The Snow Tiger / Night of Error Page 18

  ‘I did, sir.’ McGill hesitated. ‘Safety is relative. To tell the truth, I wasn’t even too sure of the safety of Turi Buck’s house with all the trees gone from the slope. But it was the best we had and that’s why we put most of the children there. As for the rest, I looked at the map and as much of the actual ground as I could – the mist made that difficult – and tried to take advantage of topographical features; anything to put something between the people and the snow.’ He paused. ‘In one case I have to say I made a bad error of judgment.’

  ‘No one can blame you for that,’ said Harrison.

  ‘Thank you, sir. The main difficulty was to get the people to move. No one wanted to leave a warm house to stay in the open in the snow, and the thick mist didn’t make the prospect more inviting. Constable Pye, a very forceful man, did a lot there.’

  ‘You say there came a time when you were able to think of what to do after the avalanche. What did you mean by that?’

  ‘Speed in rescue after an avalanche is the first essential, but the rescuers must know what they’re doing. To find a person buried in snow is exceptionally difficult. Swiss experience shows that it takes a trained team of twenty men twenty hours to thoroughly probe an area of one hectare.’

  ‘A hectare being two-and-a-half acres,’ interjected Rolandson.

  ‘Well, we had no trained men and we had no equipment. We couldn’t be sure of outside help so we had to improvise with what we had. We stripped TV antennae from the houses; these provided aluminium tubing to make probes for the rescue teams. Mr Cameron, at the mine workshop, made them up into lengths of ten feet. I organized three teams, a total of sixty men, and tried to give a crash course in avalanche rescue.’

  ‘At what time was this?’

  McGill shook his head. ‘I couldn’t say, sir. I was too busy to keep my eye on the time.’

  The mist was clammy against the skin. It wreathed in coils as the slight breeze shifted and the range of vision changed sharply. A large group of men, bulky in cold weather clothing, milled about somewhat aimlessly, some stamping their feet to keep warm, others blowing on their fingers and beating their arms across their chests.

  ‘All right, you guys,’ yelled McGill. ‘Those who have probes step forward and line up.’ He inspected them with a critical eye. ‘Line up as though you’re in the army and on parade – shoulder to shoulder and standing at ease. Feet about ten inches apart.’

  The men shuffled about. There was embarrassed laughter as they realized the spectacle they must make. ‘There’s nothing funny about this,’ snapped McGill. ‘You other guys gather around and watch.’

  He walked forward, holding a ball of string and gave the end to the man on the extreme left of the line. ‘Hold that.’ He walked along the line, unreeling string, until he was at the extreme right, then he cut the string, and gave it to the man on the end. ‘Now, you two guys are the markers. Bend down and stretch that string tight on the snow. Everyone else put the toes of their boots against the string.’

  He watched them get into position. ‘Right. Now, in front of you is an area in which you think someone is buried, but you don’t know exactly where. You put the probe just in front of the toe of your left boot, and push down. You’ll hit bottom hereabouts at less than three feet. If there’s an avalanche there’ll be a hell of a lot more snow than that.’

  All the men probed. ‘Okay, now you do the same at the toe of your right boot.’

  Someone called out. ‘How do we know when we’ve found a body?’

  ‘You’ll know,’ said McGill. ‘It’s unmistakable. If you hit a body go easy on the pressure – don’t use that probe as a spear. Call your team leader who will mark the spot for the digging team. Right, now you markers take a step forward – not more than a foot – and stretch that string again. All you others put your toes against it and probe again the same way as before.’

  He turned to the crowd of watchers. ‘You see what they’re doing? They’re probing every square foot; we call this a fine search, and there’s a ninety-five per cent chance of finding a body if there’s one there. For a really fine search you probe in front of each boot and then again in the middle. That gives a hundred per cent chance, providing the body isn’t deeper than your probe.’

  Someone said, ‘It’s bloody slow, though.’

