High in the North Cascades, it is truly another world. Any Oregon resident who visits here for the first time and walks through the glacial valleys and between it's unending jagged peaks will feel unnerved. These can't be the same mountains he can see from his living room window, hovering like some distorted Fuji on the dim eastern horizon. But they are; huddled together, piercing the sky, thrusting their asymmetrical selves into existence.

And in this other world, Mount Baker, (perhaps the most monstrous massif of them all,) is getting a rap as a man-eater.

In the space of one year, five people have went missing in Baker's shadow. Enjoying the slopes between Baker and the gangly Mount Shuksan, Jason Carey, Bob Henley, Ronald Hinchey, Justin Parker, and Shawn Riches all ceased to exist. Four were boarders, one a skier. Their skill levels and their experience varied. One, Henley, was known to be an excellent boarder, a veteran of the mountain. He, along with Hinchey, remain missing to this day; he simply walked into the snow and the backcountry and was never seen again.

Dramatic Difference

This recent slough of incidents at Baker received a lot of press attention, giving the area a stigma of death. Stories ran in the local Bellingham Herald with increasing frequency about thrill seekers and extreme sports, stupid boarders and the ski patrollers who had put their lives on the line to rescue them. The story reached the Associated Press, and was circulated across the nation for a few days. But were the conditions at Baker really so dramatic? Gwen Howat, spokesperson for the ski resort, doesn't think so. "People get in accidents all the time. There are no more accidents here than in most other ski areas."

While this is the response that may be the expected from any public relations official, In the case of Mount Baker, it's also right on the money. To go missing after going out of ski area bounds is not uncommon in the northwest. According to Mike Klein, president of the Mount Hood Ski Patrol, "Many people [on Mount Hood] have went missing over the last year or so." At Mount Bachelor, the case is similar; "We get probably six people who get lost while backcountry skiing or boarding each year. They don't know the area well enough or go out in bad weather conditions and lose their way," says Deputy Wayne Inman, the Search and Rescue coordinator for the Deschuttes County Sheriff's Office.

Unlike Baker, however, there were no deaths associated with backcountry users during the last ski season. "No-one died," adds Klein "Most simply got lost." According to Inman, Bachelor shared the same luck last season., and there were no fatalities.

It may be that this good fortune at other area resorts made Baker's predicament look worse than it was. But why had Oregon's two hotspots scraped by without any fatalities? "We were lucky," says Klein. "Part of the reason is that the biggest danger on Hood's slopes tends to be disorientation, with hypothermia (frostbite) the leading cause of injury or death." Searchers managed to get to the victims in time to prevent that fate.

Inman agrees. "Except for a small section on the backside of Bachelor, we don't have many avalanches. Most injuries came from exposure. We managed to get to them all in time."

The Death Equation

So the Oregon resorts got lucky. But that still leaves a question: why were the missing at Baker not coming back? The answer to the puzzle lies in the geography.

The locations of these disappearances were on the other side of the ski area boundary, in a place called Rumble Gully. From the rim's edge at five thousand feet, the slope plunges at a thirty-five degree angle to the gully floor, some thousand feet or so below. Stretching away to the southeast is the ridge line of Shuksan Arm, whose southward facing slope is a magnet for powder hound backcountry skiers from across the region and the nation.

It is in this locale that the source of danger lies; as it's name implies, Rumble Gully is home to frequent avalanches. "It happens mostly when the snow comes in fast and deep. Danger really increases whenever it starts pilling faster than an inch an hour," says Andy Betts, a member of Baker's professional ski patrol. "If the snow pack has seen rain and frozen up prior to the new powder, it gets really unstable.

It's this combination of quick powder build-up and steep terrain that is the equation for death. "There's almost no warning. All it takes is for someone to ski across the top surface and get some powder moving." Then, according to Betts, "A slab avalanche starts. A horizontal fracture forms, everything below it buckles, and the whole face goes." As an example, the February 14th, 1999 avalanche, which claimed Justin Parker and Shawn Riches, was three hundred yards wide. "It can bury you under thirty feet of snow. It's really difficult to find someone that deep."

What some people have a hard time understanding is why these skiers and boarders were out there in the first place. "Basically, they shouldn't have been there. Either they didn't know the conditions, or they went anyway. The mountain doesn't care how experienced you are," continues Betts, who knew Bob Henley, victim of a December 12th avalanche. His car was discovered in the ski area lot with the snowboard missing from the rack. Henley was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. "He shouldn't have been there either."

Although an avalanche can kill anyone, regardless of their skill level, it's been a pretty consistent demographic that's getting hurt on the mountain. Says Inman, "A backcountry user tends to be a male between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five. They consider themselves indestructible and are not prepared for a lengthy stay."

"It's the powder that attracts them," adds Carter Turk, owner of a snowboard shop in Bellingham, a snowboarder since the pioneer days of 1983, and a frequent backcountry user. "Part of the draw is a sense of accomplishment. You didn't just get off the chair and slide down the hill." The powder at Baker, which piled up in record numbers during the 98/99 season, has been drawing a lot of backcountry users to the area. "Tons of people are going backcountry up there," continues Turk.

