The Mammoth Book of Mountain Disasters Read online

  “I cannot tell you anything further about that problem until daylight, Milo. Then I’ll send patrols to investigate.”

  Until daylight! I was told the same by Charlie when I asked him to locate the hut. Daylight was a question of another six hours. These thoughts ran through my mind. The trapped people might be alive and in need of help. Every lost minute may mean life or death, not only to those buried somewhere in the snow mass, but to all of us. Even now I didn’t have any idea what was above. Could I take this appalling risk? Hadn’t I better tell the commander the truth and ask him to stop the operation until daylight? I didn’t.

  I was frustrated and angry about my inability to do anything further. The commander returned just then. My face must have reflected my thoughts. I forgot even to thank him for the soup. He gave me a slip of paper.

  “Something from headquarters. Not important for me but you will perhaps find it interesting,” and he went off again.

  It was a record of a telephone call with the hospital where the three who had been rescued were being cared for. All were suffering from severe shock. The two found by the dog still could not speak. They had internal injuries. John had only superficial wounds. The most interesting part of the message was his version of what had happened for he had recovered sufficiently to give a statement.

  Before the catastrophe he was asleep and was awakened by a deep thundering. He was going to look through the window to see what was the matter but just as he reached the window a tremendous explosion tore the hut asunder and he was catapulted into the air. After what he thought was about twenty metres’ flight he landed on the top of a spruce and fell down through the branches. His only thought was to protect his legs with pieces torn off his night shirt. Somehow, he reached the forest lodge. He couldn’t remember anything more.

  I got up and went to Charlie at the other end of the log. He had been busy working on something in the snow using twigs and pine cones. He also used a shovel from time to time.

  “Look, Charlie, your problem is solved. John didn’t climb the tree. He landed on top of it after a twenty metres long airflight.”

  “What?” He stared to me incredulously, his pipe in his hand.

  “Here, you’d better read it yourself.” I handed him the slip of paper. He read it slowly, probably several times. Meanwhile I observed his work. When I finally understood what he had done I was delighted. It was a relief model of the valley before the catastrophe. The valley was slightly curved. The steep hillsides were completely afforested, trees simulated by cones pressed into the dirty snow. The stream flowing through the valley was marked by means of twigs and thicker sticks were used for three-dimensional models of the two buildings, the forest lodge and the loggers’ hut. This last model attracted my particular attention. It was situated on the same side of the valley as the forest lodge, on a plateau above the stream. The natural shape of the plateau had possibly influenced the location of the building for it was at an angle to it, so that one end of the hut bridged the stream on the side closest to the mountain. It seemed that Charlie had not yet finished this part of his task, because behind the hut he had heaped a high steep pile of snow without any cones on it.

  “Haven’t you finished yet, Charlie?” I pointed at this heap of snow.

  “Yes, that’s done,” he answered absent-mindedly. “The rest of the hut was hidden behind a rock. That’s the best I can do for a rock.” He started to fill his pipe, his thoughts now obviously elsewhere. For me he had just uttered the most important fact, though he hadn’t realised it. Until now all the known facts had fitted together but, unfortunately, did not give me a clear picture of events as a whole.

  “That won’t do. It’s out of the question!” Charlie said finally in disappointed tones, brooding still on the message from the hospital.

  “Why, what’s wrong, Charlie?” I asked briskly. “With the help of your model you’ll be able to locate the hut in a few minutes, using John’s landing tree as a starting point.”

  It was a stupid oversimplification of mine, and I made an awful fool of myself by such a rash conclusion. Charlie stared evenly at me.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” he said flatly. “The hut was situated two or three hundred metres uphill from here and from John’s landing tree, as you call it. Besides, it was on the opposite side of the valley. Look here,” he pointed to the inner curve of the valley model, “that’s approximately our present position. A pretty long distance to the hut, isn’t it? John must have landed on another tree, if at all. Not here. But then why is a piece of his bloody shirt still hanging on that tree, over there?” He pointed with his pipe.

  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner that the hut was situated so far off? It was my first question!”

  “You asked me the exact position. An approximate one you can find on your map.”

  “No, I can’t. The map is older than the hut, so it’s not marked.”

  The forester turned his back upon me, kicked furiously at the snow model and sat down on the broken trunk. I felt deflated, but didn’t say anything further and walked away into the dark and the fog.

  Later, much later, when I went over that critical bit of information again, I realised my unforgivable mistake in accepting John’s initial information. A man who is projected from a disintegrating hut by an unknown force cannot reliably determine how far he has been hurled. Information from eye-witnesses of any catastrophe is often wrong, being as it is influenced by fear, shock and a common human failing to exaggerate – though in John’s case exaggeration was to prove to be the last thing we should all be accusing him of.

  But for the present, was I perhaps being too meticulous – wanting too many details? Success, I thought, is for those who don’t ask but give orders. Yes, I really had been about to call my driver, go down to the village and tell the commanding officer that the avalanche was beyond my experience and knowledge and that I was going home.

