Avalanche at Tunnel Creek | Into the Backcountry | 1
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Join Wondery Plus in Apple Podcasts or the Wondery app to listen to Against the Odds early and ad-free. Elise Sogstedt grins as her skis slice through fresh snow. Clouds of fine powder erupt all around her. This is Wondery.

This is what she lives for. It's February 19th, 2012, in the Cascade Mountains of Washington State. Sogsted is a world champion free skier, and backcountry runs like this are her domain. Instead of groomed trails at ski resorts, she prefers to zip through untouched snow, moving at high speed, conquering deep powder and daredevil drops. Today's slope is called Tunnel Creek,

And it's checking every box. She shifts her weight, and snow sprays high and wide to her right. She's like a car blasting through a puddle. She turns again, skis ripping through the knee-deep powder. Cold, crisp air blasts her face. Sunlight glints off the snow, as if the mountain's been sprinkled with glitter. The slope gets steeper. Sogsted crouches lower and gains speed. She shoots down the mountain, laughing with delight.

Further down the slope, she sees her guide, Chris Rudolph, stop among some spruce trees. He's the marketing director at Stevens Pass, the ski resort that lies on the other side of the mountain. Sogsted is just here visiting, but Rudolph knows every inch of Tunnel Creek. She trusts him to lead the way down. She stops a few yards away from Rudolph, who's grinning ear to ear. Didn't I tell you, Elise? Tunnel Creek is the best. Yeah, the pow is amazing.

She looks back up the slope to watch the next skier fly down the mountain. She's not sure how many are in their group. A dozen? Maybe more. It's the best powder day of the season and a lot of Rudolph's friends wanted in on this run. The skier stops about 25 yards below her and Rudolph and lets out a whoop. That was sick. A fourth skier carves down the slope and slides to a stop nearby.

Then another appears from above, but instead of joining them, he veers to his left, into a thicker grove of trees further up the slope. The next skier does the same thing. For a moment, Sogsted wonders why it seems like the group is splitting up. Then, Rudolph starts shouting. "Avalanche! Elise! Avalanche!" Sogsted turns and sees a wall of white, as tall as a house, coming at her. She turns to ski away, but it's too quick.

She feels the torrent of snow pushing against her legs. There's no time to escape. The avalanche is right on top of her. She reaches for a cord hanging over her shoulder. It triggers an inflatable airbag inside her backpack, designed to protect her in situations just like this. But just as she feels the airbag inflate, the avalanche sweeps her off her feet. The snow swallows her, engulfs her. The world goes white and muffled.

Her body spins out of control. Her goggles and ski poles are ripped away. She can't tell up from down. Snow starts to fill her mouth and nostrils. She flips over and over, helpless in the fast-moving tidal wave of snow. And as she does, she thinks, "This is it. This is how I die."

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From Wondery, I'm Mike Corey, and this is Against the Odds. Over the past 20 years, hundreds of thousands of skiers and snowboarders have joined a growing movement. Their goal? Chasing pure powder snow that can only be found on the out-of-bounds slopes of the backcountry. But this search comes with plenty of risks. In the blink of an eye, the untouched snow on these mountainsides can transform the

into avalanches. These tidal waves of ice and snow are fast and deadly. Those who get caught in their path are swept into a living nightmare, buried, broken, and suffocated. On February 19th, 2012, that nightmare came true for a band of elite skiers and snowboarders in the Cascade Mountains of Washington State. This is the story of the avalanche at Tunnel Creek.

Venzel Piekert props his skis against the metal rack outside the Foggy Goggle Bar and Grill at Stevens Pass Ski Resort. It's early evening on Saturday, February 18th, 2012. The light is fading and grey clouds hang low overhead, dumping fresh snow onto the slopes. Piekert kicks snow off his boots and clomps up the metal staircase to the second floor bar.

The Foggy Goggle is a no-frills venue with laminate tables and fiberboard walls. Piekert is a regular. He lives in Seattle, 90 minutes away, but he's also a part-time ski instructor here at Stevens Pass. He's come up alone for a weekend of skiing, and he's hoping to bump into some friends. As he removes his helmet, someone shouts his name. Venzel! Venzel! Hey, come join us!

Pikert sees Chris Rudolph, the resort's marketing director, waving him over to a crowded table. Hey, Chris. Venzel, hey man, listen. You wanna ski Tunnel Creek with us tomorrow? The forecast is looking sweet. Tons of fresh powder.

