of the platform, and began digging. The scene was silent and grim. Small tattered pieces of pink fiberglass insulation from the teepee hung on trees surrounding the site, and flattened trees lay across a slope behind the platform. Several of those digging Thursday evening talked in hushed tones about "illegals," cabins built in the lower Conundrum Creek Valley, and talked of possible future disasters. One of those digging was Doug Hamilton's brother, Steve Hamilton. "This is keeping me in one piece," said Steve Hamilton of the sweaty, manual labor. "If I was sitting back in Virginia, I'd be a basket case." Finally, at around 5:30 p.m., the body was recovered, buried under 8 feet of snow, inside the tepee, and just a stone's throw from two more residences. This avalanche story - really, just one storm of a long winter - doesn't have a happy ending. An Ohio family has lost a loved one, and the entire community must once again soberly ponder the matter of avalanche danger. While most Aspenites think that we and other Colorado mountain communities control and react to our avalanches in an appropriate manner, many think the prevention side of things could be improved. Education, said Mountain Rescue's Messina, is what people need, as well as simply thinking in terms of steep slopes, gravity, snow and what the three can do together. "You have to go out with avalanche eyeballs," he said. "Not just skiers' eyeballs or snowmobilers' eyeballs - avalanche eyeballs. People need to be aware of where they live, where they're traveling and what the potential is."