Avalanche! It's the one thing a backcountry skier never wants to hear his guide yell. Our group had just finished the long first run of the day–a sweeping meandering path intended to carefully sidestep key trigger points on the high alpine slope. We were at the bottom ready to head back up when Tania heard something from above. A small wind slab had kicked off from the summit ridge. It looked quite small from where we stood and was well left of where we had skied down. I assumed it was a small size two that would have a short run out. I couldn't have been more wrong. The next thing we saw was a massive wall of snow exploding into the sky as the avalanche jumped a ridge onto a path heading directly toward us. It was quickly gaining volume and speed. Our guide said it looked like a size four and we knew an avalanche that big would be large enough to run to the valley floor below us and decimate the forest on its way down.
He yelled for all of us to run to the forest about 20 metres away. It was the only option. We were tripping and falling in the waist deep snow, getting snagged in the snow alder below our feet. I kept looking up while I desperately thrashed my way through. The avalanche had jumped another ridge. It was getting bigger, moving faster and getting closer. I've always known that a day would come where the mystery of my death would be revealed. As a climber and skier with forty plus years in the mountains, I've had my share of near death experiences and close calls, but I'd never been certain of my impending demise until this moment. I thought I was done, that this was it: the end of the road. We all managed to make it into the trees and waited for a crushing final blow that never came.
For several months before the trip I had an ominous foreboding feeling that I was going to get buried under the massive weight of avalanche debris, that I was going to get an opportunity to face my fear of death: to feel the slip of suffocation as I'd begin to choke on ice crystals in the vacuum under the snow, and then to be liberated by my partners above the surface.
In the end, the avalanche was a size three; it was still large but not large enough to kill us. It took out our tracks mid-run, where we'd been fifteen minutes earlier, so it was a near miss, but we never really in danger. It stopped several hundred metres above us. At lunch, I realized that I still got my opportunity to look death in the eye. From an emotional perspective it felt real at the time and we were fortunate that we we are all unscathed. I wept and hyperventilated at lunch when I realized this, and a massive electric wave of gratitude washed over me and out into the atmosphere.
I generally operate from two narratives. My self-protective survival narrative lurks under the surface anytime I feel anxious or desperate. I am acutely aware, as I keep circling the sun, that my days are numbered and I am running out of time. I really want to make a difference before I exit this reality. This experience left me very clear that I have a great deal of unfinished business. When I finally do pass, I'd like to do so in peace, content that I never left anything out on the field. I want to find out what I'm made of, do what I'm capable of doing and leave a legacy of love and contribution in my wake. I know I'm not done.
The week before we left on this ski trip, I sent my latest book to press. I spent three years, working with some very talented and accomplished entrepreneurs and executives, documenting my unique coaching model of leadership development, personal growth and business innovation. We wrote it for people involved in scaling worthwhile growth businesses–people driven to make a biggger impact, both economically and socially.
The purpose of the book is to help our leaders get a glimpse not only of their self-protection narratives–the beliefs, attitudes and core frames driving their deepest fears, primal needs and small-minded survival behaviours–but their more enlightened growth narratives. We want to activate innovators more in the direction of their true callings in ways that add more value to society and deliver health, wealth and quality of lives to their families and partners.
When I was running to the forest, desperate to live another day, I found a much deeper connection to my growth narrative and profound gratitute for the simple opportunity to live that day and even more like it.
Our book is a limited edition, small run. If you have something kicking around inside of you, screaming to get out, drop us a line; let us know what you are working on, and we will get you a copy. No need to wait for a near-death experience to shake you out of the daily grind. Just read our book.
From my current vantrage point, that avalanche looks now like the best thing ever. I'm here. I'm back. I'm not done. I'm just getting started!