Piekert knows Tunnel Creek well. It's backcountry, right next door to the resort, but untamed, potentially dangerous, and a lot of fun for expert skiers who know what they're doing. Piekert struggles to keep up as Rudolph introduces the people sitting with him. There's Jim Jack, a bearded guy who's a judge for the Free Skiing World Tour. Next to him sits a woman with long blonde hair, champion free skier Elise Sogstedt.

At the end of the table is a wiry guy in his late 20s named John Stifter. He's about to be promoted to editor-in-chief of Powder Magazine. Piekert interrupts. How many people are going? Eight, well, ten actually, ten. Piekert raises his eyebrows. That's a pretty big group for a backcountry run. But it's clear that everyone who's coming knows what they're doing. Rudolph leans in towards Piekert.

So then, you want to come? If the forecast is right, the snow tomorrow is going to be magic. Pichert smiles. Of course he's going. He's here alone, and it's not every day that he gets invited to go backcountry skiing with such an elite band of snow fiends. Powder magazine journalist John Stifter walks through the base area of Stevens Pass. It's just before 10 in the morning, and the resort is packed.

People in brightly colored gear tramped through the snow with skis perched on their shoulders. Snowboarders crowed the coffee stand, eager for a mid-morning boost. Last night, the first decent storm in weeks delivered a bumper payload of snow. Now everyone's eager to get up on the slopes. Stifter was eager too, right up until he read this morning's avalanche report. Now he's wondering if today's Tunnel Creek run is still happening.

He walks over the snow-covered ground, past the foggy goggle, and towards the chairlifts. He scans the people in line for familiar faces, and spots Jim Jack chatting with a friend. "Jim! Jim!" Jim Jack turns around. "John! You been up on the slopes yet?" "No, I had to work this morning, but I wanted to ask you something. Is the Tunnel Creek trip still on?"

It better be. The snow's fantastic even on the groomed slopes, so Tunnel Creek's gonna be out of this world. Best day of the season, hands down. Stifter feels a pang of urgency as the line for the chairlift shuffles forward. What about the avalanche report, though? It says the risk is considerable.

Jack puts his hand on Stifter's back. Jack's buddy chimes in.

Main thing with Tunnel Creek is to stay left. That's the golden rule. Going right takes you down a narrow gully, and that's a real bad spot. Stifter feels his concern fading. Jim Jack has spent years scoping out extreme ski runs all over the world, and Tunnel Creek is his home turf. If he thinks it's safe, that's all Stifter needs to hear.

Inside an RV parked at Stevens Pass, Lori Brennan carries a plate full of breakfast sandwiches to the table where her hungry family is waiting. Her two daughters pounce on the food, ravenous after a morning of ski lessons, but her husband Johnny seems distracted. She watches him check his watch as he wolfs down his sandwich. You said you'd stay and eat with us. I will. I am. But we were supposed to meet at 11, and I'm sure they'll wait.

Lori smiles. Johnny's been hyped up all morning about going to Tunnel Creek with his old buddies, Jim Jack and Chris Rudolph. The three of them are tight, but now that Johnny has a growing family and a home construction business to run, he doesn't get to hang with them as often as he used to. Lori's happy to see him so excited. Johnny grabs his phone. Lori watches as he reads the text message and visibly relaxes.

Oh, good. They won't be leaving for another ten minutes. Lori clears the empty plates and leaves Johnny to gear up. As she does the dishes, she hears seven-year-old Nina taking an interest in Johnny's equipment. What is that, Papa? That's my avalanche beacon. What does it do? It sends out a signal that helps other people find me.

I can also use it to find other people. Why do you need that? Lori turns around, wondering how Johnny is going to handle this. Well, if someone gets caught in an avalanche and buried in the snow, my beacon can help me find them fast. And then you can save them? Maybe. You know, not too many people survive an avalanche. But if they do, this will help me find them. And then I can dig them out of the snow with my shovel.

Lori steps forward as Johnny straps on the beacon. All this talk of avalanches worries her. "Johnny, are you sure it's safe?" Johnny looks into Lori's eyes. "Of course. I wouldn't be going if it weren't." Lori smiles. She trusts his judgment. Johnny picks up his skis, flashes her a smile, and steps out of the RV.

