Getting Lost in the Canada Backcountry

mikecoux

Jul 20, 2023

“People who don’t take risks generally make about two big mistakes a year. People who do take risks generally make about two big mistakes a year.” – Peter Drucker

Growing up skiing the modern I-70 corridor ski resorts is an interesting experience. After some dedicated seasons, I can race down any run, I know the best secret powder stashes, and I even know how to track the ski patrol to be the first one down newly opened runs (or to skirt under closures without them catching up to me). At this point, I’m calling myself an expert, and in my mind, I’ve conquered the mountain. 

I’ll take a double black as my warmup run, and the “Experts Only” signage confirms my bias. Sure, there’s closed off cliffs to my right and left, but I ignore them. I’m already on the most difficult terrain, so those must be impossible lines. Unbeknownst to me, my head is scraping a ceiling made invisible by my own overconfidence. 

Everything changes when a real ski trip falls on my lap. Two weeks, four completely new regions, and the whole thing culminating in famous British Columbia. With the IKON pass, even planning the trip is easy. All it takes is a few months of saving up, and I’m booking Airbnbs without a second thought. My group is a few close friends: myself, Logan, and Tige, and everyone is similarly experienced to myself. Basically, we have about zero days of meaningful backcountry experience between us. It’s only when studying the trail maps for these exotic destinations that Logan notices “accessible off-resort terrain”. The only way in is to have avalanche gear, so the decision was easy. I buy the essential tools just as quickly as I booked the Airbnbs—without hesitation.

Utah flies by. Jackson Hole flies by. Montana just as quickly. It’s the night before we ski our final destination in British Columbia and fresh snow is dumping from the sky. At this point, our trip has been mostly problem free. Several skies have required professional repair, and Tige unfortunately sprained his ankle, but nonetheless, my confidence is peaking. I feel absolutely on top of the world. We climbed couloirs in Utah that were more ice than snow. We hit cliffs in Jackson Hole’s backcountry without so much as a hiccup. We skied avalanche terrain in Canada that has famously taken lives. In my mind, I’ve gained five seasons of backcountry experience in ten days. 

One run at Revelstoke, and I’m in love. All around me is deep snow and open bowls. Halfway through the day, the patrollers open up the backcountry access. They’ve dropped the rope to practically unlimited, untouched terrain. The only catch was you had to make it back to the traverse at the bottom of the run. Me, Logan, and fifty other eager skiers drop in simultaneously. Together, we’re cutting up this bowl like it’s fresh fruit, and every turn sprays powder in my face. At the bottom, finding the traverse is no problem. Backcountry in Canada seems easy enough to manage. On the lift ride back up, Logan mentions a cliff he saw in the distance. The landing is filled in, and the vertical drop tops anything we had hit on the trip thus far. 

In search of the cliff, we hike beyond the bowl we had skied last time. The tracks start to thin out, and soon we’re practically alone. Logan finds the cliff and hits it quickly. Whomp! He lands awash with powder snow and comes up grinning. My turn. After a ten-minute hike, I’m on top of what seems to be sixty feet. I can hear Logan below cheering me on, so I turn to hit it. Whoosh! I’m literally falling through the air. Wham! Breathless, I hit the snow with more force than I ever had. I’m coursing with adrenaline, and I pop up back on my skies high as a kite. Logan and I are chattering like squirrels, and we spot more powder turns ahead. We’re far from the traverse at this point, but my Colorado experience reminds me that all tree runs take you home eventually. I’m not scared. 

100 yards later, the trees are getting tight. They’re getting so close it’s impossible to keep any sort of speed. Exciting pow turns turn into sinking doubt. We decide to start side stepping left, expecting to run into the traverse at any point now. 500 yards later, and Logan is convinced our goal lies just over the next ridgeline. I agree and we press on. Before every step we have to push through entwined tree branches and force our skis past hidden roots that lie three feet down below the snow’s surface. We’re checking our phones for service, but there’s nothing. I get a haunting vision of newspaper headlines twirling toward me. They read “Two Missing in Canada Backcountry”. Logan is ahead at this point, so I push the nightmare away and press on.

