The Snow Tiger / Night of Error

by Bagley, Desmond

  NINETEEN

  Eric Peterson was giving evidence.

  ‘It must have been somewhere between half past six and seven o’clock on the Sunday morning when my brother, John, came and woke me. With him were Mr Ballard and Dr McGill. They said there’d been an avalanche. At first I didn’t believe them. I’d heard nothing, and according to the scare story the town would be blotted out if they were right. But John said the Gap was blocked and that no one could get in or out.’

  He shrugged. ‘I still didn’t really believe it, but John was very convincing. Then he said that if the Gap could be blocked like that then perhaps Dr McGill was right about the danger to the town from the west slope. My brother got busy on the telephone and called an emergency council meeting. It was getting on towards eight o’clock by then and beginning to get light. We held the meeting in the Supermarket.’

  There was no cold glare from the overhead fluorescent tubes that Sunday morning. Two oil lamps gave a warmer glow which paled as the sky grew brighter. There was no sunlight yet; the sun had to rise high to clear the eastern slope of the valley and to burn off the mist which hung heavily.

  Eric Peterson stoked up the old-fashioned pot-bellied stove with billets of wood, and commented, ‘I’m glad we didn’t get rid of this relic.’ He jerked his thumb towards the back of the store. ‘Back there I have two thousand gallons of fuel oil that’s good for damn all. The central heating system needs two electric motors to drive it.’

  ‘What’s keeping Matt?’ asked Mrs Samson fretfully.

  ‘He’ll be along,’ said John Peterson. ‘You know Matt – slow but reliable.’

  Eric put the lid back on to the stove. Then there are the fridges and the cold room, all with no power. A good thing this didn’t happen in summer.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake!’ said John irritably. ‘Use your bloody brains for once. How in hell could it happen in summer?’

  Eric paused in surprise. ‘I was forgetting. What I meant was …’

  ‘To the devil with what you meant. If you can’t talk sense, shut up!’

  Tempers were becoming uncertain. McGill said calmly, ‘I think we ought to begin without waiting for Mr Houghton. We can fill him in later.’

  ‘No need,’ said Phil Warrick. ‘He’s here now.’

  Houghton walked up the aisle towards the group around the stove. ‘I know we agreed to meet this morning, but this is beyond a joke. Do you know the time?’

  John Peterson raised his hand. ‘There’s been an avalanche in the Gap, Matt. It’s blocked completely. There’s so much snow in there you can’t see the top.’

  ‘You mean we can’t get out?’

  ‘Not in cars,’ said McGill.

  Houghton looked about uncertainly, and John Peterson said, ‘Sit down, Matt. When there’s been one avalanche there can be another. I suggest we apologize to Dr McGill and listen to his suggestions.’

  ‘No apology needed – and here’s my first suggestion.’ McGill surveyed the small group. ‘There aren’t enough of us here. I want more men brought in; strong men who don’t scare easy. And women, too; but no shrinking violets – I want the bossy kind.’ Three people started to speak at once and he held up his hand. ‘Mrs Samson, will you act as secretary. Take down the names of those who are suggested.’

  Eric said, ‘There’s paper and pencil at the cash desk. I’ll get it.’

  Ten minutes later McGill said, ‘That ought to be enough. Mrs Samson, will you go out immediately, round up all those people and see they get here as soon as possible.’

  She got up. ‘They’ll be here.’

  Ballard gave her a note. ‘Give that to Joe Cameron. I think you’ll find him at the mine, not at his house.’

  Mrs Samson left. McGill looked outside at the thin light. ‘The first thing that should be done is to let outside know what’s happening here. As soon as it gets light enough I want men to climb out; two teams of two men each, for insurance. I’ll write letters for them – we don’t want the information garbled.’

  Ballard said, ‘You’ll need a secretary for that stuff. You can have Betty from the mine.’

  McGill nodded shortly. ‘If what comes down the hill is a powder avalanche – which it might be – then this store is going to go.’

  ‘You think it might?’ asked Eric.

  ‘I’m certain, now the trees are gone.’

  ‘For God’s sake!’ snapped Eric. ‘Every time I ask a question he blames me for cutting trees.’