  ‘Right,’ said McGill. ‘It’s slow. When the next lot of probes comes I’m going to teach you guys coarse probing. There’s a thirty per cent chance of missing a body, but it’s faster and sometimes speed is more efficient than thoroughness.’

  ‘Here comes Cameron with more probes now,’ someone called.

  McGill swung around to see the truck coming towards them. As it pulled to a halt he said, ‘Okay, get them out of there.’

  He pulled out a packet of cigarettes. Cameron got out of the cab and crunched across the snow to take a cigarette from the outheld packet. ‘Thanks, Mike. How are you doing?’

  McGill looked about to make sure he was out of earshot of the men. ‘Not good. You know how long it takes to train the men of the Parsenndienst in Switzerland? And they have the equipment.’

  ‘What’s that … what you said? Some sort of snow rescue service?’

  McGill nodded. ‘These guys are enthusiastic enough, but when it comes to the crunch they’ll not be much use. Some of them might be under the snow, instead of on top where I want them. The rest will be good for nothing.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘A million tons of snow – or anything else, for that matter – dropping close by takes the pith out of a man.’ McGill blew a long plume of smoke. ‘It’s known as disaster shock. We’ll need outside help and we’ll need it fast, and I hope to hell they have dogs. A trained dog can find a body in a tenth of the time it takes a twenty-man team. Half the victims of avalanches in Switzerland are found by dogs.’

  Cameron turned and watched the line of men probing into the snow. ‘Then what are you doing all this for?’

  ‘Just to keep up morale. It helps if they have something to do. How many probes did you bring?’

  ‘Twenty. There’ll be another twenty in under an hour.’ He looked back at the truck. ‘They’ve unloaded. I’ll be on my way.’

  ‘Okay, Joe.’ As Cameron drove away McGill stepped forward. ‘You guys with the new probes come over here. I’ll show you coarse probing.’ He paused as a Land-Rover swept up and stopped close by. Two men got out, one of them Ballard. McGill had not seen the other man before.

  Ballard hurried over. ‘Mike, this is Jack MacAllister. He came over the Gap.’

  ‘We met a couple of your people on top,’ said MacAllister. ‘They’ve gone on to get to a telephone. They told us what was happening so I came on down to see for myself.’

  ‘Thank God!’ said McGill. It was a cry from the heart. He sized up MacAllister. ‘What are the chances of evacuating the valley – all the people?’

  MacAllister shook his head. ‘Not a chance. It took me all my time getting over. That snow has set solid – it’s more like ice now. In places it’s a vertical climb. But the telephone boys are trying to get a line over now.’

  ‘That’ll be a help.’ McGill dropped his cigarette and put his foot on it. ‘At least we’ve got through to outside. Better late than never.’

  ‘They knew last night,’ said MacAllister unexpectedly. I telephoned the police. There’s a whole gang of them on the other side of the Gap right now. They pitched up just as I started to climb.’

  ‘Better and better.’ McGill turned to Ballard. ‘You know what’s been worrying me?’

  ‘What?’

  McGill pointed upwards. ‘Not being able to see that goddamn slope because of the mist. It’s been giving me a real prickly feeling.’

  ‘Hush!’ said MacAllister. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘What’s what?’

  ‘Listen!’

  There was a faint drone from overhead, growing louder. ‘An airplane,’ said McGill, straining his eyes against the mist.

&n
bsp; ‘He can’t land in this,’ said Ballard.

  They listened while the aircraft circled overhead but they did not see it. It droned for about ten minutes and then went away, only to return five minutes later.

  ‘And that’s it,’ said McGill. He put his hands flat on the arms of the witness chair and looked at Harrison. ‘That’s when the avalanche hit us.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  Harrison drew in a long breath. ‘And so we come to the avalanche itself. It has been suggested in the Press that the sound of that aeroplane, which had been sent to investigate by Civil Defence, was the trigger which set the avalanche in motion. What are your views on that, Dr McGill?’