Rob Castillo stands by the fire pit at Stevens Pass Resort and gazes up at Cowboy Mountain. Above the ski runs, dull clouds obscure its jagged peak. Castillo wants to be up on that summit right now because on the other side lies Tunnel Creek. The best fresh powder of the season is waiting there and Castillo can't wait to carve through it with his buddies.

Castillo was told to meet at the fire pit at 11, but it's 11.25 and the group is still milling around, showing no signs of leaving. He sees a familiar face approaching, his pal, Johnny Brennan. "'Johnny, I was worried you weren't gonna show, man. So what's the deal? What are we waiting for?' "'Chris, Rudolph. He's stuck in some meeting. Should be here any minute, though.' Castillo nods and sips his coffee."

He's up here for the weekend from Seattle, but he used to live nearby. Back then, trips to Tunnel Creek were a winter ritual. He's excited to finally be making a return visit with his pals Jim Jack and Brennan. He checks out the group going to Tunnel Creek. There's more than a dozen. It's mainly guys, just three women, and everyone here is the real deal. They've got beacons, probes, shovels, and good quality ski gear.

Even the way they carry themselves makes it clear that they know what they're doing. Castillo notices the bright pink backpack one of the women is wearing. It's an ABS airbag, the latest in avalanche survival gear. It makes Castillo's own Avalung backpack with its air breather tube look old school.

Finally, Chris Rudolph bursts out of the office building next to the fire pit. He bounds over to the waiting group like an excited puppy. Come on, let's go. Get me away from these spreadsheets. Yes, finally, Chris. About time. All right, let's go. Castillo needs no encouragement. Neither does anybody else. They drain their coffees, fasten the chin straps of their helmets, click their boots into their skis, and make for the chairlift that'll carry them up Cowboy Mountain.

Elise Sogsted stands at the top of Cowboy Mountain and takes in the snowy vista. She peers down at Tunnel Creek. She sees tempting meadows of pristine powder, bracketed by exposed rocks and dense islands of snow-covered spruce trees. Sogsted has skied terrain like this countless times. She put on her first pair of skis as a child in Alaska. Now she's a pro who skis backcountry runs all over the world.

She looks at the large group of skiers and snowboarders around her. They look good to go, but no one seems to be in a hurry. But then, the chatter fizzles out. Nobody said anything, but almost as one, the group has decided it's time. To her left, Sogsted sees someone push off over the ledge. It's on.

There's a buzz of activity as everyone lines up to make their run. Partner up! Everyone partner up! Okay! Buddy up! Everyone buddy up! People start to buddy up. Sogsted looks at Chris Rudolph, who's standing next to her. Elise, you're with me. I'll lead. Sogsted grins. She likes Rudolph. She's met him a few times now. They skied Tunnel Creek together just last month.

He's fun to be around, and someone she trusts. They move closer to the edge of the steep slope. Rudolph dips the front of his skis over the edge and shoots down the mountain. Sogsted gives chase. Sogsted keeps her eyes on Rudolph as he zooms through the snow. He veers left to skirt around some trees, then snaps right, blazing a trail through a meadow of snow. Sogsted easily keeps pace, and she's loving every second of it.

Rob Castillo tears down Tunnel Creek, sticking close to the ski trails left by Rudolph and the woman with the pink backpack. The snow's so fine it's like skiing on clouds. He sees Rudolph and the woman stop up ahead to let the rest of the group catch up. Castillo glides to a stop right by them and takes in the view. They're above a grove of trees, maybe 150 feet down from the peak.

Ahead is a wide field of untouched powder. Castillo's buddy, Johnny Brennan, pulls in behind him. Rudolph immediately pushes off again. "Hey, follow me!" Rudolph makes a couple of turns and then dips out of view.

Before they follow, Castillo turns to the woman with the pink backpack, trying to remember her name from when they met at the fire pit. "Hey, are you Megan?" "No, it's Elise." "Oh, okay. Go ahead, just spoon those tracks and you'll see Chris on your left." "Um, yeah, thanks." Castillo watches as the woman pushes away and rips through the snow like a total pro. Suddenly, it clicks that she's not just any Elise,

She's Elise Sogsted, the world champion free skier. He just offered advice to probably the most capable skier on the mountain. Castillo turns to Brennan. "You wanna go first?" "No, you first. I got eyes on you." Castillo shoves off. He swishes through the snow, staying close to Rudolph and Sogsted's tracks.

