The Bulldozer

I switch my avalanche beacon from transmitting to receiving, but I hear nothing. Probably the skiers had no avalanche beacons. For my own safety, I switch my beacon back to transmitting during the search operation, but every now and then I try again to receive a signal. Meanwhile Eva is running over the snow area. She is an experienced avalanche dog, who, like our German Shepherd, Bor, has done many previous missions. She knows exactly what is required of her. The big chunks of snow are not making it easy to follow my dog, but on her own Eva is beginning with the hasty search of the avalanche surface. With that search method we can find any lightly buried victims quickly. And we are lucky, because 160 feet (50 m) from me she is already digging frantically. The snow is being thrown up high by her digging and Eva proves the aptness of her nickname, The Bulldozer, once again. When she thinks I am not coming fast enough, she barks at me and then digs some more.

Figure 12.26 Excited, I follow Eva during her search over the immense surface of snow.

I give the physician a signal, but he has seen it already and is coming in our direction. The small part of the arm visible in the snow makes it clear that Eva was right again; for that matter, I didn’t expect anything else. “Good girl, well done,” I say and push her aside a bit to dig carefully with my avalanche shovel somewhat downhill from the location of the arm. Eva knows that she can’t disturb me now and watches me from a short distance. I notice she is restless, as if she knows that there is another victim buried under the snow. She is obviously relieved to run over the snow again, after my “Good girl, search further.” I observe her as best as I can while digging. The physician assists me with digging, and shortly after that we free the head of a young man about twenty years old. He is still alive! While the physician takes care of him, I dig his legs free of snow. I observe that these are lying in a strange position and show the physician. Broken, that is clear, but at least he is alive. How often we’ve found skiers in other circumstances.

I follow Eva again, but in that gigantic snow mass, I can’t move quickly. I see that she sniffs a bit longer on one spot and I hope for an alert. But she walks away and searches further. On the spot she was sniffing, I prick with the avalanche probe into the snow. Could she have smelled someone here, yes or no? Or was it something else, such as the boy’s backpack? I touch something soft with the probe: a body? I bring the probe back up and prick half a yard further away again into the snow. Now I discover that I can go deeper with the probe into the snow, so I am beside the obstacle beneath the snow now. When I can go deeper on all sides, I know this can’t be a human body. With a red stick out of my backpack, I mark the place for later searching.

Ten Feet Deep

In the meantime, the rest of the rescue team has arrived, and the boy is transported to the helicopter. Hypothermia and broken limbs, that is for sure, but alive. There is, however, no time for congratulations, because the physician yells to us that the boy was on a ski tour with his father. Where can the father be?

Eva has covered almost the whole area of the deposition zone. Suddenly she stands still and then looks directly to the right and speeds up her pace. I know she has something in her nose. It’s never fast enough for me when she is interested in a certain place. She sniffs the odor deep in her nose, scratches the top of the snow and smells again very intensively. Seconds come to seem like hours before she gives a sort of primitive cry and begins to scratch furiously. This is the signal we were waiting for! Quick digging starts, while two members of the rescue team check the spot with their avalanche probes. We discover that the victim is buried almost ten feet (3 m) under heavy snow. A bad indication for survival chances!

Meanwhile, there are enough colleagues from the mountain rescue team digging, so I can concentrate on my dog. She is not as cheerful as usual, as if she understands the seriousness of the situation, but she is excited. Whether searching in buildings collapsed by gas explosions or earthquakes or in an avalanche, there isn’t much difference. Every time, the dogs prove that only they are able to locate buried people quickly. While I play with her, I think of all those missions I have had with her and my other dogs. I count the number of people who have survived because of my dogs and that makes me feel proud. But the dead people they have found are also still on my mind. The call of the operational leader breaks off my meditations, and I see how he has divided his crew into more groups for digging. The digging goes slowly because of the heavy snow and ice layers, and the snow has to be dug from the sides to make room for the salvage. By having them work in groups, he gives his people the chance to rest now and then.

Figure 12.27 Despite the quick work of an avalanche dog, help often comes too late.