Cindy's Second Chance

It was one of those rare days in late January when the sun was shining but the temperature was in the low twenties-Fahrenheit, that is. I had been skiing all day at Badger Pass ski resort. It is located in Yosemite National Park, in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California. I work as a volunteer ski patroller on as many weekends as I can free myself from my job responsibilities in Fresno, California. The drive from Fresno to Badger Pass usually takes a couple of hours, each way. One of the responsibilities for the ski patrol is to conduct a "sweep" of all the ski runs on the mountain at the end of the day. At Badger Pass that is 4:30 PM. In late January, the days have become increasingly longer since December but at 4:30 in the afternoon, the sun disappears rather quickly and daylight soon follows it as it as slides down below the mountain peaks in the west.

On this particular day, the sweep took a little longer due to a pair of novice skiers who needed more time to work their way down the mountain. As is our usual practice, all patrollers check their colleagues as they approach the bottom of the run to be sure no one has been left on the mountain. Then, at a signal from the lead patrolman, we all schuss the remainder of the hill down to the patrol room. At this point there is a lot of hustle and bustle and much laughter as each patroller changes his clothes and recounts some funny incident that occurred during the day. As a result, they are usually the last ones to leave the lodge and head down the road toward home. By this time it is getting dark quickly and headlights need to be turned on.

I knew I was getting away late when I realized there were no cars ahead of me. This came as a pleasant change from the bumper- to-bumper traffic that normally snakes down the road at the end of a skiing day. About thirty minutes down the highway I rounded a curve and noted some skid marks on the snow that led to a break in the snow bank on the side of the road. The thought ran through my mind that a car might have gone over the edge. There was quite a stand of timber in the area so no one was going to slide very far down the ravine but I had to have a look anyway. I steered my pickup truck over to the edge of the roadway and pulled out the button for my emergency blinkers. At the same time I pulled on my patrol parka that was lying on the seat beside me. By this time the temperature was probably ten degrees colder than earlier in the day.

I walked over to the break in the snow bank and peered over the edge. As I suspected, there was a car resting against a tree with the passenger side facing up hill. I surveyed the situation for a moment looking for some sign of life. In the darkness I saw none. I returned to my truck, grabbed my flashlight and slipped on my gloves. As I hustled back to the crash scene, I remember thinking I was glad I had on my afterski boots. The car was about twenty-five feet down the bank and had scraped a pathway to it through the snow. I picked my way carefully down the bank; I didn’t want to become a casualty myself. When I reached the car, I shined the flashlight into the interior but saw no one. The driver’s door was open, however, so I immediately deduced the driver had been thrown out. I made my way around the back end of the car. The snow here was over my knees. As the beam of my flashlight moved over the area, I saw the body lying in the snow. It was lying face up but covered partially with snow.

At this point, my patrol training and instincts took over my actions. To me it was like approaching a skiing accident on the hill with an injured person lying in the snow by a tree well. I gently brushed the snow from the victim’s face and noted the position of the body. Quickly I searched for the carotid pulse and was elated to find it; it was very faint. I noted, also, that the person was a young woman. I even remembered seeing her on the ski hill. I guessed she was probably about thirty years of age I put my ear close to her mouth and nose and heard her breathing. I called to her but got no response. I suspected a head injury. Gently I palpated her scalp and at the same time noted her facial features.