  ‘That’s utter nonsense, sir,’ said McGill baldly. ‘The idea that sound can trigger an avalanche is a myth, an old wives’ tale. In the United States supersonic aircraft studies have been made. Even the high overpressure of two pounds a square foot caused by a military aircraft like the Hustler has had no detectable effect.’ He paused. ‘But that’s in normal use. In Montana experiments were made by F-106 aircraft making aimed dives and pulling out at supersonic speeds. Those did cause avalanche release. But the plane I heard flying over Hukahoronui could not in any way have triggered that avalanche.’

  Harrison smiled. ‘The pilot of that aircraft will be very glad to hear that. I believe it has been on his conscience.’

  ‘It needn’t be,’ said McGill. ‘That snow was ready to come down, and it came down without his assistance.’

  ‘Thank you, Dr McGill. It appears that the pilot and observer of that aircraft were the only people to see the avalanche as it began to fall. From the depositions I have read it appears that the observer has more to offer in evidence. You are excused, Dr McGill. Please call Flying Officer Hatry.’

  Hatry took his seat. He was a fresh-faced young man of about twenty, wearing the uniform of the RNZAF. Reed asked, ‘Your name?’

  ‘Charles Howard Hatry.’

  ‘Your occupation?’

  ‘Flying Officer, Royal New Zealand Air Force.’

  Harrison said, ‘How was it that you came to be flying over Hukahoronui at that time?’

  ‘Orders, sir.’

  ‘And what were your exact orders?’

  ‘To fly to Hukahoronui, and to land if possible. To find out the situation and radio back. I believe the orders originated with Civil Defence. That’s what I was told, anyway.’

  ‘Just so. Carry on.’

  ‘Flight-Lieutenant Storey was the pilot and I was the observer. We flew to Hukahoronui from Harewood Airport, here in Christchurch. When we got there we found that landing was out of the question. There was a thick layer of cloud or mist on the valley floor. It would have been pretty dangerous going into that. We radioed this information back to Christchurch and were told to fly around for a while in case the mist lifted.’

  ‘What were weather conditions like – other than the low mist?’

  ‘Very good, sir. The sky was clear and the sun very strong. The clarity of the air was exceptional. Very good for photography. I remember saying to Lieutenant Storey that I thought it would be cold outside. It was that sort of day – crisp and cold.’

  ‘You mentioned photography. Were you instructed to take photographs?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I took two complete spools of the area around the valley – seventy-two exposures in all. These included photographs of the misted area just in case it meant anything. I couldn’t understand the mist, sir, because everything else was so clear.’

  Harrison shook out some glossy black-and-whites from an envelope. ‘And these are the photographs you took?’ He began to hold them up one at a time.

  Hatry leaned forward. ‘Yes, sir, those are the official photographs.’

  ‘I see you took a picture of the snow which blocked the Gap.’

  ‘Yes – we flew low to take that one.’

  ‘You say these are the official photographs. Are we to understand that there are some unofficial photographs?’

  Hatry shifted in his seat. ‘I’m keen on cine-photography and I just happened to have my camera along. It isn’t up to much – just eight millimetre. Conditions were so good and the mountains looked so beautiful that I decided to shoot off a reel.’

  ‘And while you were shooting this film the avalanche began and you managed to film it?’

  ‘Some of it, sir.’ Hatry paused. ‘It’s not a very good film, I’m afraid.’

  ‘But when you had it developed you realized its importance and you offered it to this Commission as evidence. Is that it?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Well, then, I think the film will be the best evidence available. Please have the screen set up, Mr Reed.’

  The hall buzzed with voices as the ushers set up the screen and projector. Curtains were drawn over the windows. In the semi-darkness Harrison said, ‘You may begin at any time.’

  There was a click and a whirr, and the screen lit up with a series of rapidly flashing letters against a blurred white background. Suddenly a recognizable scene appeared – white mountains and a blue sky. It disappeared to be replaced by a shot of the ground. ‘That’s the valley,’ said Hatry. ‘You can see the mist.’ He stopped as though conscious of committing lèsemajesté. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

  ‘That’s all right, Mr Hatry. Make whatever comments you please.’

