Chris Dickey                                Times Publisher
Chris Dickey Times Publisher


I was mountain bike riding with some friends a couple of weekends ago, in a beautiful spot I’d never been in before, when we came across a debris field. We were traversing across a steep slope, about halfway up it, and I’m guessing the mountainside was 400 or 500 feet high.

I stopped right in the middle of the slide path, trying to envision what it must have looked, felt and sounded like when that freight train of snow let loose and rumbled down the mountainside, upturning everything in its wake.

The avalanche roared across a valley floor at least 150 feet wide and blew down dozens of mature pine trees, like bowling pins, probably three or four stories up the opposite hillside before gravity finally halted its forward progress.



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