Death Canyon (4 page)

Just as Noelle feared, the female victim was at serious risk of bleeding to death. The paramedics asked Noelle to radio the chopper and explain their location to the pilot.

Death Canyon, up by Gosling Lake. A hundred yards above the clearing with the wildflowers.

A few moments later, dispatch radioed back, saying that the pilot intended to land on any flat area of land he could find in the large, sloping meadow that lay west and uphill of Gosling Lake. The thick forests on the lower slopes of the trail made landing impossible. Noelle looked toward the area the chopper was targeting. Getting the surviving victim to the meadow required a hike of nearly a half mile on windy, steep switchbacks.

Rather than assist the paramedics, Noelle was ordered to return to the trailhead and inform hikers that the Death Canyon trail network, including the Gosling Lake loop, was closed due to a dangerous animal in the area. It was not very likely that any more hikers would be in danger from the bear, but keeping park visitors away from pools of blood and pieces of shredded clothing seemed wise.

*  *  *

As Noelle pulled into police headquarters, she expected a sad scene. This close-knit community was always deeply affected by tragedy. Inside, it was worse than she imagined. A distraught family was being consoled in the waiting area. Behind the reception desk, officers buzzed around the cubicles, looking sweaty and exhausted. The station looked like a war room.

“Ms. Klimpton?” The question brought Noelle back to reality. She nodded. “Could you follow me?”

Here goes.

The young man sitting at the reception desk shoved his stool
under the counter and moved briskly through the crowd, guiding her toward the back of the station. She knew she'd met the man before, but she couldn't recall when.

“You can have a seat in here,” he said, showing her into what appeared to be a small interrogation room. “Terrell will be with you shortly to take your report.” He hurried back to the chaos.

“Wait! What's going on?” Noelle yelled after him. He turned.

“You haven't heard? Maelstrom Couloir slid this afternoon.”

“What? Was anyone on it?” Noelle asked.

“Two skiers. One guy is all right. A little bruised up and in shock, that's all. They just found the other. Eight feet under. Didn't have a chance.”

Before Noelle could say another word, the officer turned around and left. The door swung shut behind him.

An avalanche on Maelstrom in June?

Sure, it was possible—it was always possible. But by early summer the snowpack in the mountains was consolidated and bonded by freeze-thaw cycles and unlikely to fail. This time of year, backcountry skiers generally enjoyed safe snow conditions and bright sunshine.

Maelstrom Couloir was a popular out-of-bounds run beyond the south boundary of the Jackson Hole Mountain Resort. It was nonetheless easily accessible from the top of the resort's tram. In the spring and early summer, dedicated skiers took the 9 a.m. tram to the summit and boot-packed the mile or so to the top of Tomahawk Peak, where they accessed the couloir—a narrow, rock-lined, and steep chute of snow. Dropping precipitously off the side of Tomahawk Peak, Maelstrom ended above a wide-open alpine bowl. Although the temperatures were rising into the low sixties during the day, the high elevation and substantial snowpack kept skiers busy into early July.

These two hadn't been so lucky.

There was a knock on the door and the chief of police, Roger Terrell, rushed inside. He stood five foot ten with a solid build and big forearms. Noelle knew him rather well. When she moved to the area years ago, she initially pursued a job with the department but she didn't make it past the second interview.

She couldn't blame Terrell. He was well liked and considered fair and honest around town. It was her own past that had come back and haunted her. She had disclosed to the police department that she had once been arrested at a protest. The arrest had only resulted in a charge of breaching the peace, but the department was not impressed. Dismissed from consideration for any job at the department, Noelle
had
managed to form a friendly relationship with Roger Terrell. In a town so small, holding grudges doesn't get you far. He was the one who suggested Noelle take the park service job she now believed to be much better than working for the police department.

“Been a while.” Terrell didn't make eye contact. He was too preoccupied. “Nice to see you, despite the circumstances.”