  McGill hit the side of a display stand with the flat of his hand. It made a noise like a pistol shot and Warrick jumped visibly. ‘Now listen to me,’ said McGill in a harsh voice. ‘We’ll all get on better if there are no recriminations. I wasn’t blaming anybody; I was just stating the obvious.’

  Ballard chipped in, and pointed to the door. ‘There’ll be a lot of people coming in just now, and we’re going to tell them they’re facing disaster. They’d better not find out that the town council has had the information for nearly twenty-four hours and has been sitting on it. Got the picture, Eric?’

  John’s voice was cold. ‘I told you once, Eric: if you can’t talk sense then shut up.’ He nodded to McGill. ‘Go on.’

  ‘All right. Accept that this place is likely to go. I want all these shelves stripped and the food taken to a safe place.’ His eyes shifted and settled on Phil Warrick. ‘Could you organize that, Mr Warrick?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Warrick. ‘But where’s a safe place?’

  ‘Turi Buck’s house for a starter – I’ll let you know of others later. Begin with staples – leave the chocolate biscuits until last. And if you can find some empty drums you can drain off fuel oil from the tank that Eric mentioned. If we’re hit we’ll need heat as well as food.’

  ‘Right,’ said Warrick with decision. Ballard thought that Warrick was a good man as long as he had to take orders and not give them.

  ‘Don’t forget the stock-rooms at the back,’ said John Peterson.

  Houghton said, ‘That’s all right for the food, but what about the people? We can’t put the whole population in Turi Buck’s house. I think we all ought to go up the east slope.’

  ‘That’s out for a start,’ said McGill. He leaned forward. ‘I hope it doesn’t happen, Mr Houghton, but if a powder avalanche comes down the west slope it will cross the valley bottom and go clean across the river. I don’t know how far it will go up the east slope.’ Houghton looked sceptical, and McGill tapped him on the knee. ‘It will be moving very fast, Mr Houghton. Not only faster than you can run, but faster than you can drive a car.’

  ‘Is that your guess, McGill?’ asked Eric.

  ‘That’s my estimate. The snow in the avalanche at the Gap was a bit too dry for my liking. The drier it is the more likely it is to form a powder avalanche, and the drier it is the faster it moves. What’s more, the more the temperature drops the drier it will get.’ McGill nodded to the window. ‘The temperature is dropping very quickly.’

  Warrick said, ‘If the temperature is dropping what about the mist out there? You’d think it would freeze out of the air.’

  McGill frowned, then said, ‘Take it from me the temperature is falling. It’s dropped a degree and a half since I got up this morning.’

  ‘So where do the people go?’ reiterated Houghton.

  ‘We’ll know better when I look at the map we had yesterday.’ There was a movement at the entrance to the Super market, and McGill said to Warrick, ‘Go up there and keep those folk corralled for a while. We’ve got to talk to them all at once. Let me know when they’re all here.’

  ‘All right,’ said Warrick.

  ‘And don’t tell them a damn thing,’ said McGill. ‘We don’t want panic. Just say they’ll know everything in – ’ He cocked his head and looked past Houghton at John Peterson – ’fifteen minutes.’ John nodded.

  Warrick went away, and Eric said, ‘Of course, there’s a perfect place to put the people. What about the mine? It’s like a bloody big air raid shelter. It’
s right inside the mountain.’

  ‘Hey, that’s a thought!’ said Houghton.

  ‘I’m not sure it’s a good one.’ McGill dropped his chin into his hand. ‘The portal is right at the bottom of the slope and any avalanche is going to go right over it.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ said John Peterson. ‘That’s why they build snow galleries over roads. I’ve seen them in Switzerland. The snow goes straight over the top.’

  ‘And if, as you said, most of the snow will go right across the valley, then there’ll be no trouble in getting out when it’s over,’ said Houghton.

  ‘That’s when I was talking about a powder avalanche,’ said McGill. ‘But supposing the temperature starts to rise, then it won’t be a powder avalanche. It will be slower and wetter and a hell of a lot of snow will pile up at the bottom of the slope. And that blocks the mine portal. Wet snow sets like concrete after an avalanche.’

  ‘The mine has the equipment,’ said John Peterson. ‘If they can mine rock, they can mine snow – or ice. They could be out an hour after it’s over.’