He sees them stop among some old-growth spruce trees and turns in their direction. He stops down the slope from Sogsted and Rudolph and yells up at them. Woo! That was sick. But then he feels a weird pang of unease. The snow is holding.

but it also feels almost hollow underneath. And when his skis hit the snow, something about it sounds off. Castillo looks down the mountain. Below, he sees the narrow gully leading to the valley below. He turns back to his friends above. They're smiling, but he can't shake the feeling that something's not right. Not right at all.

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Head over to Symbiotica.com and use code ODDS for 20% off and free shipping on your subscription order. John Stifter stares out at the wide meadow of powder snow in front of him. He's 150 feet down from the summit. At the group's first stopping point, he watches as another member of the group shoots off and disappears from view. He shuffles forward on his skis, getting ready for his turn.

But he feels uneasy. The same doubt that entered his mind this morning is back, and it's gnawing away at him. His concerns started bubbling back up when they were all gathered at the top of Cowboy Mountain. Everything felt rushed. He thinks back to his conversation at the chairlifts with Jim Jack this morning. Jack's buddy said the golden rule on Tunnel Creek is to stay left, but now, for some reason, everyone's heading right.

He tries, pushing his worries aside. After all, how could this many experienced backcountry skiers be wrong? Especially when locals like Jim Jack are with them. Stifter looks ahead. Jack's up next. Then him. Jack looks over his shoulder at Stifter. There's a massive smile on his bearded face. Alright, let's do this!

Stifter watches Jack go. He carves gracefully through the snow, making wide turns that send big waves of powder high into the air. It looks like he's having the time of his life. A few seconds later, he drops out of sight. The moment Jack is out of view, Stifter catches something moving from the corner of his eye. Did some of the snow just shift? One of the other skiers leans forward. "That looks sketchy." "Yeah, I saw something too."

Stifter and the other skiers carefully scan the terrain. He notices some loose snow rolling down the slope, but nothing major. He listens, but hears only silence. Then, the man next to Stifter points. "Look! That tree over there!" Stifter looks and sees a treetop just over the edge of the hill where Jim Jack dropped out of sight. It's swaying back and forth, as if it's being shaken from below.

White powder falls from its branches. Stifter's eyes go wide. There's only one thing he can think of that can make a tree move like that, an avalanche. Rob Castillo leans against one of the spruce trees below him and looks up at the slope.

He still can't shake his strange sense of unease. He sees another pair of skiers coming down the mountain towards them. But at the last moment, the skiers veer away from them and head for a larger patch of trees on the left side of the slope. "Stay left," Castillo remembers. That's the rule on Tunnel Creek. He turns to look at the three people standing beneath the trees uphill from him.

Elise Sogsted, Chris Rudolph, and Johnny Brennan. He cups his hands around his mouth to call up to them. Hey! Should we all scoot over to where those two just went? Rudolph gives a thumbs up. Castillo feels relief. The clump of trees he's standing in is small and exposed. Plus, it's right above a narrow gully, what backcountry skiers call a terrain trap. Once you ski down that gully, there's no way back out.

The skiers who went left are in an area with big, old-growth trees with thick trunks. That's a much safer place to be. Castillo looks down to fiddle with his gloves. But then he hears Rudolph's voice calling out. "Avallanche!" Castillo looks up and sees a tsunami of white barreling down the mountain right towards him.

There's no way to outrun it. He turns his back to the wall of white. He knows from his avalanche safety training that his best move is to hold onto something to avoid being swept away. Snow starts streaming through his legs and over his boots. He wraps each of his arms around the two small trees right in front of him.

The snow's now at his waist. Everything's becoming shrouded in white fog. He sticks his head between the trees and grips them as hard as he can. And then it hits. The avalanche crashes over him like a wave, almost knocking him down. Snow and ice pummel his back harder and harder. The weight of the falling snow starts to push him forward. His shoulders are getting crushed into the tree trunks.

and the snow keeps coming. It pushes his face forward into the sharp spruce needles. He clutches the trees even tighter, feeling them bend against the force. On the slope just below him, he sees a tree snap like a matchstick and spin off into the white void. Castillo strains to hold onto the trees. He knows losing his grip means death. Suddenly, he feels the barrage of snow on his back easing.

