Our group of four skiers and riders stood at the base of New Hampshire’s famed Tuckerman Ravine, discussing the options for our first ski line of the day, when the word every skier dreads most reverberated through the cirque: “Avalanche!”
Moments later, a cascading wall of snow pummeled toward the bottom of Left Gully —the line we had hoped to ski first — seemingly in slow motion, stopping only a few hundred feet to our left.
“Everyone switch your beacons to search mode,” shouted a member of our group.
Without hesitation, we all activated the “search” feature on our devices and headed toward the debris field to ensure there wasn’t a skier buried under the now-concrete heavy snow.