  It was, however, lucky that I was also annoyed, having felt an injustice. A voice within me whispered, calling me a coward who wanted to leave the battlefield before the fight was decided. I was annoyed by my own shortcomings, but also those of others. No, I’d stay, not just because of the buried people, though they were probably dead, I’d stay because I’d demonstrate that I could get to the bottom of all this chaos and find the avalanche victims. But it would be a different Milo Vrba who’d take over. Now there wouldn’t be any more. “Can you . . . would you be so kind . . .” Now it would be straight from the shoulder, “You must!”

  Meanwhile, I went over to the end of the avalanche tip where the corridor digging and probing was in full swing. The officer and Joe immediately joined me.

  “No traces yet,” the commander reported reproachfully. “I’m sure this search area is quite useless.”

  “Carry on!” I retorted, ignoring his poignant remarks.

  “At first light over 400 people will arrive,” the commander continued stiffly. “Are they to dig here or somewhere else?”

  “Ensure that they have the necessary tools, and are instructed about the emergency. At daylight you and the forester will go with me, Joe, uphill to study the situation. Later I’ll give my instructions on procedure.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Joe was evidently surprised by my changed attitude and using our friendship as a lever he tried to humour me by making a joke, but I didn’t react and told him, “At the first sign of dawn, Joe, you will send two patrols up to investigate the avalanche situation in both valleys. They will take two-way radios to inform me of the immediate situation.”

  “We haven’t any radios, you know that,” Joe objected.

  “The soldiers have and they will lend them to you.”

  “That’s quite impossible,” the commander protested. “No civil person may use the army’s frequencies. You must ask the commanding officer for special dispensation.”

  “You will do that,” I replied. “One of your operators will explain to the mountain rescue team how to operate t
he equipment. We shall start at six o’clock sharp. One of your radio operators will also come with us.”

  I left then. Both I knew were angry, but so was I. It was cold during those long hours before dawn. I preferred, therefore, to walk about within the circle of light cast by the searchlights and fire. The rough snow surface littered with broken trees and branches made the walking difficult. For something to do I decided to investigate the opposite side of the valley.

  The valley was about thirty to forty metres wide, really slightly bow-shaped, the area where the search was being conducted forming the outer curve. On that outer margin, about 200–300 metres uphill was where the hut had been. But how, I asked myself, is it possible that until now all the victims located were at the inner curve of the valley, and how is it possible that the trees on that outer curve are hardly damaged, whereas here the majority of them are smashed? That was at variance with principal physical laws and with my experience as well. After all, everything flowing, streaming, running and rolling is pushed outside on a curve, not inside.

  I couldn’t understand these anomalies, though I spent a long time investigating each particular spruce with the beam of my torch. My self-confidence sank again; the whole affair seemed a mystery.

  A gloomy, foggy and watery dawn arrived. We started uphill, climbing the avalanche path. Charlie with Brok took the lead, followed by Joe and me and finally the commander with a radio operator carrying a transceiver. We went up slowly for it was rough going, though the slope wasn’t steep. The shapes of the trees disappeared in the fog, and the valley grew wider. We didn’t talk, not only because of the difficult terrain, but also due to the strained terms we were all now on. It seemed an endless and exhausting trip. Finally, Charlie stopped, looked round in the fog and turned to the left. We followed him. In front of us a rock rose out of the fog.

  “Here it is,” Charlie said.

  “Are you able to mark out an approximate ground plan of the hut?” My voice sounded hoarse and breathless.

  “I’ll try, though the snow must be about seven or eight metres deep here.”

  He began to measure the distances step by step. Joe helped him, having brought up an armful of branches to mark out the walls.

  Meanwhile, it got brighter and the fog lifted. I saw with interest the smashed trees on the steep hollow hillside above the rock and to the left of it. The piled-up timber made a crazy sight, as if a giant had smashed trees with his hands and tossed some with their tops uppermost above the rock, while at the head of the slope tree-tops were pointing down.

  Suddenly, the radio operator raised his hand, drawing our attention to a signal coming in. The rescue patrols had reached the point where the valleys joined and reported that the avalanche ran down through the left valley only. The right-hand valley had been blocked by a ten metre high ice wall. They asked for further instructions.

  “Bad news,” I said, “tell them to go on separately to investigate the snow situation above.”

  “And you, sir,” I said to the commander, “give orders that the support party which is due must not go into the avalanche tip. They will wait in the hillside wood for orders!”

  “I cannot keep all those people waiting,” the officer protested, “I was ordered by headquarters . . . Watch out, avalanche!”