Soon, it's just a stream of powder pouring between his knees. The white fog begins to clear. He sees daylight above. All around, he hears the eerie creaking of swaying and broken trees. Castillo turns to look up the hill, where Chris Rudolph, Elise Sogstedt, and his friend Johnny Brennan were. There's no one there. "Johnny! Johnny!" No one answers. Everyone's just gone.

Inside the avalanche, Elise Sogsted feels her body tumbling out of control as the snow hurtles down the mountain. She struggles to breathe. Her body slams against something hard, maybe a tree, but the icy wave continues to drag her along. There's no stopping. Then she remembers something, a lesson from surfing. When the ocean drags you under, relax. Conserve your energy until it relents.

Because it will relent. She fights to force away the fear and panic clouding her thoughts. She's not dead yet, and if she's going to survive, she has to stay calm. She does her best to relax as the raging wave of snow tosses her around like a rag doll. And she knows it's only been seconds since the avalanche started, and it feels like hours.

Then, she feels the snow slowing and becoming less violent. She knows from her avalanche training what will happen now. The snow will stop and almost immediately freeze solid. She also knows that most avalanche victims suffocate after being entombed in the frozen snow. She needs to act, now. Sogsted sticks her hands out in front of her. If she can get them above the surface, it will make her easier to spot.

She feels the avalanche slow to a crawl, then stop. Sogsted tries to move, but can't. The heavy wet snow is pressing down on her chest, turning as hard as cement. Her legs are pinned somewhere beneath her. She tries to turn her head, but it's locked in place. She's completely trapped, entombed in snow and ice.

Venzel Pykert looks out at the slope the avalanche just tore through. It's a scene of devastation. Broken trees sway drunkenly, stripped of bark. A fog of snow hangs in the air. The glorious powder that drew him to Tunnel Creek is gone, scraped away to reveal an icy sheet of old, compacted snow that was hidden underneath. The whole place looks like a giant bobsled track.

Piekert missed the avalanche by seconds. It was so close that he felt the snow barreling over the back of his skis as he pulled to a stop between the large trees on the left side of the slope. Now, he's standing between the thick trunks, peering into the fog. The skiers who were just ahead of him a few seconds ago are nowhere to be seen. He turns to his skiing buddy, Tim Wangen, who's standing a few yards away. Let's get our beacons into search mode. On it!

Piekert pulls his avalanche beacon from his jacket pocket and turns the dial to search. Now, instead of transmitting his location, the beacon will detect signals from other nearby beacons and help him find any survivors who might be buried. Piekert and Wangan ski out and begin methodically criss-crossing the slope, searching. Many avalanche victims die of suffocation, which can happen in just minutes. Piekert knows that time is of the essence.

He looks up the mountain with wary eyes. Unstable snow along the avalanche path could break loose at any moment. This snow, known as hang fire, could easily trigger another avalanche. He checks his beacon. No signal found. Then, in the clearing fog, he sees a man standing above a small clump of trees, right where the avalanche hit. Piekert skis over to the man, keeping one eye open for any movement from above.

Are you okay? You were right in the middle of that. Yeah, yeah, I think so. But everyone's gone. They're somewhere down this gully. Okay, let's crisscross the avalanche path and look for signals. But watch out for the hang fire. Sure, yeah. What's your name? I'm Rob. Rob Castillo. Venza Piker. Venza Piker.

Piekert skis to the edge of the icy half-pipe that's been carved into the slope by the avalanche. He glances up the mountain to reassure himself that nothing else is coming down and pushes off. He zips down the bank of ice, hoping, praying that his beacon will start beeping, but it detects nothing. He shoots across the exposed avalanche path and up to the top of the opposite bank before stopping.

Above him, Wangen and Castillo perform their own sweeps. Peikert calls up the Castillo. "I got nothing. You?" "Nothing." Peikert looks down the mountain. The avalanche's path runs straight into a narrow, rocky gully that leads to the valley floor, more than 2,000 vertical feet below. He turns to Castillo. "Listen, either they're up here, trapped in the banks, or they've been carried to the bottom.