"Backcountry use at Baker goes way back," says Howat. "In the twenties and thirties, people came up here to ski and enjoy the mountain. But as far as modern backcountry use, that's really taken off in the last five or ten years." Howat attributes it to media publicity, better equipment and the growth of snowboarding. "The ultimate for a snowboarder is untracked powder."

"If you're going to go out there, fine, but you have to be prepared," adds Turk. "A lot of people go out there thinking, 'hey, nothing bad's gonna happen to me.'"

But it can, and Turk talks from experience; skiing near a sharp drop in Baker's backcountry, "I was caught in an avalanche. The slope was pretty steep, and I had to fight it with my skis and try to dig in. I only got buried to my waist, but it took me a long time to dig myself out.

"But if I had been pushed another couple of yards, I would've went over a the edge."

Backcountry Access

Unlike some Oregon ski areas, which discourage backcountry access by taking away the lift passes of those who get caught crossing the border, many Washington ski areas encourage backcountry use, Baker amongst them. "The backcountry lands are public lands and are in the public domain," says Betts.

"Out of bounds skiing and snowboarding is a legitimate activity. It isn't illegal," adds Mike Heilman, Boundary Coordinator for the Pacific Northwest Region of the Forest Service. "The purpose of a boundary isn't to keep people out, but to the define the responsibility of the ski area operator. It's to make the user aware of where they are, to keep those who want to stay out outside, and those who want to stay in inside."

Except in rare circumstances, these boundaries never close. "Some areas contained within the ski area's boundaries are roped off for safety purposes, and the management can close these temporarily or permanently," continues Heilman. "Also, the ski area itself can temporarily deny access to the entire resort for maintenance purposes. But the boundary between the ski area and the wilderness never closes, with rare exceptions"

One of those 'rare exceptions', and one with some parallel to the Baker experience, is Colorado's Telluride. "At Telluride, there is a particular valley, the Bear Creek Drainage, that has historically been notable for disastrous avalanches," according to Ed Ryberg, National Boundary Coordinator for the Forest Service. "It goes back far before the resort arrived, to when it was a mining camp. It was notorious for trapping rescue personnel as well as the initial victims. Finally, after a disastrous avalanche about twelve years ago, it was decided to permanently close access to the drainage from the ski area."

The decision to encourage or discourage backcountry use tends to be a local one. "Each area varies in their approach. It's often based on personality issues of the ski area management," continues Ryberg. "There's almost nothing in common from one area to another, here in Colorado or in the northwest." And although it is conceivable to shut a border, it doesn't mean backcountry use would stop. A prospective user could simply enter at another point not under the control of the ski area, like a snowpark or a roadside. "If it's public land," Heilman adds, "it's accessible."

'Your or your heirs....'

Rather than concentrating on eliminating backcountry use, Baker tries to shape it. "Access is available through specific gates," adds Howat. Mounted beside these gates is a large sign, clearly informing the prospective departee that "the ski area is no longer responsible for your safety," and that they're "on their own."

This gated approach is common throughout Colorado and is seen with increasing frequency here in the northwest. Proponents believe that controlling access points gives searchers a better handle on the missing skier/boarder, providing them with a starting point for a search.

"The sign also says that they or their heirs will be charged for the search if they go missing," continues Howat. Mount Bachelor uses this approach as well, according to Deputy Inman. "We noticed a dampening on notification. Some people don't call us in till much later because they think they can get themselves out and don't want to be charged for a search." According to Howat, though, Baker has seen no problems with this approach. "Right now, we charge $500. Most are more than happy to pay given the alternatives. The money goes towards offsetting the costs of rescue equipment and training."

Partly as a result of the Valentines' Day avalanche, "Baker now requires anyone seeking to access the backcountry from the ski area to have six things with them." They are "An avalanche transceiver, a shovel, a partner, working knowledge of the area, knowledge of the conditions, and knowledge of avalanche safety procedures." Continues Howat, "Notice that three of those six are knowledge."

To enforce this policy, users leaving through the gates are stopped by a ski patrol member and given what Howat calls "a quiz." If the prospective backcountrier doesn't pass, "they're sent down to the administration building to take a test. And if they fail, they keep taking the test until they pass."

"We don't want to stop people using the backcountry," adds Betts, who also teaches avalanche safety courses at an area outdoor shop. "Education, education, education. That's what we're trying to do."

Turk agrees with the policies Baker has put in place. Among the many things he recommends a backcountry user to do is "get certified." No, he isn't talking about being put in a mental institution, but getting an avalanche safety certification. "You take a class," says Turk, "and they teach you how to recognize avalanche dangers, and how to survive if you're caught in one, and how to rescue someone who's buried."

"Shuksan Arm is a great experience," continues Betts. "The skiing and boarding is unparalleled by anything inside the boundaries. But you've got to know when to be there and when not to. Anyone going out there improperly equipped and without the necessary snow and avalanche awareness training is asking for trouble."

So long as there are people who choose to be irresponsible, however, Rumble Gully will be waiting .

Five people in one year; they won't be the last.  

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