  We all quickly looked up, automatically pressing ourselves to the rock. Only the dog kept quiet because his animal instinct did not register danger. There wasn’t any. The supposed avalanche was only a high wall of white snow which appeared out of the dissipating fog about thirty metres from us. In fact, it was the second step of the existing avalanche which had stopped not far from the hut. Probably it originated from the snow transported in the avalanche cloud which settled in that area after losing the majority of its energy, and thus formed an immense mass of white snow, contrasting sharply with the dirty avalanche tip coming out from the bottom of the terrible whiteness. The frontal wall was about ten metres high. Maybe even more.

  “Joe, have you ropes and ice axes?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, send four or five of your men to investigate the stability and hardness of that mass of snow. Very carefully!”

  Charlie had almost completed his work. Both rooms and the corridor were already marked and he was just indicating doors and windows with sticks. I was busy observing the hillside opposite. The fog had gone so that I could clearly see every detail on that slope, though it was 200–300 metres from our position. An extensive bow-shaped area of smashed trees piled up in the same curious shape as on the slopes above us. All the broken trees on that distant slope had their tops lying towards us, however, and here I realised they tended towards the inner avalanche curve where John and the others were discovered. The full significance of this came to me. Take it easy, no hastiness, the inner voice whispered, and I smiled to myself. I was sure of everything now. It had all dropped into place.

  “Charlie, tell me – No, I’ll tell you. John and the other victims who have been found lived in this room,” I pointed at his hut plan, “in the room which was over the brook facing the mountain.”

  “Do you read my mind or did someone tell you?” Charlie returned, looking surprised.

  “No, I worked it out myself. I even know where . . .”

  In that moment we were interrupted by another report from one of the rescue patrols. The men climbing up the right-hand valley had discovered a tip of a big avalanche that had stopped about 300 metres before the bottom. They thought that avalanche may have been released at approximately the same time as the other one, as there was only a thin layer of powder snow covering the debris.

  “That was your first ‘thunder’, Charlie! Now, everything is clear, gentlemen. Let’s get started.”

  “I don’t understand,” Charlie murmured, perplexed.

  “Neither do I,” Joe added. “What were you about to tell us, Milo?”

  “Simply,” I said, “that I think I know exactly where the ten missing persons are to be found. Just here,” I pointed. “Or, say, within a distance of fifty metres downhill. Not more.”

  “Sir, will you be so kind as to express your theories more clearly?” The commander’s tone was petulant. “I must do something with the men waiting in the wood. There are almost 500 of them now.”

  “Clearly? Yes, and briefly! It was an airborne avalanche that came down in two waves from different directions and of different energy. The first one was a pressure wave of immense power. That wave ricochetted within the valley like a billiard ball. I understood what happened for the first time after having seen the patterns made by the smashed trees. The pressure wave destroyed the front part of the hut. John and the others living there were blasted and hurtled a distance of 250 metres in the curve of the valley. Not twenty metres, Charlie! John really landed on that tree, he didn’t climb it. He fell down, out of reach of the additionally flowing snow. The others were not so lucky and landed in the avalanche stream where they were buried. The avalanching snow, mixed with wood and stones, rolled down in the second wave. Those slower flowing masses of lower energy destroyed the back part of the hut hidden behind the rock here. The missing people living there must have been buried either in the base of the hut or dragged down along the outer curve of the valley, not too far off.”

  “Your orders, sir!” The officer asked impatiently, unimpressed with my dialogue.

  “All your people with tools will come here, immediately,” I said. This space where the hut was situated and an additional strip, say twenty by a hundred metres downhill, must be turned upside down as soon as possible. The organisation is your business.”

  “Yes, sir.” He dashed off.

  “Joe, I want to know urgently the result of investigation of that wall of white snow.”

  “Right, I’ll see to it.”

  Charlie came over and said, “Last night. I was mad. I’m sorry.”

  “Charlie, I share the same sentiments – about myself. I talked like an idiot. Let’s both forget it.” />
  The commander proved to be an excellent organiser who knew how to direct a large number of people in those difficult conditions and how to allocate particular tasks to the right personnel.

  Joe brought a report on the white snow wall and I was a little alarmed. The mass was rough and hard enough, though not so icehard as the dirty avalanche tip. This was good. But they had also found long narrow deep cracks in the snow.

  “Longitudinal or transverse?” I asked.

  “Longitudinal ones, and in the lower part only,” Joe explained.

  “If the cracks were transverse, I should be afraid of a glacier-like creep downwards. However, I don’t understand the longitudinal cracks, I cannot explain those.”

  “Neither can I,” Joe added.

  “Tell them to keep a close eye on them.”

  Meanwhile, the soldiers dug a deep pit and had now uncovered the damaged floor of the hut. We decided to try the avalanche dog. But the animal refused to go down into the deep pit and the handler had trouble getting the dog to work. Finally, the dog got a scent at the back right-hand corner. Within a few minutes two victims were found. Two dead men were pressed against the timbers of the back wall, both still holding a hand of cards. There were no visible injuries. The doctor judged that they very likely died immediately after burial because no traces of ice were found in their mouths and nostrils.