  McGill stared at him. ‘I don’t think we’re on the same wave-length. Do you know how much snow there is on the west slope?’

  ‘I don’t suppose I do – not really.’

  ‘Well, I’ve done some figuring, and my estimate is a million tons – plus.’

  Eric burst out laughing, and Houghton said flatly, ‘Impossible!’

  ‘What’s so goddamn impossible about it? You’ve got nearly two thousand acres up there covered with over six feet of snow. Ten inches of new-fallen snow equals an inch of rain – but the rain runs off while the snow stays. But that snow up there has been compressed so I reckon you have the equivalent of about eight inches of water lying up there – maybe more. You don’t need a goddamn slide rule to work out the weight of that lot. And it’s been snowing like crazy for the last thirty-six hours, so I’m likely to be underestimating.’

  There was silence. McGill rubbed the side of his jaw with a rasping sound. ‘What do you think, Ian?’

  ‘As far as the mine goes, I’m more worried about the powder avalanche. From what I’ve seen of your mathematical description of a powder avalanche I’d say you are using fluid dynamics.’

  McGill nodded. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I thought so. Well, if you have a fluid flowing past the portal at the speeds you’ve been describing you’ll get some weird effects inside the mine. It’ll be like blowing across the top of a beer bottle, but more so.’

  ‘Suction,’ said McGill. ‘Goddamn it – it might pull all the air right out. I hadn’t thought of that one.’

  ‘I’ll talk to Cameron,’ said Ballard. ‘Perhaps we can build a baffle or gate of some kind.’

  ‘Let’s leave it at that,’ said McGill. ‘It’s something to think of if we run out of other places to go. Let’s move on to the next step. Suppose there is an avalanche and someone gets caught. What do we do about it?’

  ‘There won’t be much anyone can do,’ said Houghton. ‘Not from the way you’ve been talking. They’ll be dead.’

  ‘Not necessarily, and it’s a defeatist assumption no one must make. Freakish things happen during avalanches. Now, what we’ve got to get over to these people here is the necessity for speed in rescue once we’ve been hit. We have to tell them what to do.’

  ‘You have to tell them what to do,’ said John Peterson.

  ‘I accept that,’ said McGill grimly.

  Someone walked along the aisle from the entrance. Ballard turned his head and saw a uniformed policeman walking towards them. A sudden inspiration hit him and he smote McGill on the back. ‘Radio!’ he said. ‘Pye has a transmitter – he must have.’

  Arthur Pye stopped. ‘Morning, John. What’s the trouble? Ma Samson said you wanted to see me on the double.’

  Ballard cut in. ‘Arthur, you have a radio transmitter, don’t you?’

  Pye turned. ‘Yes, Mr Ballard, normally I do. But not right now. It’s been acting up a bit, so it went in for servicing on Friday. I’ll have it back tomorrow.’

  McGill groaned. ‘It’s a flaming conspiracy!’

  ‘What’s going on?’ demanded Pye.

  Matt Houghton opened his mouth to speak, but John Peterson put up his hand and explained the problem concisely. Pye regarded McGill with interest. ‘This true?’

  McGill nodded. ‘That’s how the power and phone lines were cut. Has anyone else got a transmitter? No radio hams?’

  ‘Not that I know of,’ said Pye. ‘Maybe one of the scouts. I’ll ask Bobby Fawcett.’ He turned to John Peterson. ‘What’s being done about this?’

  John indicated the growing crowd at the entrance. ‘We’re getting together some of the steadier people. I’ll tell them the score, and McGill will advise on what to do about it.’ He shrugged. ‘He’s the only one who knows.’

  ‘You’d better do it quickly,’ advised Pye. ‘They’re getting a bit restive.’

  John Peterson looked at McGill who nodded. ‘Right. Let’s get to it.’

  McGill said to Ballard, ‘Ring up Turi Buck and tell him to prepare to play host to a crowd of kids.’ He stood and joined Peterson and Pye. ‘We’ll be forming an avalanche committee but it’s not going to be a talking shop – not if I can help it.’

  ‘It won’t be,’ promised Pye.

  McGill nodded in appreciation. ‘You’re on it, Mr Pye; and we’d better have a doctor. Now let’s go and break the bad news.’

