On Feb. 4 at 10:30 a.m., Michael Sweeney, 78, left for a day of skiing. … At 4:30 p.m., I got home from work and started getting ready for what was supposed to be a fun evening at a hockey game. Before heading out, I checked in with my mom and casually asked if Dad had made it home yet. His ca r wasn’t there, which was odd. He’s usually back before the resort closes. Earlier in the day, around 2:30 p.m., I had checked his location on the Find My app. It showed him in Mineral Basin at Snowbird. I had thought he was skiing Deer Valley, but clearly he had chosen Alta/Bird instead. At that point, my mom and I tried calling him. Straight to voicemail. I checked his location again, it still showed Mineral Basin, American Fork area, but it was no longer updating. By 5 p.m., anxiety started creeping in. Then I remembered I had his car linked on my Kia app. I checked it and saw his car was still parked at Alta Resort. That was the moment concern turned into action. I called my brother, who lives near Little Cottonwood Canyon, filled him in, and asked him to drive up to Alta to confirm whether the car was still there. Meanwhile, I started trying to reach someone — anyone — at the resort. Alta was already closed, and I had trouble getting through, so I tried Snowbird. Thankfully, they were able to connect us with Alta Patrol. By 5:30 p.m., my brother and Alta had located our dad’s car in the parking lot. He was nowhere to be found. My mom and I headed up the canyon. By 6 p.m., it was officially determined that he was missing, with a presumed last known location somewhere in Mineral Basin. Alta Patrol, Snowbird Patrol, and Salt Lake County Search and Rescue began mobilizing. By 6:30 p.m., my mom, brother and I were sitting quietly in my brother’s car parked next to my dad’s car, staring at it, and waiting for updates. At one point, someone asked, “Would your dad be hanging out at one of the bars here, or maybe at the spa?” Fair question: They have to check every box. But no. My dad skis nonstop laps for four hours, calls it a day, and would much rather have a Coke or a Dr Pepper than a beer. Unlike his kids, who very much enjoy a good après ski. By 7 p.m., patrol confirmed his ski pass had last scanned in Mineral Basin a little after 2 p.m. That meant he was likely still down there, condition unknown. At 7:30 p.m., Snowbird Patrol reported they had found fresh tracks and were following them. That was the first real sign of hope. The waiting was surreal. My mom, brother and I talked quietly about something we had discussed before: that this could be how my dad’s story ends. If he were to go, it would be doing something he loves, skiing. And with his rapidly progressing dementia, part of me wondered if that wouldn’t be the most merciful ending imaginable. But I couldn’t decide if I was ready for that ending yet. To distract ourselves, we turned on the return of “The Muppet Show.” Honestly, what better way to pass time during a search-and-rescue operation than watching Kermit, Miss Piggy and the gang? At 8 p.m., there was a knock on the window. We needed to move the car — a helicopter was coming in. “They have your father.” Relief hit, but cautiously. No details yet on his condition. Minutes crawled by. Then we heard the low thump of rotor blades and saw a bright light sweeping the lot. As the helicopter flew overhead, my only thought was: Please don’t crash now. The helicopter landed. After what felt like forever, the rotors shut down and we were waved over. There was my dad. Smiling. No worse for wear. (Though to be fair, there was still a chance he might not survive the night, as my mom was very close to strangling him through tears and hugs.) Four hours of absolute terror ended with a happy reunion. Dad’s recounting I went left when I should have stayed right. By the time I realized it, I was more than 2,000 vertical feet below the lift line, and there was no going back up. I followed a ski trail, really more of a mountain road, hoping it would lead me somewhere safe. When there was snow, I skied. When there wasn’t, I walked and carried my skis. I kept moving from about 3 until 8 p.m., when the helicopter finally picked me up. As the sun went down and the cold set in, I kept telling myself not to stop. I had dressed for spring skiing and didn’t have my warmest layers, which I really felt once night hit. I had no cell service. I kept trying to call family members, forgetting the one number you’re supposed to call in an emergency, 911. If I had tried, my iPhone would have triggered the SOS satellite text feature and probably helped speed things up. That’s something I’ll remember next time. A helicopter flew over me about an hour before I was rescued, but I was in the trees and not very visible. It was likely heading toward Mineral Basin to start the search. After that, I decided I’d keep my phone out with the light on. If they came back, I wanted to be seen. Eventually the road opened into a clearing, and when the helicopter flew over again, I waved them down. They landed right next to me. There wasn’t room for my skis on the helicopter. Oh well, I’ve got four more pairs at home. I was cold, sore and tired, but otherwise fine. I’ve already got my next pair of skis getting waxed and tuned. The mountain will be calling again this weekend. A hard truth This didn’t end badly, but it very easily could have. My dad is an experienced skier. He knows the terrain. He had good conditions. He wasn’t doing anything reckless. And still, one wrong turn, one moment out of sight, one decision to ski alone turned into a full-scale search-and-rescue operation involving multiple patrols, county search and rescue and a helicopter. For four hours, we didn’t know if he was alive. Skiing alone doesn’t just put you at risk. It puts your family through hell and pulls massive resources away from others who may also need help. So ski with a buddy. Actually, ski with them on the same runs, same plan, same exit. Check in. Stick together. Set boundaries before you drop in. Skill doesn’t make you immune. Experience doesn’t make you invincible. And mountains don’t care how good you think you are. We got lucky. Not everyone does. The mountain doesn’t care how good you are, only whether someone’s there to notice when you’re gone. With deepest gratitude, the Sweeney family would like to thank: Alta Ski Patrol Snowbird Ski Patrol, Salt Lake County Sheriff’s Office, Salt Lake County Search Rescue, the helicopter pilots who located and safely brought Michael home — and Tom at the Goldminer’s Daughter Lodge. Russell Sweeney is a Salt Lake City resident. He said Park City friends convinced him to submit his family’s cautionary tale to The Park Record. The post Why we should ski with a buddy appeared first on Park Record. ...read more read less