  ‘There’s not much during the first half,’ said Hatry. ‘Just mountains. Some good views towards Mount Cook.’

  The film ran on. It could have been any amateur travelogue – hand held and unsteady. But the tension in the hall grew as the seconds went by and scene followed scene.

  Presently Hatry said, ‘I think it’s coming along about now. I asked Lieutenant Storey to fly north along the Hukahoronui valley.’

  ‘How high were you flying?’ asked Rolandson.

  ‘A little over two thousand feet above the valley floor.’

  ‘So that the west slope of the valley actually stretched above you.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Afterwards I found the slope was six thousand feet from crest to valley. Here it is now.’

  It was an upward shot showing a little blue sky at the top of the screen, then there were a few scattered rocks jutting up, and then the snow so white as to make the eyes ache which filled the rest of the screen. As an artistic composition it was terrible, but that did not matter.

  The scene suddenly jogged and blurred, and then steadied again. ‘That’s it,’ said Hatry. ‘That’s when it started.’

  A faint plume of grey had appeared, a shadow cast by rising snow, which grew larger as it moved down the slope. It disappeared sideways as though the camera had panned away. The next shot was of distant mountains and sky, very wobbly. ‘We had trouble in positioning the aircraft,’ said Harry apologetically. ‘I suppose we were excited.’

  There came another shot of a boiling cloud of whiteness shadowed by grey which plunged down the mountainside, growing in extent continually. Ballard licked dry lips. He had once seen a big oil fire, and watching this growing cloud advancing down the slope reminded him of the billowing clouds of black smoke from that fire, but seen, as it were, on negative film.

  Again the scene jerked off the screen and there came a dizzying view of the ground whirling in a spiral. ‘I asked Lieutenant Storey to bank,’ said Hatry, ‘so I could get a good view into the valley. He did it a bit too quickly.’

  The camera steadied and it could be seen that the whole of the upper slope was in motion and the line of advance was incredibly fast, even when seen from a distance. Blurred and unsteady though the film was, the sight was impressive.

  Suddenly there was a complete change of scene. The moving front of the avalanche was now much farther down the mountain, almost near the bottom, and approaching the bank of mist which covered the valley floor. Hatry said, ‘We were flying out of distance. We had to make a quick circuit and come back.’

  Something surprising was happening to the mist. Long before the approaching front of snow was near it,
the mist was driven back as though an invisible jet was playing on it. It cleared magically and buildings could be seen briefly. Then the snow swept over everything.

  The screen flashed blindingly white and there was a flapping sound as the tail of the film was slapped around by the reel of the projector. ‘That’s when the film ran out,’ said Hatry.

  ‘Will someone draw the curtains?’ said Harrison. The curtains were drawn open and he waited until the hum of conversation ceased. ‘So you took the film. What did you do next?’

  ‘We radioed back, telling what we’d seen.’

  ‘And what was the result of that?’

  ‘They asked us if we could land. I checked with Lieutenant Storey and he said not. There was still some mist about, but that wasn’t it. You see, he didn’t know where to land after the snow had gone over everything. We were then ordered to return to Christchurch.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Hatry. You may step down.’ Harrison looked towards McGill. ‘Have you any comments on what you have just seen, Dr McGill? You may answer from where you are sitting.’

  ‘It was most interesting from a professional point of view. If we know the number of frames per second of that film we can measure the speed of the avalanche very accurately and in detail. One of the most interesting features is that it showed something which we have always suspected and, in a sense, knew, but could not prove. Because of the mist we could see that there was an air blast in advance of the moving mass of snow. At a very rough estimate I would put that air blast as moving at something over two hundred miles an hour. Apart from the actual snow impact, such a blast could cause considerable damage. I think the film should be preserved and, indeed, duplicated. I wouldn’t mind having a copy of it myself for study.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Harrison looked at the clock. ‘The time has come for our adjournment. We meet here again at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’

  His gavel tapped on the rostrum.

  TWENTY-THREE