t was dark beneath the snow, which was cold

and solid, like concrete. Brock Crouch could

feel his arms but he couldn’t move them. They

had been useless to him during his fall, and now

they were locked in place, one by his side and the

other twisted somewhere behind his back.

that this was how he was going to die.

But there was no fighting it, either.

He closed his eyes and slipped into

the darkness. It was silent, almost

peaceful. He didn’t hear his friends’

frantic screams coming out of his

radio, which was located somewhere

on his body, but smothered by snow.

Nor did he register the sound of a

helicopter cutting through the sky

above him while he slowly suffocated

in the debris of his own mistake.

Then he blacked out.

Five minutes earlier, Crouch had

been standing at the jagged top of

the mountain’s ridge, looking for

his next line of descent through the

fresh powder. It was 2.15pm on April

22, 2018 – a little late in the season to

be heli-skiing on this range, which

stretches north of Whistler. The

air was warm – 10°C – and the sun

dangerous in the sky above, its rays

weakening the snow’s grip on the

mountainside.

The odds of an avalanche increased

with every passing moment the sun

bore down. It was a risk Crouch and

the six others in his party considered

while deciding which slopes to shred

Hewastrapped, badly injured and

ina stateofshock that left him numb

tothestingfrom the snow pressing

against him. Crouch’s back was bro-

ken, as were six of his teeth and his

helmet – which had cracked against a

rock, leaving him concussed. He was

woozy, but alert enough to under-

stand he was in mortal danger.

Moments earlier, Crouch had

free-fallen like a rag doll over a cliff,

bouncing and f lipping uncontrol-

lably 300 metres down one of the

unnamed peaks of the Pemberton

Ice Cap in British Columbia, Can-

ada. His board was still attached to

his feet, which were the only body

parts now protruding from the snow.

He was upside down, and his head,

completely submerged, was wedged

between his knees – a painful po-

sition to be in, except he hadn’t felt

anything since hearing the crunch of

his vertebrae against a rock.

There was no way to push or pull

his head the half-metre required to

get it above the snow, no way to clear

his own airway. He couldn’t even spit

the broken teeth from his mouth. He

was 18 yearsold,too young to accept

READER’SDIGEST

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54 august 2019