  Eric Peterson said, ‘So my brother told those people that Mrs Samson had brought in. They didn’t believe it at first – not until someone came in from the street and said he couldn’t get through the Gap. Even then they took a lot of convincing that the town was in danger.’ He shrugged. ‘It was just like that first council meeting, but on a bigger scale. Everybody wanted to argue the toss.’

  ‘What time was it then?’ asked Harrison.

  ‘Half past eight, going on nine.’

  ‘Then it would be light?’

  ‘Yes and no. In Huka there are mountains on both sides so we don’t get direct sunlight until fairly late in the morning. The sky was light enough but there was a thick mist.’

  Professor Rolandson held up a finger and Harrison nodded. ‘You have said that Dr McGill told you the temperature was falling. And that Mr Warrick queried that because of the mist. I must say I don’t understand it myself. I would have thought that, in those conditions, the mist would have frozen out as hoar frost. Was any explanation given for this?’

  ‘None that I heard.’

  ‘And was it still snowing at this time?’

  ‘No, sir, it had stopped. It didn’t snow for the rest of that day.’

  Rolandson leaned back, and Harrison said, ‘How was this situation finally resolved? I mean the convincing of the chosen group.’

  ‘It was Arthur Pye who did it. He listened to the arguments for a while, then jumped in and said it was time to cut the cackle. He was very forceful about it.’

  Harrison raised his head and addressed the hall. ‘It is a great pity that Constable Pye cannot be here to give evidence. As you may know, he was killed after the avalanche in a most valiant rescue attempt. Yesterday I was informed that Constable Pye and Mr William Quentin, the union representative at the mine, have been posthumously awarded the George Cross by Her Majesty.’

  There was a murmur of voices and sporadic clapping which grew quickly into a storm of applause. The Press gallery bubbled and boiled. Harrison let the applause run its course and then tapped on the rostrum. ‘Let us get on with the evidence.’

  The hall quietened, and Harrison said to Eric Peterson, ‘Can you tell us what Mr Ballard was doing at this time?’

  ‘He used the telephone, and then talked to Mr Cameron for a while.’

  ‘He did not participate in any of the arguments?’

  ‘Not then. He took Mr Cameron on one side and they talked together.’

  ‘You did not hear what they said?’

  ‘No, sir.’<
br />
  Harrison looked at Ballard. ‘In view of a certain decision that was made about this time, I would like to hear what was said in that conversation. You are excused, Mr Peterson. Will you step forward, Mr Ballard?’

  TWENTY

  Ballard was tense. In Hukahoronui he had made a decision, and now he was called upon to justify it. Because of that decision fifty-four people had died who might now be alive and the knowledge lay heavily upon him. He clasped his hands tightly to prevent his fingers trembling.

  Harrison said, ‘Can you give us the gist of the conversation you had with Mr Cameron at that time?’

  Ballard’s voice was steady. ‘We talked about Mr Eric Peterson’s proposal that the mine be used as a shelter. I had already talked with Dr McGill about what to expect of avalanches, and he said that powder avalanches were very fast – anything up to a maximum of two hundred and eighty miles an hour.’ He paused. ‘That’s the translational speed, of course.’

  ‘You mean the general speed of the advancing snow mass?’ asked Rolandson.

  ‘Yes. But inside the mass there would be a considerable turbulence, according to Dr McGill. There would be a swirling action resulting in momentary gusts of up to twice the translational speed.’

  Rolandson raised his eyebrows. ‘You mean there could be gusting at speeds in excess of five hundred miles an hour?’

  ‘So I was informed by Dr McGill.’

  ‘I see your problem. You were afraid of an organ pipe effect as the avalanche swept past the portal of the mine.’

  ‘Yes, sir. The suction would be tremendous.’

  ‘And what of the second type of avalanche?’

  ‘The wet snow avalanche would come down much more slowly – possibly at a speed of thirty to forty miles an hour. As a result of this relatively slow speed it would tend to pile up before the portal, and Dr McGill told me that snow of that nature sets hard into ice immediately. I was faced with the possibility of having several hundred thousand tons of ice of an unknown thickness between hundreds of people in the mine and the outside world. These were the problems discussed by myself and Mr Cameron.’