“What the hell happened today?” Noelle blurted out.

“Today,” Terrell recited as if he was also reminding himself, “a European couple was attacked by a bear while hiking in Death Canyon. Man died in the attack and the woman is still alive. Sometime after this attack, an avalanche near the ski area killed one skier and it injured another—”

She cut him off. “Stop talking like a robot! I mean, an avalanche in June . . .”

“Sure. Wet slide. Snow was soaked with moisture from the heat of the day and simply became too dense to support itself. I mean, hell, you know better than I do. All that ‘extreme' stuff you do.”

She ignored the compliment.
Or was it a dig?

She said, “Wouldn't
these
guys know that too? Besides, it wasn't that warm today. Doesn't make sense.” The last sentiment was made to herself.

The chief finally made solid eye contact. “Doesn't need to make sense to you. They made a bad decision, Noelle, I don't know. Nature's a bitch. Maybe it was a cool day for a slide to occur, but it did happen. Family won't take any comfort in that. Not to mention the victim.”

“Is that who was in the waiting area when I came in, the family?” Noelle asked. “Why are they here?”

“No. That's the survivor's family. The DOA is from Colorado and we're still trying to contact his family. Other family is here because his mother says she can't enter a hospital without having an anxiety attack. She says they have nowhere else to go but my police station.” Terrell's voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Which one caused the slide?” She sensed she was pushing the chief with this question.

“Are you taking my statement, or am I taking yours?” Noelle didn't respond, so the chief continued. “It looks like the second skier, the survivor, did. He must've broken it free a few turns into the top of the couloir. The first skier was found at the bottom of the chute, approaching the run-out.”

Noelle interrupted again. “Why wouldn't the first skier have caused the avalanche?”

“Just luck,” Roger answered. “The first guy apparently didn't hit the trigger spot. That's what Max tells me.”

Max was the valley's avalanche forecaster.

The concept of a trigger point was a new demon to the avalanche scene. In the past, it was assumed that if a slope was going
to slide, it would probably do so wherever a person went on the slope. But now, avalanche experts suspected that snow stability varied drastically from point to point, even on one slope. This idea had called into question the reliability of shovel tests and the Rutschblock test, which used a sample cross section of one small area of snow to predict the stability of the snow slope-wide. The uncomfortable truth was that no current tests did an adequate job of predicting snow stability. Unless the skier dug a snow pit to test every point on her planned line, she could never be sure.

The chief moved farther into the small room and took a seat. “I understand your curiosity, Noelle, but let's get going. I've got a busy night ahead of me.”

Noelle wanted more information, but gave in. She didn't envy his position on this night. “What do you want to know?”

“Just a brief summary. When you're finished I'll have you write a more detailed report and leave it at the desk.”

“Okay. First off, you should know that I've never witnessed the aftermath of an animal attack like this before. I've only done nonvenomous snakebites before today. To be honest, I was a little overwhelmed. My memory might not be as detailed as you'd like, but I'll do my best.”

“I know you will.” The chief was urging her along.

She continued. “Well, I was patrolling the southern end of the park for general reasons—wildlife traffic jams, sick animals, traffic violations, whatever. I drove up the road to the summer parking for the Death Canyon trailhead. As I started to turn my truck around, a couple of men waved me down.”

“Did you get their names?” Terrell looked up from his notepad.

“Sorry. The paramedics probably did.”

Good recovery,
Noelle thought. It seemed to placate the chief.

Noelle related the remainder of the story as best she could. She wasn't a trained detective after all.

“Okay. Fill this out.” He handed her a one-page report with carbon copies in pink and yellow attached to the back. Chief Terrell went back to the war room.

Noelle had trouble concentrating on her statement with the distraught family so nearby. Trying her best to ignore the noise, she went to task. She knew the chief was interested in the details of the injuries, and she was curious about these things as well. Though Noelle had never witnessed a bear attack, what she saw that morning suggested something unthinkably brutal. One detail stuck in her mind—the deep puncture wounds. It appeared as if the bear had decided unequivocally to kill.