After an hour we’ve shuffled our way to a clearing. The ridge line is still an impossible distance away, but miraculously I have a bar of service and 50 percent battery. At this point, I realize that Revelstoke has closed for the day, and my reality sinks in. I’ve never even had skis on my feet past 4 pm before. Logan brings me back. “Text Tige!” he says. It goes through. Somehow, I’ve even sent him our location. Tige texts back telling us that we’re miles below the resort at this point, but a small creek traces the bottom of the ravine that were in. Following it will dump us out at a nearby town. Logan and I share an exasperated look, but our agreement needn’t be voiced. The creek was our only chance. 

Skis on, we head downhill. It is literally the tightest trees I’ve ever experienced. I’m sweating profusely, but I can’t take my goggles off in fear of losing an eye. Finally, I see flat, but the skiing is even worse. This is a natural Canadian forest, and every five feet we’re forced to crawl over waist tall fallen trees. Nothing could make this more difficult. Again, Logan is ahead of me and he cries out. “River!” I get a burst of energy and follow his voice. Fifty yards ahead of me is a raging creek. It’s ten feet wide in parts and its flow is relentless. We’re without service, but I check the time. It’s a half hour before sunset, and even being stopped for five minutes starts to freeze my body. We bend down to sip water cupped from our hands, but Logan knows we can’t stay. All I want to do is think for a second. I just want to stop, think, and sit. Again, he brings me back. “Let’s cross!” he says. 

Logan gets some speed and launches over a narrow section of the creek. The ice cracks below him, but I try anyways. Instantly, I break through and I’m under. Logan freaks and pulls me out. My ski pops off, but I spin around to grab it just before the river takes it. On the opposite bank, I get my moment to sit and think. I wish I didn’t because every survival story is telling me that I’m dead. I’m completely soaked, the sun is setting, and I’m totally lost. Logan sees my realization and forces me up. He doesn’t waste another second and we take off, following the creek downstream. Every step I expect to be my last before I completely freeze up, but it doesn’t happen. I realize that moving is keeping me warm, and my wool layers are still insulting me. I realize what that means. Keep moving or die. 

Our steps become a blur. Skis on. Push five feet. Skis off, and crawl over a tree. Skis on. It’s pitch dark now, so we take our phones out. 20 percent battery, but we need our flashlights. Our side of the creek starts to cliff out, so we cross again. This time, Logan falls through. I help him out, and we push on to another clearing to take a breath. I have another bar, so I text Tige. I tell him we’re calling 911. “Hello? We’re lost on Greeley Creek…I said I’m lost at Greeley Creek!” The reception is horrible. “Yes, two of us… No, we have don’t have supplies.” They want my coordinates, so I try the phone’s compass. “We don’t have a better GPS!” I’m begging at this point. “Please! We don’t have supplies to last the night.” After some back and forth I give up. The trees are too thick to send a helicopter and search and rescue won’t head out until first light. They tell us to camp for the night and try our hardest to conserve energy. First light is eight hours away, and my body is already half frozen after being on the phone for ten minutes. I can see that Logan is out of energy. He’s pushed us this far, to absolutely no sight of escape. This time I take the lead, skis off. We step through waist deep snow, guided only by my phone light. When I look up to see the sky, I can’t even see the tops of the trees. I can only see the fog steaming off our bodies. In that moment I make the decision. We’re going to keep walking, with or without skis, until we’re literally crawling along this creek. I was convinced I was about to die. 

Not even fifty yards later, I push through another clearing, and I make something out with my phone light. A shoveled bridge! We were saved. We found civilization and the forest hadn’t killed us. 

As we skied down the plowed road that led from the bridge, we gained service again. Tige would pick us up at a water treatment plant, just a quarter mile from where we were. That night, I call my mom and I tell her that I’m sorry and that I love her. I left out most of the details. 

The next morning, we were having breakfast and Tige tells the waitress what happened. He mentions Greely Creek and two men at the table adjacent turn toward us. “Last season a man was found dead along Greeley Creek. He was reported skiing Revelstoke during the day but didn’t make it through the night.” 

As I look back, I realize a few things. I would never have made it without Logan’s strength, without Tige’s calmness, and without my waterproof phone. And I’ll never forget that when I was consumed by thoughts of death, all I wanted was to remind the people that I cared about that I loved them.