Avalanche Horror: How 6 Cheated Death

Six people lived through the deadliest U.S. avalanche in decades by doing one thing most outdoorsmen forget until it’s too late: they stopped trying to “power through” and started trying to last the night.

Story Snapshot

A guided 15-person backcountry ski tour near Castle Peak by Donner Summit was hit around 11:30 a.m. Tuesday during an extreme winter storm.
Nine people died (eight recovered, one still missing as of Wednesday evening) and six survived, making it the deadliest U.S. avalanche since 1981.
The region sat under a Level 4 avalanche danger rating, with snowfall reported at 3–4 inches per hour and unstable snowpack conditions.
Survivors endured roughly 11 hours before rescue by sheltering in place and using emergency gear in subfreezing temperatures and gale-force winds.

The Avalanche That Didn’t Give a Second Chance

Castle Peak sits in the Donner Summit area about 46 miles northwest of Lake Tahoe, an area famous for deep snow and unforgiving terrain. A group of 15 skiers—11 clients and four guides—set out Sunday for a three-day tour, spending nights in huts near Frog Lake. By Tuesday late morning, as they moved toward the trailhead, the slope released. A rescuer later described a warning shout—then the avalanche swallowed people quickly.

The facts land like a gut punch: seven women and two men, ages roughly 30 to 55, died; three of them were guides. Officials recovered eight bodies close together, while one skier remained missing as conditions forced a shift from rescue to recovery. In modern California history, avalanches kill—but rarely on this scale. For longtime skiers, the shock isn’t that avalanches happen. The shock is how a normal “last day out” turned into a national benchmark for tragedy.

Level 4 Danger, Relentless Weather, and a Decision Under the Microscope

The storm did not sneak in. Forecasters warned of a high hazard day: Level 4 on a five-point scale, with the blunt message that natural avalanches were likely and human-triggered slides large enough to bury people were very likely. Snow stacked up fast, with several feet reported since Sunday. That is the kind of loading that turns a mountain into a roulette wheel. Nevada County Sheriff Shannan Moon said investigators would examine the decision to proceed.

That inquiry matters, because guided trips carry an implied promise: not perfection, but judgment. American common sense says adults accept risk in the backcountry, yet it also says professionals must earn their fee by knowing when “no-go” is the only moral option. The early public record doesn’t prove wrongdoing; it does establish that the forecast called for relentless weather. That tension—between client expectations, business pressures, and conservative risk management—will define the next phase of this story.

Why the Six Survivors Didn’t Become Statistics

Avalanche survival is mostly a timer. Data summarized by the Utah Avalanche Center puts it starkly: dig someone out within 15 minutes and most live; after 45 minutes survival drops hard; after two hours, survival becomes rare. The six who lived were rescued about 11 hours after the slide, which strongly suggests they were not deeply buried, found pockets of air, or avoided full entombment. They then faced the second killer: exposure.

Reports indicate the survivors sheltered in place, used emergency equipment, and endured subfreezing temperatures while wind and snowfall kept pounding the mountain. That “wait it out” choice sounds passive, but in an avalanche aftermath it’s often the most disciplined move. Wandering risks triggering additional slides, losing the group, or burning calories you can’t replace. The survivors also located three of the deceased while they waited, a detail that underscores how close rescue and grief can sit together.

The Rescue: Snowcat, Skis, and a Calculated Crawl Into Hazard

Rescue crews brought numbers and coordination—about 50 responders across agencies—but nature still set the rules. Rescuers used a snowcat to close the distance, then skied the final stretch to avoid triggering more avalanche terrain. The operation balanced urgency with self-preservation, because a second slide would have multiplied the casualty list. That’s a hard truth older readers appreciate: bravery isn’t charging straight in; bravery is moving carefully when every instinct screams to sprint.

The storm also blocked closure. Even after recovery teams located victims, officials could not immediately remove bodies from the mountain due to dangerous conditions. Families waited while the mountain kept its grip. That delay isn’t bureaucracy; it’s physics. Sierra snowpack can stay unstable when heavy loading and wind create slabs on weak layers, and the Sierra Avalanche Center warned the threat of more avalanches remained high. The mountain doesn’t care that the news cycle wants an ending.

What This Avalanche Changes for Guided Backcountry Culture

This disaster will ripple through the guiding industry because it collides with something Americans value: personal freedom paired with personal responsibility. Backcountry skiing isn’t supposed to be risk-free; it is supposed to be honest. When a guided operation moves under severe warnings, clients will ask what thresholds trigger cancellation, what terrain gets avoided, and who holds veto power when conditions deteriorate. Insurance carriers and land managers will ask the same questions, just with lawyers.

The broader lesson for everyday skiers and snowmobilers looks less dramatic and more useful: the backcountry punishes “we’ve done this before” thinking. A fatal Castle Peak avalanche weeks earlier killed a 42-year-old snowmobiler traveling with experienced partners carrying beacons and other precautions. Gear helps, but it cannot vote against a bad day. Conservative, common-sense mountain travel treats forecasts like guardrails, not suggestions, and treats turnaround decisions as leadership, not weakness.

How six people survived California's deadliest avalanche https://t.co/5SlHj6tFzi

— The Washington Times (@WashTimes) February 18, 2026

The open loop in this story isn’t just the investigation; it’s the uncomfortable arithmetic of survival. Six people lived for hours in a blizzard after watching friends die, because they understood priorities: shelter, heat, group cohesion, and patience until help could arrive safely. That’s not luck alone. That’s competence under stress, and it deserves to be remembered alongside the grief—because the next time a storm loads the Sierra and someone hears “avalanche,” those instincts may decide who comes home.