LOCALadk Magazine

LOCALadk 27 Standing before the wall of conifers felt like play- ing Russian roulette. Scanning left and right for any hint of safe passage I spotted what appeared to be an opening and slipped into the maze. As I entered the trees, I pressed one ski downward to test the snow beneath. It felt reassuringly firm. I shifted it two feet right and repeated the test. This time, it sank deep into softer snow. My initial instinct seemed correct—a packed, stable trail lay hidden be- neath the surface. I just couldn't see it. What followed was an intricate game of cat and mouse. Slide a ski forward, apply gentle pressure to test the subsurface and, if resistance held, advance the other ski and commit my weight. When the snow felt too soft, I'd retreat ten feet and choose a differ- ent line. Each misstep sent my heart rate climbing. Eventually, I estimated I must be somewhere near the middle of this ridgeline forest. Having come this far, turning back felt the same as continuing on. I com- mitted fully to pushing through to Iroquois. And then it happened. I extended my right ski forward and tested the snow with a light touch, receiving what felt like a positive signal from the snowpack. But as I transferred my weight, the snow collapsed with a sickening whoomph. My world tilted sideways as white, green, and black blurred together in a kaleidoscope. My head came to rest at the bottom of a hole while snow continued trickling down, snaking inside my jacket and across my face. My skis remained stubborn- ly attached to my boots, but they hung above me like a mobile, their tips and tails snared to the edges of the hole I'd just punched through the snow. During the fall, one ski pole had vanished some- where above. The other lay trapped beneath my chest, pinned by my body weight with my right arm caught in the tangle. I found myself completely inverted, held captive by the very equipment meant to keep me on top of the snow. I had tumbled into a dreaded tree well, the night- mare scenario I'd been desperately trying to avoid. While I'd encountered smaller versions before, none had ever swallowed me whole like this. Tree well suffocation poses a real and deadly threat. Though my airway remained clear, panic began to percolate through my chest. I felt mummified, feet bound to my skis, arms folded across my body like a straightjacket. I needed to release the toe piece to Jamie Kennard descends into the thick spruce near the top of Santanoni. Photo credit: Doug Kennard

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