It had been snowing for over 24 hours, but the storm was set to clear out just in time for first light. My friend Jordi Tenas, who is a professional skier, and I had spent and camping under the towering Cerro Torrecillas near Las Le帽as Ski Resort in Argentina. It had been a dry winter in the Southern Hemisphere, and we were heading back to Spain in a few days. But our luck with the聽weather was about to change, so we extended our trip by an extra day to nail perfect snow conditions.
The plan was to wake up early, climb in the dark, and ski back down to camp at first light. From there, we鈥檇 break down the tent, head back to our apartment in town and pack up a season鈥檚 worth of gear before catching the last bus out of Las Le帽as.
We forced ourselves into sleeping bags and set an alarm for 6 A.M. Little did we know, that alarm would never come.
We woke up to a jolting impact against the tent wall, and we were pushed by a relentless river of snow that tossed and churned us as we struggled to free our arms from our sleeping bags. The roof of the tent caved in聽and squeezed against our bodies as it dragged underneath a massive avalanche. When it all finally stopped and the basin went silent once again, we couldn鈥檛 move our bodies from the waist down. My arms were just loose enough to keep an air pocket open, and I could faintly hear Jordi beside me.
From the Brink
Do you have a harrowing survival story you’d like to share with 国产吃瓜黑料? Send it to survivalstories@outsideinc.com.We had known our tent was in a basin and potentially at risk for聽avalanches, but, perched up on a hill of glacial deposit, we thought any slides would have a whole bowl to fill before they reached our doorstep. I had expressed my concern to Jordi, yet in famous Jordi fashion, he confidently defended our safety, and I got lulled into believing it. After all, it would take a an avalanche of historic size聽to get anywhere close to where we were sleeping.
We never anticipated that a cornice would fall above us, or that it would be聽big enough send the whole bowl of snow聽crashing down鈥攑ersistent weak layer and all. I wouldn鈥檛 find out until later, but we were now buried under six feet of snow.
We whispered back and forth, and I could hear Jordi breathing. We both scolded each other for taking up too much air as things started to come in and out of focus. As my breathing got shallower, I realized it was still the middle of the night鈥攖hat no one would even realize we were gone until morning. We were going to die, I thought. That was the last thought that crossed my mind before I lost consciousness.
The next thing I remember is the ambulance door closing. I wasn鈥檛 sure where I was, but I was bundled in blankets instead of my sleeping bag. I was hypoxic and hypothermic, but I was still there. I wouldn鈥檛 find out until later, but Jordi wasn鈥檛 so lucky.
Our Las Le帽as roommate, a freeskier from Idaho, had noticed that we hadn’t聽arrive home that morning,聽and he had climbed up the nearest hill to get eyes on our ski zone. He saw a massive crown just peeking out over the ridge lines and rushed down to tell ski patrol. Equipped with two Pisten Bully snow cats and an avalanche dog, they took off to Cerro Torrecillas and started excavating the zone.
The season was done at the resort, so it鈥檚 a miracle rescuers from the ski area even came out that day. We were buried so deep, only the machines could dig us out. When they struck the tent, they were shocked to find me still breathing. I don鈥檛 remember getting loaded into the cat, and only barely remember pieces of the 125-mile drive to the hospital in San Rafael.聽Somehow I had been able to keep breathing in the same air pocket, yet Jordi had not. I survived being buried for 12 hours underneath and avalanche.
The interview with Txema Trull was conducted in Spanish and translated and edited for brevity and clarity by Kade Krichko鈥擡d.