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Avalanche Myths

"Loud noises trigger avalanches"
Avalanches "strike without warning"
"All the avalanche experts are dead"
"Spit to see which way is up"

Frequently Asked Questions

How fast do avalanches go?
What kind of avalanche is most dangerous?
What causes slab avalanches to fracture?
What kind of weather produces avalanches?
Who gets caught in avalanches?


How do people get caught in avalanches?
How do people die when buried in avalanche debris?

What it's like to get caught in an avalanche?

A personal story by Bruce Tremper

Utah Avalanche Center Director, Bruce Tremper, knows firsthand and here is his story:

It happened to me for the first time, I believe, in November of 1978. I was a cocky ex-national circuit ski racer, 24 years old, fresh out of college, and because I needed the money I was building chairlifts at Bridger Bowl Ski Area in Montana. I already thought of myself as a bit of an avalanche expert since I had grown up in the mountains of western Montana, my father had taught me the basics of avalanches when I was 10 years old and I had spent many days skiing backcountry avalanche terrain without. In other words I was a typical avalanche victim.

I was skiing alone (first mistake) and not even wearing a beacon (second mistake). After all, I wasn't skiing, I was working, tightening the bolts at the base of each chairlift tower with a torque wrench. Even in my ignorance, I could see that it was hardly a subtle situation. Over a foot of new snow had fallen the night before and it was blowing hard, loading up the steep slopes beneath the upper section of the chairlift with thick slabs of wind-drifted snow.

When I was finished with the tower at the top of the avalanche paths, I started to walk up the slope so I could gain the ridge and circle around to the tower on the other side of the avalanche paths. But since I didn't bring my backcountry skis or climbing skins (third mistake), what was an easy ski down was an exhausting pig wallow back up and the cliffs were too scary to climb in my slippery plastic boots. So I couldn't help but notice that there was only a 15-foot wide couloir that separated me from the safe slopes on the other side. And naturally enough, I thought that a good skier like myself should be able to get my speed up and zip across it before anything too bad happened (fourth mistake).

I did my ski cut according to the book. I build my speed up and I crossed the slope at about a 45 degree angle, so that in theory, my momentum would carry me off the moving slab in case it did break on me. Since I had never been caught in an avalanche before, I had no idea how quickly the slab can pick up speed after it shatters like a pane of glass. I heard a deep, muffled thunk as it fractured. Then it was like someone pulled the rug out from under me and I instantly flopped down onto the snow loosing all the speed I had built up.

So like a startled cow, I sat there on my butt and watched soft slab instantly shatter into little blocks and the blanket of snow rocketed down the slope as if sucked downward by extra heavy gravity.

I jumped to my feet and tried to build up my speed again so I could jet off to the side. But the blocks were moving all around me, like tumbling cardboard boxes blowing in the wind, and nothing seemed to work. It was only two or three seconds after it broke and the avalanche, with its unintended passenger, was already moving a good 20 miles per hour. Looking downhill, I saw a line of small trees coming toward me at a frightening speed, looking like a line of periscopes slicing through the water toward me, like an old war movie. I tried to maneuver to grab one of them. But the avalanche, as I discovered, pretty much has its way with you, and choice is one of those things you think you might have before you're caught in an avalanche, but never afterward. Luckily it took me directly into the smallest tree and I slammed it hard and grabbed on with all my strength. The snow pounded me, like standing under a huge waterfall and it felt like my neck would snap as each block of wind slab smashed into my head. Luckily, grabbing that tree probably saved my life because it let most of the debris pass by me (debris that is below you can't bury you) but unfortunately, the tree eventually snapped off, and I quickly rocketed down the slope again.

Then the tumbling started, over and over like being stuck in a giant washing machine filled with snow. My hat and mittens were quickly ripped off along with both my skis. Snow went everywhere, down my neck, up my sleeves, down my underwear, even under my eyelids, something I would have never imagined. Every time I opened my mouth to breathe, the avalanche kind of injection-molded my mouth and throat full of snow. I spat out the plug of ice and with the next breath just rammed my throat full of snow again. Just when I needed to breathe the most, I couldn't. Drowning to death, high in the mountains, in the middle of winter and miles from the nearest water.


I swam hard to stay on the surface, but something was pulling one of my legs down. This was in the days before ski brakes and I had safety straps attaching my skis to my boots. One had already torn free somehow but the other one felt like a boat anchor tied to my leg. The ski was beneath me in the slower moving debris and as the surface debris moved faster, it tipped me forward, shoving my face in the snow again and I struggled hard to pull that ski up through the debris with my furious swimming. Eventually, the swimming worked, and when the avalanche finally came to a stop I found myself buried only to my waist, breathing hard, very wet and very cold.

I remembered from the avalanche books that debris instantly sets up like concrete as soon as it comes to a stop but its one of those facts that you don't entirely believe. But sure enough, everything below the snow surface was like a body cast. Barehanded, (the first thing an avalanche does is rip off your hat and mittens) I chipped away at the rock-hard snow with my shovel for a good 5 minutes before I could finally work my legs free. On one foot, the heelpiece of the binding hung from the safety strap with a six-inch section of the top-skin of the ski still attached to the screws. It had pulled completely off the ski. On my other foot, the ski was still intact but both the tip and the tail were broken. It has always been a mystery to me how it could have broken both skis, yet none of my bones.

I decided that day that, no, I wasn't an avalanche expert, not even close, and that was the real beginning of my avalanche education. Within a month I luckily landed a job on the ski patrol doing avalanche control, and I've been studying controlling, and forecasting avalanches ever since. One of these days, I may even become an expert. I don't think it's possible to watch all the snow on a mountainside shatter like a pane of glass and roar to the bottom at 60 mph, ripping out trees, without it changing your life, especially if you triggered the avalanche, and more especially if you rode it down and survived. Avalanches bit me in the butt and they haven't let me go.

What do I do if I get caught in an avalanche?

Skiers and boarders technique:


Snowmobilers technique:



How do I judge the danger of avalanche terrain?





How do I judge snow stability?

Look for obvious clues:



Active Tests:



Safe Travel Techniques:
