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Avalanche buries and kills snowmobiler, traps another, Washington officials say

Avalanche buries and kills snowmobiler, traps another, Washington officials say

Yahoo02-03-2025
An avalanche triggered by snowmobilers swept away two people, killing one, Washington officials reported.
The avalanche took place at Harts Pass on Friday, Feb. 28, the Northwest Avalanche Center said in a preliminary report.
Two snowmobilers were caught in the slab avalanche, which buried and killed one of them, the center said.
The other snowmobiler was partly buried and injured, the center said.
An investigation with local avalanche professionals continues.
Harts Pass is about a 270-mile drive northeast from Seattle.
Avalanches happen quickly and catch people by surprise. They can move between 60 and 80 mph and typically happen on slopes of 30-45 degrees, according to experts.
Skiers, snowmobilers and hikers can set off an avalanche when a layer of snow collapses and starts to slide down the slope.
In the U.S., avalanches are most common from December to April, but they can happen at any time if the conditions are right, National Geographic reported.
At least 15 people in the U.S. have died in avalanches this season as of March 2, according to the Colorado Avalanche Information Center.
People heading into snow should always check the local avalanche forecast at Avalanche.org, officials with the U.S. Department of Agriculture said, and have an avalanche beacon, probe and shovel ready.
'Emergency services are usually too far away from the scene of an avalanche, and time is important,' Simon Trautman, a national avalanche specialist, said. 'A person trapped under the snow may not have more than 20 or 30 minutes. So, in a backcountry scenario, you are your own rescue party.'
If an avalanche breaks out, it's best to move diagonal to the avalanche to an edge, Trautman said.
'Try to orient your feet downhill so that your lower body, not your head, takes most of the impact,' officials said. 'You may also get into a tight ball as another way to protect your head.'
Snowmobiler trapped with child calls for help with a dying phone, MT rescuers say
Snowmobiler plunges into deep canyon and triggers avalanche, Washington rescuers say
Avalanche buries and kills backcountry snowboarder, Colorado officials say
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Wildfire raging near Grand Canyon grows into a 'megafire'
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Wildfire raging near Grand Canyon grows into a 'megafire'

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Hurricane Katrina's wounds reopened in 'Race Against Time'
Hurricane Katrina's wounds reopened in 'Race Against Time'

American Press

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  • American Press

Hurricane Katrina's wounds reopened in 'Race Against Time'

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20 years after Katrina, New Orleanians are redefining 'home'
20 years after Katrina, New Orleanians are redefining 'home'

National Geographic

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20 years after Katrina, New Orleanians are redefining 'home'

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Lithuania's timeless city Residents neglected by their own city As Katrina loomed off the Gulf Coast, Alexander made plans to evacuate temporarily to Baton Rouge. But when he realized he didn't have enough gas, he rerouted to the Superdome—a shelter of last resort—navigating three feet of floodwater along the way. Alexander's truck was the only reason he was able to evacuate his home in time. Photograph by Shelton Shakespear Alexander 'I was grabbing a crucifix, praying, 'Lord, please let me get through it,'' he says. Along the way, he picked up 19 people who were also looking for shelter. What he found at the Superdome was not relief, but neglect. 'The National Guard was there, but nobody really was in charge,' says Alexander. 'There were so many breakdowns of communication—it was chaos.' (Read a detailed timeline of how the storm developed.) Alexander brought with him a video camera—something he often used to capture his poems, stories, and thoughts. 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Recovery money flowed into New Orleans, but much of it bypassed the people who needed it most. Road Home, a federal relief program run by the Louisiana Recovery Authority, cheated people in poor neighborhoods while giving more to those in wealthy areas. 'It was November 2005 when I came back to the city,' Boutte, who went to Florida shortly after the storm hit to stay with a friend, says. 'I didn't get help from the state or the federal government. I became aggressive in my pursuit, because I realized, if you don't take care of yourself, nobody else will.' Boutte's roots can be traced back to the 1800s in Tremé, one of the oldest Black neighborhoods in the United States. 'My parents built our family home in 1960, just before Hurricane Betsy,' she says. 'That house is still there. My niece lives in it now—we sold it to her mother. My grandmother was born two doors away in 1903. Her siblings, too.' Tremé resident and hairdresser Lynette Boutte survived the devastation of Hurricane Katrina through chest-deep waters and the scorching concrete of the Claiborne Bridge. She's now an advocate for the restoration of the culture and heritage of New Orleans Photograph by National Geographic (Top) (Left) and Photograph by National Geographic (Bottom) (Right) When Boutte, a hairdresser, was ready to open her own beauty salon in 1995, she searched for a place close to her roots. She found a building just around the corner from her family's place that had once been a ballroom turned grocery store, then a beauty salon in the 1950s. In the back, a small residence—added in the 1920s after the neighborhood's first major flood—became her home. Before Katrina, Boutte remembers a neighborhood full of community spirit. Walking from her mother's house, it was customary to stop and greet neighbors along the way, something she says has since faded. She also notes that the neighborhood no longer hosts community events. In the aftermath of the hurricane, Boutte feels that city leaders prioritized tourism over the needs of residents. Instead of rebuilding for the community, she believes they used the disaster as an opportunity to push gentrification and reshape New Orleans for outsiders, essentially eliminating the neighborhood's character. 'They've torn down these beautiful, old houses that lined Esplanade,' she says of a major neighborhood street. 'Now, everything is gawky—they lost all their historic value.' For Alexander, returning wasn't immediate. Not long after the storm hit, he headed west to California, where he found work alongside his father, a master carpenter. Many New Orleans residents quickly found that rebuilding was out of reach—contractors overcharged or abandoned jobs, local labor was sidelined, and those without resources or connections were priced out of their own recovery. 'Me and my dad came back from California to help," Alexander says. "But they didn't want local people doing the work. We were living in FEMA trailers, watching guys from out of state getting paid $35, $40 an hour just to sit in trucks. Locals like me—people who wanted to rebuild—could've used those jobs to invest in properties in our neighborhoods.' Abandoned cars and homes in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. Photograph by Michael S. Lewis/Nat Geo Image Collection People walking flooded New Orleans streets after Hurricane Katrina. Photograph by Michael S. Lewis/Nat Geo Image Collection Alexander watched the New Orleans he once knew and loved turn into a different place entirely. 'When I was growing up, neighborhoods like the Lower Ninth Ward and Seventh Ward were mostly African American,' says Alexander. 'They were in locations close to hospitals and what people needed. After Katrina, they tore down the projects and replaced them with mixed-income housing. Most of the people who lived there before weren't allowed back in.' Boutte also watched homes disappear—not because they were damaged beyond repair, but because the people who owned them couldn't afford to fight for them. Like her neighbors, she is still approached by people offering to buy out her property for a higher price. 'Like I told them, they can't get it from me,' she says. The city that pulls you back For years, it felt Alexander's mother, who passed away shortly after he returned from California, was still tethering him to New Orleans. But in 2019, he felt like he had accomplished all he came back to the city to do—from renovating the trailer his late mother bought to hosting open mic nights in the city. It was his mother's voice in his head that pushed him to make his move to Texas. 'As I was in reflection and prayer, I heard my mom say 'You did all you can do, so it's time to move on. You could always come back home, you know, but don't sit here and be mourning for me.'" Although Alexander left Louisiana for Texas, the city continues to leave its mark on him. 'I came for Good Friday this year,' he says. 'I was supposed to stay two weeks. I stayed six. That's the hold the city has on you.' The trauma of Katrina still echoes through the streets of New Orleans, but so does the strength of its people—through Second Line Sundays, in the smell of red beans on Mondays, in the generations of families still rooted in place. 'I think in the next year, we're going to see another influx of people that left that's going to be coming back after realizing there is no place like New Orleans,' Boutte says. Nearly 20 years later, New Orleans is still healing, and its people are still returning. 'My mom used to say New Orleans is a boomerang,' Boutte says. 'You come here, and trust me, you're coming back.' National Geographic's five-part documentary series, "Hurricane Katrina: Race Against Time," is streaming on Disney+ starting July 28.

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