I'll go down. If you don't find anyone here, come help me, okay? Piker takes off and starts carefully skiing down the steep icy slope. As he approaches the narrow gully, fear grips him. This is the reason local skiers say you should stay left at Tunnel Creek. If another avalanche comes down while he's in the gully, he won't stand a chance. He glances up the mountain one last time, takes a deep breath,

and skis into the gully. Elise Sogsted strains to move, but it's no use. The snow is like concrete. It's got her head and limbs locked down tight. It's so heavy on her chest that it's hard to breathe. Her face is completely covered, but she can see daylight. Her airbag must have worked as intended, keeping her near the surface of the avalanche as she tumbled down the mountain.

She wiggles her fingers. She can feel that her hands are above the snow and close to her head. She twists her hands like pinball flippers to flick the snow away from her face. Her panic eases. She's not going to suffocate. And now that she's cleared the snow from her eyes, she can see that she's on her back, facing headfirst down the slope. She stares at the upside-down valley and mountains ahead of her. It's strangely peaceful.

All she can do now is wait for rescue. She wonders about the others. How many of them got swept up along with her? How many are left to hunt for survivors? Suddenly, her fear returns with a vengeance. She's entombed in the snow, her ribs hurt, and she's getting colder. And she's just remembered, if another avalanche comes before help arrives, she could still be buried alive.

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Stifter and the four skiers with him fall silent at what they find. The fresh snow they've been skiing on since the top of Cowboy Mountain has come to an abrupt end. Where it stops, there's a sudden three-foot drop. Beyond that, a highway of bluish ice runs down the mountain through a patch of trees and out of sight. Holy smokes. Stifter's fears have come true.

There's been an avalanche, and there's no sign of the seven skiers who went ahead of him. The skiers with Stifter spring into action. They start heading down, looking for signs of survivors. Stifter grabs his phone, finds Jim Jack's number, and calls it. "Come on, Jim. Answer. Answer." It goes straight to voicemail. Just then, he hears one of the skiers below call out. "I found a ski!"

Stifter reels. The avalanche must have swallowed Jack. Stifter and the others take off, zigzagging down the icy highway that the avalanche scraped into the mountainside. They space themselves out to maximize the area they're scanning.

Stifter knows they need to be methodical. If they're too fast, they could miss someone. If they go too slow, they won't reach the survivors in time. Every second counts. Venzil Pykurt slides down the narrow gully that the avalanche tore through. This place puts him on edge. Twenty-foot-high walls of rock loom over him.

Everywhere he looks, he sees the smashed up trees and rocks that the avalanche left behind. He checks his avalanche beacon. Still no signal. He skis around another bend and sighs with relief. He's out of the gully and near the bottom of Tunnel Creek. But his relief evaporates quickly.

Before him is the massive debris field left behind by the avalanche. It's spread out across an area longer than a football field. There are clumps of snow the size of boulders. The terrain is shredded and bumpy. Jagged rocks and sharp pieces of timber poke out from the hard snowpack.

As he moves onto the debris field, his beacon comes alive. He stops and slowly moves it left and right. There's more than one signal. He was right. The avalanche dragged its victims all the way down the mountain.

Pikert stabs a ski pole into the snow to mark the location where he picked up the signals. The debris is too rough to ski over, so he unclips his skis and sets out on foot. Using his beacon as a guide, he hikes through the debris field, and the beeping grows more rapid. He looks up from the beacon for a moment and sees a tiny flash of pink peeking out from the white. It's a glove.

Piekert reaches the glove and sees a woman's face in the snow, staring up at him. "Hey, are you okay?" "I think so, but I can't move." Piekert grabs the shovel from his backpack. "Don't worry, I'll dig you out." He strikes the snow with his shovel and frowns. It's hard as ice. "What's your name?" "It's Elise. Elise Sugstedt." "Okay, Elise, I'm Venzel, but listen, the snow was really hard, but I'll be as quick as I can."

Piekert attacks the snow, but as he digs, he wonders if this is the right call. There are other people buried here, they could be suffocating. Sogsted is trapped, but she's alive and she can breathe. Maybe he should leave her to go search for the others. But then, he remembers that another avalanche could happen at any moment. This could be his only chance to save her. He keeps on digging.

After five minutes of chipping away, Piekert pulls Sogsted out of the snow and onto her feet. Miraculously, except for some scrapes and bruises, she appears to be unharmed. Then Piekert sees a group of skiers coming out of the ravine. He races back to join them. Sogsted is safe, but there are still more people to find. Rob Castillo walks over the debris field, eyes glued to his beacon.

