Page 3 of Double Exposure

“And we’re sure no permits were pulled? There’s not going to be some idiot down there at the bottom trying out his new skis?”

I shake my head. “I checked for permits and Hanson has that laminated map on the wall marked with red tape. You can’t miss it.”

“With dates?”

This time I nod. “For an entire week, starting from two days ago.”

Keeping hikers and skiers out of the area the day of the blasting is the main goal—making sure they stay away while the snow settles and giving a chance for other, smaller, avalanches to trigger, is always a secondary objective. Restrictions stay pinned for a week.

Ryan flashes a smile. “Okay then big bro. Let’s do this.”

After struggling to the top, we shed skis and work in snowshoes. I make sure the skis are parked out of the path of any sudden breakaway and accessible. Part of watching for an avalanche is hearing, listening to the snow. It’ll make a whumping noise as powder snow shifts over ice—and that sound is a warning.

I set the two far ones while Ryan works behind me. I keep the vision of him being swept down the mountainside firmly out of my head, but it’s there. I envy my brothers. They never seem to worry about the “what ifs.” They aren’t plagued by visions of catastrophe.

We have to set the charges a foot and a half deep and twenty feet apart. It’s slow going and we both have to lose gloves for a few minutes to finish up. I’m setting the last one, when Ryan smiles gives me a thumbs up. He’s finished.

And he still has all his digits.

I wave and then move up to the crest and hike along the top, well away from the snow shelf. As I start to work my way down, I see him struggling through snow as well to get to the perimeter line, a good forty feet from the first charge. I’m relieved when we’re back and over to the side.

After swapping out snowshoes for skis again, we load up our stuff. As the pack settles across my back, it’s noticeably lighter.

“Ready to let these babies go?” he says, shrugging on his pack and shifting his goggles back in place. The wind wraps around the mountain in both directions, coughing up fine snow.

I wipe shards of ice off my own goggles.

Digging out my binoculars I hear him sigh when I start scanning the terrain below. “I’m just making sure there’s not some thrill-seeker down there.”

There’s no one. Just clean swaths of pristine, white snow and then the dark green bands of pine trees. It's going to be climactic watching this go. Ryan doesn’t try to hide how excited he is to do this.

To slow him down, I ask him to go over the relay box one more time.

“Just troubleshooting this,” he says with a nod, as if this is his idea.

I tend to be more about safety than adrenaline. But I get it. When you're twenty-six this sort of thing is pretty damn exciting and it’s exhilarating to watch. The first time I went out on a controlled avalanche I held my breath through the first minute. Once all that snow is unleashed, the power and speed of the thing shakes you to your core.

It’s definitely a rush.

“Okay,” I say. “Flip the switch.”

“Really?” he says with one swift glance in my direction.

I nod. “Go for it.”

For a moment there’s just the wind. Then a four-part explosion follows with overlaying percussive loud CRACKs in quick succession. For a moment though, it seems as though nothing is going to happen.

Then there’s a slight shift as the snow shelf begins to drop, sag, and releases from the mountain face.

Snow immediately starts to build with huge sheaths breaking and beginning to slide. We’re positioned in such a way that if the cascade widens at all, we have an exit route. It's like watching a wave crashing in on itself, except this is hard pack snow, ice, and powdery stuff all mixed together, crashing down the side of a mountain.

“It’s so quiet,” says Ryan.

It’s true. Only a hushed, sifting sound floats up even as more releases.

Then my heart nearly stops.

Something’s moving down there, and then emerges from the first tree line. In the moment I hold my breath, I hope it’s deer or a bear. But it’s not.