I was slowly suffocating, but fighting it off, trying to stay conscious, writes Rhianna Shaw sharing her experience in the Guardian. Read on:
In 2012, I was 22 and doing a ski season in Ischgl, Austria. It had been snowing heavily for days, and no one could ski. Then the weather changed. On my day off, I woke to a clear blue sky and half a metre of fresh powder: a skier’s dream. So, I went out with my friend Gordon.
We ran into some friends on snowboards. I suggested an area good for going off-piste. My friends had nicknamed it Death Valley because it was prone to avalanches, but it was renowned for fresh powder. As an experienced skier, I was excited rather than concerned.
When we were skiing and snowboarding down, I wanted to be at the front to get fresh tracks. One of the snowboarders overtook me and I was reovertaking him when we collided. My skis came straight off and I tumbled a bit. Then I felt a whoosh of snow.
I wasn’t worried initially because I thought one of the snowboarders had come down behind me and sprayed snow on me. But then the snow swept me up and I was just falling. I couldn’t breathe. I later found out that our collision had caused an avalanche that had carried me along for about 150 metres.
When I finally came to a stop face-down about one metre under the snow, my first thought was, “At least I can breathe a bit now.” It was like trying to breathe through a heavy cloth. Everything was white, and I thought, “Is this one of these dreams where I almost die?” Then I realised it definitely was not a dream.
I was screaming for help, but trying not to use up too much oxygen. My phone was going off, but my arms were trapped so I couldn’t answer. It was horrible, lying there not being able to move, nobody knowing where I was or having any way of finding me. I was slowly suffocating, but fighting it off, trying to stay conscious.
The avalanche covered the area of a football pitch, so it was a needle-in-a-haystack scenario. Initially, the guys thought I’d skied on and would be waiting around the corner. They rang me to check. When I didn’t answer, they started to look for me.
In our training as ski reps, we had been told that if someone is buried in an avalanche, after about 11 minutes you’re looking for a corpse. That was the most traumatic part: there wasn’t one thing I could do to save myself. I was trying not to panic, but I did think, “This is it.” I was thinking of the summer I had planned with my sister, and my last thought was, “That’s a shame.” Then I let go. It was really quite peaceful: I saw a forest either side of me, and I was just walking into it.
No one had any avalanche gear – no transceivers to locate me, no probes and no shovels to dig me out – so the boys were just sticking their hands in the snow. After about 15 minutes, by pure chance, one of the boys hit the back of my leg. When they pulled me out, they couldn’t find a pulse and I wasn’t breathing, so Gordon started giving me CPR.
My next memory is Gordon giving me a hug and a sloppy kiss and saying, “Rhianna, I’ve never been so pleased to see you!” I remember going, “Eeeuuugh, don’t kiss me!” even though moments earlier he had given me the kiss of life.
My face was white, my lips were blue, and I had severe hypothermia, but didn’t feel cold. It was a sunny day, so I wasn’t wearing very much, which is one of the reasons I didn’t end up with brain damage – the hypothermia slowed my metabolism and reduced my brain’s need for oxygen.
I was taken by helicopter to the hospital, where they stripped me and blasted hot air across my body to warm me up. They also put me on a drip to reoxygenate my organs. When I woke in hospital, I turned my phone on. I had a voicemail from one of the ski instructors saying: “Hey, just to let you know it’s a really high avalanche risk today, there have been three people buried in avalanches in different areas already, so just be very careful.” He had left that message while I was buried.
After 36 hours in hospital, I flew home to England and within a week I was back in Ischgl to finish the ski season. I just couldn’t quit. Looking back, I was phenomenally lucky. I now carry avalanche safety equipment when I ski, and I won’t go out in heavy snow dumps without checking the avalanche risk factor. Skiing is still my biggest passion, but I don’t take risks any more. It’s not worth it.
In 2012, I was 22 and doing a ski season in Ischgl, Austria. It had been snowing heavily for days, and no one could ski. Then the weather changed. On my day off, I woke to a clear blue sky and half a metre of fresh powder: a skier’s dream. So, I went out with my friend Gordon.
We ran into some friends on snowboards. I suggested an area good for going off-piste. My friends had nicknamed it Death Valley because it was prone to avalanches, but it was renowned for fresh powder. As an experienced skier, I was excited rather than concerned.
When we were skiing and snowboarding down, I wanted to be at the front to get fresh tracks. One of the snowboarders overtook me and I was reovertaking him when we collided. My skis came straight off and I tumbled a bit. Then I felt a whoosh of snow.
I wasn’t worried initially because I thought one of the snowboarders had come down behind me and sprayed snow on me. But then the snow swept me up and I was just falling. I couldn’t breathe. I later found out that our collision had caused an avalanche that had carried me along for about 150 metres.
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| Rhianna Shaw: ‘In our training we had been told that if someone is buried in an avalanche, after about 11 minutes you’re looking for a corpse.’ Photograph: Karen Robinson for the Guardian |
I was screaming for help, but trying not to use up too much oxygen. My phone was going off, but my arms were trapped so I couldn’t answer. It was horrible, lying there not being able to move, nobody knowing where I was or having any way of finding me. I was slowly suffocating, but fighting it off, trying to stay conscious.
The avalanche covered the area of a football pitch, so it was a needle-in-a-haystack scenario. Initially, the guys thought I’d skied on and would be waiting around the corner. They rang me to check. When I didn’t answer, they started to look for me.
In our training as ski reps, we had been told that if someone is buried in an avalanche, after about 11 minutes you’re looking for a corpse. That was the most traumatic part: there wasn’t one thing I could do to save myself. I was trying not to panic, but I did think, “This is it.” I was thinking of the summer I had planned with my sister, and my last thought was, “That’s a shame.” Then I let go. It was really quite peaceful: I saw a forest either side of me, and I was just walking into it.
No one had any avalanche gear – no transceivers to locate me, no probes and no shovels to dig me out – so the boys were just sticking their hands in the snow. After about 15 minutes, by pure chance, one of the boys hit the back of my leg. When they pulled me out, they couldn’t find a pulse and I wasn’t breathing, so Gordon started giving me CPR.
My next memory is Gordon giving me a hug and a sloppy kiss and saying, “Rhianna, I’ve never been so pleased to see you!” I remember going, “Eeeuuugh, don’t kiss me!” even though moments earlier he had given me the kiss of life.
My face was white, my lips were blue, and I had severe hypothermia, but didn’t feel cold. It was a sunny day, so I wasn’t wearing very much, which is one of the reasons I didn’t end up with brain damage – the hypothermia slowed my metabolism and reduced my brain’s need for oxygen.
I was taken by helicopter to the hospital, where they stripped me and blasted hot air across my body to warm me up. They also put me on a drip to reoxygenate my organs. When I woke in hospital, I turned my phone on. I had a voicemail from one of the ski instructors saying: “Hey, just to let you know it’s a really high avalanche risk today, there have been three people buried in avalanches in different areas already, so just be very careful.” He had left that message while I was buried.
After 36 hours in hospital, I flew home to England and within a week I was back in Ischgl to finish the ski season. I just couldn’t quit. Looking back, I was phenomenally lucky. I now carry avalanche safety equipment when I ski, and I won’t go out in heavy snow dumps without checking the avalanche risk factor. Skiing is still my biggest passion, but I don’t take risks any more. It’s not worth it.
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