*  *  *

Noelle drove out of town toward the small 1940s cabin that the park service provided as part of her compensation. She pulled into the gravel drive and looked at her diminutive home standing there in the pines. It looked more lonesome than usual.

I really need to spruce this place up.

On the way home from the station, the excitement of the day had almost led her to stop at a bar that she hadn't been to in years. See some old friends, be social. Maybe meet a guy. Instead, she convinced herself that she needed sleep and passed the tavern with only slight hesitation.

Noelle's cabin was on a slope at the western end of the “hole” that gave the area its name. A hole, unlike a valley or a canyon, is bordered by mountains on all sides. A valley features two low-elevation “ends,” while the mountains define its sides.

Jackson Hole wasn't so convenient. On the western edge rose
the famous Teton Range and to the east the Gros Ventres. Up north, just above Jackson Lake, sat the Yellowstone Plateau. Down south, where water drains from the hole by way of the Snake River, was the path of least resistance out of the depression, but several parallel mountain ranges still ensured that the region remained isolated. Jackson “Hole” was virtually cut off from the outside world.

As means of transportation improved, Jackson Hole became more accessible, both by high mountain passes that allowed automobiles to travel into the valley and more recently by air.

Its geography helped maintain Jackson Hole's reputation as the last of the old west. Visitors are alerted to this unique designation by a campy wooden sign as they enter from the west via Teton Pass. In recent years, more access meant more people. More second homes. More businesses. A change that many locals resented.

Though Noelle enjoyed the isolation that the hole provided, she could have used some company tonight. She picked up her cell phone and flipped through her contacts, but there was nobody to call. Instead, she put a pot of tea on the small double-burner gas stove that rested in the corner of the cabin. Someone had long ago designated this crook as the kitchen, and Noelle had no reason to argue.

Putting water on the stove reminded Noelle how hungry she was. During the busy day, she had somehow forgotten to eat.

She rummaged through the cupboards. There wasn't much—a few boxes of rice and some macaroni and cheese. She didn't have any butter, so the rice was her only choice. She put it on the stove, added water and some spices. It wasn't much, but at least it smelled good.

While the rice cooked, Noelle grabbed her laptop and headed for the front porch. Her curiosity about the attack had not subsided. After checking her park service email, where two emails
from well-meaning coworkers offered company if she needed to “talk” about her day, she went to Google and entered “bear attacks.” Wireless Internet access was one of the few amenities that her cabin provided.

The teapot whistled as the search results began to populate the screen. Noelle set the computer on the wooden porch floor and dashed inside. She turned off the burner and bent down below the sink for a mug. Her dorm-style refrigerator sat next to the sink. She opened it and grabbed a beer. Tea could wait.

Sipping the beer, Noelle walked back to the porch and her laptop. It was getting chilly. Although it was June, Noelle knew that summer was a month away in this part of northwestern Wyoming. There were goose bumps on her suntanned arms.

The search results came back just as she expected. At the top of her screen, links for amateur videos purporting to depict bears attacking humans. “Real,” “crazy,” and “vicious” exclaimed the descriptions. She took a long pull of beer and clicked on one of them, but closed it out almost immediately. Disgusting.

She had witnessed only the aftermath of a bear attack today and it had sickened her. Although she was curious, the footage was too much. Who the hell would put up videos of killing and maiming just for entertainment? What a strange, cannibalistic world.

Below the videos were links explaining the causes of bear attacks and techniques to protect oneself in the event of an attack. Noelle had bear training, but a refresher never hurt. The articles Noelle opened explained that grizzlies are most likely to attack when they feel that their young are at risk. Bears will often charge their victims to scare them off rather than to injure them. This tactic is known as a “false” or “bluff” charge and usually serves the bear's purposes effectively, causing the intruder to retreat.