You know that Christmas morning feeling? When you are so excited for what’s to come that you can’t possibly fall asleep? When you hear your alarm ring and you jump immediately out of bed without pressing snooze, the anticipation of the day evicting any sleepiness that normally ales you. That is how I feel every control morning.
In general, it has always been my opinion that nothing fun happens outside of bed at 4:30am, the exception to that rule, however, is avalanche mitigation.
My alarm sounds, piercing the blackness of the night. The moonlight glimmers off of the freshly fallen snow as I wipe the sleep out of my eyes. I quickly get ready for the day grabbing a breakfast burrito and a coffee for the commute.
Organized chaos is the only way to describe the patrol locker room on an avalanche morning. The energy is palpable as the team excitedly pack their gear and assemble themselves for the day. We meet briefly to go over the plan, do a quick beacon check, and head into the dawn.
The sky begins to wake as we collect our shots for that morning. I adjust and fiddle with my pack. Four pounds of dynamite doesn’t sit as well on my back as the four pounds of gummy bears I usually carry.
As we are in route to our control destination for that day I take a quick inventory of my thoughts.
Between the reflection of the cotton candy sky on the corduroy, and the twinkle of your breath in the crisp morning air, there is magic in the mountains.
Riding up the chairlift as the sun is rising is pure poetry.
It is equal parts powerful and terrifying carving turns with dynamite in your backpack.
We reach the top shack and do some last minute adjustments of our artillery, noting the unanticipated characteristics of our snowpack. “Do you have any questions?” Russ, my patrol supervisor asks me.
I have so many questions that I don’t know where to begin, so I simply shake my head no, and we begin hiking to our first shot.
Sensing my confusion, my other partner Callie says, “Don’t worry, just follow us and do exactly what we tell you.”
We begin with some simple ski cuts, traversing back and forth across the slope, slabs of snow sliding underneath our feet as we travel. As the snow collapses underneath my skis, I continue my inventory.
4. There is nothing more Godlike than fighting he forces of nature, and here I am, a 22 year old ski bum, hedging my bets against an avalanche. Who decided this was a good idea?
5. Holy Shit! Holy Shit! Holy Shit!
6. This is easily the coolest thing I have ever done.
“Alright, Callie, you stay here. Sarah and I are going to set up fire just over the roll.” Russ directs.
“Me, Sarah?” I question, recalling my unique inability to open a string cheese and wondering how I could be useful in something as delicate as bomb destination. But Russ is already gone, so I carefully follow.
When I reach Russ, he beings setting up the shot, carefully explaining his work as we go along. “Crimp, seed, pull the safety, ignite, throw. It’s as simple that.” Russ assures, ushering me back to a safe zone.
“30 seconds til fire.” Callie calls over the radio. Russ and I cover our ears and brace for impact. I begin counting down in my head, waiting anxiously for detonation.
You think you know what a bomb would sound like. From the popularity of war films, or just by making an educated guess, you think you would know what it would be like. But the sheer power of the dynamite is not something you can prepare for. The blast isn’t really even a sound, it’s a sensation. You feel it. The detonation sends sound waves that ripple through your body, and shake you to your core.
I see Russ stand up so I follow suit. He calmly skis back to the detonation site, and begins to reassemble his gear, as if this wasn’t the coolest thing he has ever done. I try, but fail, to contain my excitement. Once Callie rendezvous with us, we continue down the run to our next shot.
“Alright Petal, this one is yours.” Russ directs. Immediately I have butterflies. “Crimp, seed, pull the safety, ignite, throw.” I repeat over and over in my mind as Russ directs me on where our next bomb will be placed.
“Crimp, seed, pull the safety, ignite, throw.” I think as I slowly and carefully remove the bomb from my backpack.
“Crimp, seed, pull the safety, ignite, throw.” “Crimping” I yell in the distance as I shakily take my crimpers out, snipping an inch off of each detonator chord, being carefully my cuts are straight and I don’t get the chord snowy as I move.
“Crimp, seed, pull the safety, ignite, throw.” I remove the ignitor from my pocket and carefully push them onto the det chord, pressing until I feel a small pop, and gently twisting to ensure they’re secure. “Seeded” I yell.
“Crimp, seed, pull the safety, ignite, throw.” I cautiously pull the safety wire off the ignitors and slowly flip the cap off of the ignitors. “Pulling safety!”
“Crimp, seed, pull the safety, ignite, throw.” I tug on the ignitor with one hand, as my other hand holds the det chord in place. I pull once, adjust, the pull again, harder this time, until the cap is off and I am holding a fully lit and active bomb in my pink gloved hands. “We have ignition!” I yell as my mind drifts back to my failure to open a string cheese.
“I can’t believe they are letting me do this.” I think, as I swing my arm back, and gently toss the explosive. As soon as I feel the bomb leave my fingertips I retreat to safety. Not caring to see if my lack of projectile object related sports made any impact on my ability to accurately throw a bomb.
I crouch down low, tucked safely behind a tree, with my hands pressed firmly over my ears. “30 seconds!” Callie yells, not using the radio this time. I brace myself. “Cool guys don’t look at explosions.” plays through my head as I wait.
Finally the blast goes echoing through the mountain range. My heart is pounding. My ears are ringing. I can smell the residual smoke the the explosive in the air.
7. Holy Shit! Holy Shit! Holy Shit!
8. This is the coolest thing I have ever done.
I reconvene with the rest of my team and we continue our mission. As we traverse and ski cut more, my heart is still mounding. My ears are still ringing. The sun peaks over the mountain top as we call our mission close over the radio. “Central, Team 14 off route.”
“Copy Team 14 off route, 8:02” The radio buzzes back.
We ski back to our respective stations, and I can still smell the bomb on my fingertips. My ears still ring, as I carve my way down the mountain, basking in the solitude of a run not yet open to public. Just another day in paradise.
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