After finding no sign of his buddy Johnny Brennan further up the slope, he's now combing the debris at the bottom of the gully with the rest of the group. Seeing Elise Sogsted alive and on her feet gives him a boost. Maybe there's still a chance to save Brennan and the others. Castillo hears Venzel Piekert shout, "I'm on top of something!" Castillo rushes towards Piekert. He sees Piekert carefully stabbing the ground with a long rod.

I have someone!

He sees blood. The man's not breathing. They dig even faster to scrape away the ice and snow so they can give him CPR. And then Castillo sees who it is. It's Johnny Brennan. His face is bloodied, blue, and lifeless. Images of Brennan's family flash through Castillo's mind. Mental snapshots of his wife Lori, of his young daughters.

All of them waiting on the other side of the mountain for Johnny to come back to them. Finally, Castillo and Piekert break Brennan free from the ice. Castillo starts giving CPR, fighting with all of his might to revive his friend. Elise Sogsted wanders the debris field in a daze. She can barely believe she's just walked away from an avalanche. She doesn't have to look far to see what might have been.

Just yards away from where she was buried, members of the party are giving CPR to Johnny Brennan. It's not looking good. Further up the hill, others are digging out Chris Rudolph. She hears someone yell that he's not breathing. But Jim Jack is still missing. Sogstead shakes off her fog and joins another skier who's following the signals emanating from her beacon.

As the beeping intensifies, Sogsted sees two skiers standing below them about 100 feet away. The skier with Sogsted calls out to see if they're picking up a signal. It's silent for a moment before Sogsted hears a reply. "It's Jim Jack. He's gone." Sogsted winces and looks back at those trying to revive Brennan and Rudolph. She can see the despair washing over their faces as they fight to keep their friends alive.

But Sogsted senses that it's too late. Brennan and Rudolph are gone too. Less than an hour ago, they were all standing on top of the mountain, eagerly awaiting an unforgettable day in the backcountry. They're at the bottom, struggling to process the tragedy that's just taken place. Four people were swallowed by the avalanche on Tunnel Creek. Elise Sogsted is the sole survivor.

and she knows her own story, could have turned out very differently. The day after the avalanche, still in shock and suffering from dislocated ribs, Sogsted found herself on Good Morning America. As millions watched, she shared her harrowing experience and explained how her airbag kept her near the surface of the snow. Her story caused sales for avalanche airbags in North America to explode.

But Sogsted's survival can't be attributed solely to the airbag. She was also incredibly lucky. The Tunnel Creek Avalanche tore down the mountain at speeds as high as 70 miles per hour. It descended more than 2,400 vertical feet in just 45 seconds and weighed more than 11 million pounds.

As it dragged Chris Rudolph, Johnny Brennan, and Jim Jack down the mountain, their bodies were battered by rocks and trees and ice. All three were most likely dead before the avalanche even stopped. After the tragedy, John Stifter briefly considered walking away from his dream job of editing Powder Magazine.

Instead, he used his position to raise awareness of the dangers of backcountry skiing and how to avoid tragedies like the one that took place at Tunnel Creek. Elise Sogsted has also used her profile to educate others. She's given TED Talks about her experience and co-founded Safe As, an avalanche and snow safety clinic for women skiers.

And in Leavenworth, Washington, the small town near Stevens Pass where Jim Jack, Johnny Brennan, and Chris Rudolph once lived, those who died that day are memorialized. Just a few miles north of town, there's now a trail through the evergreen forests created in their honor. It's called For the Boys.

On our next episode, we'll have my conversation with adventure writer and New York Times reporter John Branch. John won the Pulitzer Prize for Snowfall, his 2012 feature article about the Tunnel Creek avalanche and the events leading up to it.

From Wondery, this has been Avalanche at Tunnel Creek on Against the Odds. A quick note about our scenes. In most cases, we can't exactly know what was said, but everything is based on historical research. If you'd like to learn more about this event, we recommend Side Country, Tales of Death and Life from the Backroads of Sports by John Branch.

I'm your host, Mike Corey. Tristan Donovan wrote this episode. Our audio engineer is Sergio Enriquez. Sound design is by Woodman's Audio. Produced by Matt Almos and Emily Frost. Our managing producer is Tonja Thigpen. Our senior producer is Andy Herman. Our executive producers are Jenny Lauer-Beckman, Stephanie Jens, and Marshall Louis for Wondery.

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