On a very cold January morning in 2000, I woke up feeling a little different. I was on a "lads" adventure holiday snow-boarding and skiing in the French Alps. The night before we had planned to ski off the back of the infamous mountain, Pic Blanc in Alpe D'huez. The mountain boasts the longest black run in the world and a terrifying icy tunnel and a severe drop mogul field. If that wasn't enough we were planning to go off the back of the mountain into the land that time forgot.
I had hoped when the bravado had waned along with the alcohol from the previous evening, the chaps may change their mind; no luck. Even when we opened the shutter to see the mountain shrouded in cloud with severe weather conditions, the boys were undeterred. Not one to back down I silently ate my breakfast contemplating the morning ahead.
When we arrived at the lifts after breakfast, they were all closed. I breathed a sigh of relief and envisaged a much more relaxing day boarding between restaurants and racing around the slopes. I turned around to see a couple of the boys marching in to the mountain rescue building. They came out a few minutes later beaming saying "we're in luck!"
They had organised a guide called Stephane and they were opening the two lifts especially for us and we had a helicopter to bring us back as we were heading deep into French National Trust land. You can imagine my joy!
After a serious briefing we put on our avalanche detectors, strapped our helmets picked up our tackle and followed Stephane to the lift.
There is something doubly eerie ascending a mountain in a lift made for 100 skiiers with just 7 people. No one really said anything and I realised that everyone was pretty apprehensive. The lift swayed in the gale as we rose higher up the mountain.
At the halfway point we had to get out to swap lifts. We could barely see anything as the snow and wind forced our eyes closer together.
I got a spare moment when Stephane was organising for the second lift to be switched on. I rang Gail on my mobile. I felt something was up. I actually told her "I feel strange and I wanted to ring to say good-bye and tell her that I love her just in case anything was to happen". Gail pointed out it wasn't too late to back out.
The idea of that was incomprehensible. I put the fears to the back of my mind, promised to be careful and prepared myself mentally for the journey ahead.
On a brighter day it would have been less intimidating. Only slightly though, but seeing all the ski-run signs reading "ferme" makes you apprehensive to say the least. Then traversing over to the edge of a cliff where a sign pointed out that only crazy people who wanted to invalidate their insurance ventured past this point, off we went one at a time.
We stopped on the edge of what can only be described as near vertical field of snow. Stephane briefed us, we were to take it easy until we got across the cliff where there were endless fields of powder. We were warned not to speak and to traverse one at a time to limit the possibility of an avalanche.
It is amazing how your body and mind adjust to circumstances very quickly when put under pressure. With in moments I had relaxed and I was haring down a steep blanket of never ending snow. There is photo that I remember being taken of me with my arms in the air celebrating the sheer adrenalin that I was experiencing. I shouted "I will never board on piste again" how right I almost was.
We reached an area where the risk of avalanche was greater and we traversed across one at a time. There was a mountain above us to our right and we wanted to cross to the drop of steep powder.
I never made it. I was the penultimate one and I had a skier behind me Danny Rob, who caught me up and as he went past gave me a friendly dig knocking me off my board. Luckily I has clip on bindings that I'd bought in Canada the week before so I was able to detach my snow board and start to walk.
I don't remember any noise. I think all my senses fixed onto self preservation. I remember clearly fighting a huge forced that was sweeping me away. I remember being confused as to what was happening. Suddenly it was too late. I realised I was wasting a huge amount of resources and energy fighting against a greater forced that turned me over and over. I relaxed and went with the flow. Not realising I would end up deep down below the surface the lights went out and suddenly everything was very quiet, very dark and very still.
Just the sound of me panting for air that didn't exist was my only companion; that and my mind that was dealing with the reality that "I'd really done it this time!"
People always ask did I "create a pocket of air with my hands?" What actually happens is the weight of the snow forces out any remaining air you have in your lungs. My mouth, eye sockets and ever part of me was moulded to the tons of snow on top of me. All I was breathing was hot air that quickly disappeared and I quietly passed away. From the time I realised it was futile to fight it, I started to say thank you to everyone I had known and everyone in my life who'd made a difference.
It is a very sad time when you realise you can never truly say good bye to your loved ones and friends. I seemed to have an eternity to remember everyone I could feel myself getting tired. I don't remember whether I thought I'd be rescued. I probably did at first but I quickly realised that was that and I went to sleep.
I often think that moment I died, I was given a second chance because I was clearly grateful for all the experiences life had bestowed on me. I really had lived my life thinking I was destined to give something back. Sadly I'd failed, yet I was still grateful. I think this emotion stopped me getting stressed, and keeping calm must have played a part in my recovery.
Eight minutes after being sealed in my early grave, unbeknown to me the boys above lead by Stephane who had located me using the avalanche detector had dug me out. I was unconscious, not breathing with no pulse. Dan Innes described the frenzied digging on top of the snow as digging like "crazed rabbits". With only one shovel which Lee put together everyone dug frantically.
Apart from keeping calm and feeling grateful, my other advice I have for anyone doing extreme snow-boarding is that they take a minimum of 2 doctors with you at all times. Yes, luckily 2 of our friends worked in hospitals. One is a thoracic heart surgeon and the other a casualty doctor. Whilst digging they gave clear instruction for everyone to move out of the way as soon as I was located.
I awoke to what I can only describe as the softest lips I have ever felt and the worst headache imaginable. Danny Rob, the chap who originally knocked me off my board brought me around. Using some rather severe tactics including punching, slapping and putting his hands down my throat to provoke a reaction I felt battered and bruised, but I was alive and although disorientated I realised I had survived.
As the helicopter flew over and came in to land the boys made a protective circle to shield me. I refused to be carried and I was helped to the helicopter. I said my goodbyes and the pilots flew me off to the local hospital.
The rest of the ordeal is less dramatic and I am sure you don't want to know about French hospitals. The important thing is I lived to fight another day!