Beside him, Tanner held Juniper’s lead, the border collie sitting, antsy, her body quivering.
Orlando, too, sat near Jericho’s skis. The dog seemed alert, almost somber today.
Yeah, well, emotion traveled down lead.
“Okay, let’s roll.” Marla again, and this time with a stopwatch. Kyle had been buried in a shallow snow cave ten minutes ago, giving the dogs a real-world scenario to work.
Rusty, a new hire, stood beside Jericho, watching.
“How long can someone actually survive under the snow?” Rusty asked.
“Depends,” Jericho said. “That’s why we train year-round. Okay, Tanner, go ahead and give Juniper the command. Orlando, hold.”
Beside him, Tanner commanded the border collie to search. The dog shot forward. Orlando quivered, clearly wanting to work.
But they needed to give Juniper the chance to shine. Then, he and Orlando would head over to the out-of-bounds terrain and set off charges, releasing some of last night’s drop.
Perfect avalanche conditions. Eight inches of fresh powder on top of last week’s melt-freeze layer. The kind of morning that made skiers dream of first tracks, roused ski patrol out of bed before dawn.
“Juniper’s got something!” Marla called on comms as the dog began to dig. Orlando whined, still holding his position but clearly wanting to join the search.
“Good girl!” Kyle’s muffled voice carried over the radio as he emerged from the snow.
“I’m going to the backcountry,” Jericho said into comms. “Set off these charges.”
“Roger,” Marla returned.
Jericho checked his pack—three charges to place before they could call this slope safe.
But mostly, he wanted to work on Orlando’s startle.
He pushed off and moved over the bowl, past a roped line and toward the deep powder of the backcountry.
“Okay, buddy. Here you go.” He handed him the tug toy and Orlando took it by the rope and tossed it into the air.
Meanwhile, Jericho pulled out the first of the charges, ran the routine through his head. Check the fuse, position the charge, calculate the trajectory, throw.
He glanced at Orlando. The dog seemed distracted.
Jericho set the fuse, then threw the charge some thirty feet down the mountain.
The explosion echoed off the mountain face, sending up a plume of snow.
Orlando lifted his head, startled. But he didn’t run.
So,maybe...
Shoot,theslope held.
“Orlando, come.”
The dog lifted his head, ears pricked, then turned to Jericho, tail wagging.
He picked up the toy, threw it, and Orlando bounded after it.
Then he picked up his binoculars and scanned the slope. A crack in the snow line, for sure, but it hadn’t jostled the pack loose.
And now if he didn’t release the layer, the next snowfall could set it free, send a bigger mass down the mountain, maybe into the chute toward the residential area in the valley.