The snow had been falling hard for a day and a half. Six feet in thirty-six hours.
Heavy, wet, and dangerous. The kind that slid, that buried men.
At 11:30 Friday morning, two ski patrollers were on Lincoln Mountain, working avalanche control.
The job was simple. Set the charges.
Watch the snow move. Keep the mountain safe.
Then the mountain came down.
One found, shaken but whole. The other was not so lucky.
They pulled him out and got him to Mammoth Hospital. He was still breathing, but he needed more than what they had there.
They flew him out.
The mountain was closed by noon. No lifts. No runs.
Just silence and snow.
The Old Blog in the Desert 