Experience: I survived being buried in an avalanche

Growing up in Sweden, I was as comfortable on skis as I was walking on my feet. As a teenager, I became a professional free skier, a style that features jumps and tricks. In my 20s, I moved into content creation. Now, at 38, I spend the winter months filming extreme ski videos with my photographer wife, Sofia.

In March this year, we’d been staying at the base of the Lyngen Alps, northern Norway. Nonstop rain had prevented us from filming but, finally, we had fresh powder and clear skies. The plan was for me to go up the mountain with a friend, Lovisa, and make our way down as the sun was setting. Sofia would film us from the bottom using a drone.

We climbed to the summit, arriving just before sunset, but it was cloaked in cloud. I was disappointed. I was hooked up to audio and ready to go.

I suggested we ski down anyway, just for fun. I dug into the snow to make sure it was stable. If it’s not, the top layer of snow slides off the icier layer underneath. It didn’t move, so we took turns to zigzag slowly down, with me in the lead. Once we broke through the clouds, we had breathtaking views of the orange skies and blue fjords.

Then a dark line shot out from under my skis, a deep crack in the surface. I knew what it meant. My movement had caused a slab of snow to break away beneath me. I’d triggered an avalanche.

Lovisa was above me, so she was safe. An avalanche picks up speed and more snow as it travels down the mountain. I’d been in small slides before and had outskied them. This time, however, the snow was moving too fast to do that.

If I didn’t get out of its way, I wouldn’t survive. I spotted some rocks to the side. I dug my poles down hard and turned towards them. Moments from safety, I hit something under the snow and my skis pinged off. I was at the mercy of the mountain, heading towards a 20-metre drop. I started tumbling downwards. It would go dark as I was pushed deep into the snow, then light as I circled to the surface again. I frantically dug my poles and boots into the slope, trying to slow myself down. Suddenly, I was weightless, and everything went silent. I’d been flushed off the cliff edge. I felt as if I was falling for ever, but I later discovered the drop lasted less than two seconds.

I realised I couldn’t survive this and curled myself into a foetal position. I was about to discover what it felt like to die. Would it go all black, like the end of a film? Instead, there was an incredible impact. I’d crashed on to a thin layer of snow, littered with ice and rocks. The air was knocked out of my lungs, and I felt my right leg buckle painfully. I thought: “I’m not dead.”

As the snow continued to push me down the slope, I checked myself over. I could move my toes, so knew my back wasn’t broken. My leg was numb, but my pelvis felt like it was in one piece.

The intensity of the snow surging over me had eased and the incline was beginning to level out, but I knew if I didn’t stay near the surface I’d be buried. Fuelled by adrenaline, I ignored my injuries and started kicking towards the surface. Finally, I slowed to a stop. I ended up in a sitting position, buried to my waist with my legs in front of me. “I’m alive!” I shouted into my mic, “but I need help.”

Lovisa made it down in 10 minutes, navigating the rocky cliff face and sections of pure ice. Minutes later, Sofia and two friends began trekking to where they’d seen me land, bringing blankets and hot-water bottles.

Sofia and Lovisa had both watched as the avalanche overwhelmed me, and endured an agonising wait to find out if I’d survived. When we listened to the audio recording, the entire ordeal had lasted just 75 seconds.

A rescue helicopter flew me to the nearest hospital. X-rays confirmed I had broken some ribs and snapped my femur. I was rushed into surgery, where they pinned my leg. I was in hospital for three days and felt like a celebrity. Everyone wanted to meet the man who’d survived the avalanche.

I’m currently recovering in Stockholm, but I plan to get back on the slopes next year. We’ve lost friends in avalanches and accidents before. Unfortunately, it’s part of the deal you strike with the mountain. I’m just grateful to be here to tell my story.

As told to Jacqui Paterson

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