SPARWOOD, B.C. - Jeff Adams barely survived being buried beneath waves of snow last December in a thundering series of avalanches that ripped him from his snowmobile and entombed eight of his closest friends.
A year later, what haunts him most is the questions he'll one day face from their children.
"The biggest thing is those kids ... will never know their dads except for from pictures and stories from friends," said the 30-year-old from his home in Sparwood, a tiny mining community about 25 kilometres west of the Alberta-British Columbia boundary.
"I dread the day that they start asking me about their dads because they know I was involved."
Adams's life has been rocky since the avalanche. He broke up with his fiancee and drifted apart from the other two survivors.
He knows Monday's anniversary will be tough.
"Some days it feels like yesterday," he said. "Some days you feel good and some days you don't, and every day lately it gets one day closer. Every day gets harder right now."
There was little inkling of the trouble that was brewing when 11 buddies headed out from Sparwood for an afternoon of snowmobiling last Dec. 28.
The Canadian Avalanche Centre had warned of a high slide risk, but the men believed they were as prepared as they could be. They were carrying shovels, probes, air packs and hand-held locator transmitters known as Pieps.
They were travelling in two groups when the first avalanche hit. Adams and Michael Stier, who, at 20, was the youngest in the group, were buried. Daniel Bjarnason, 28, dug out Adams, who was choking on snow as he struggled to the surface.
The others flipped their detection devices to "receive" in the rush to dig Stier out. Kurt Kabel, 28, pushed 911 on his transmitter to call for outside help.
Then came the second slide, a wave of snow five metres high, by Adams's estimation, that tossed their snowmobiles like toys and swallowed up all 11 men.
Adams and Jeremy Rusnak managed to free themselves before a third wave hit. They pulled Jordan Drake clear, but then decided they had to go, because it was too risky to stay and dig for the others. All their equipment was lost in the slides.
As they walked away, a fourth avalanche came tumbling down, further covering the men left behind. Eventually the three survivors were flown to safety by helicopter.
Bjarnason, Kabel and Stier died along with Stier's father, Leonard, 45. Also killed were Warren Rothel, 33, Jeremy's cousin Kane Rusnak, 30, Thomas Talarico, 32, and Blayne Wilson, 26.
Their bodies were spread out over an area the size of a football field. The deepest was beneath more than three metres of snow. The final snowmobile wasn't recovered until July. It still had to be dug out.
The accident hit the town of 4,000 hard. In the following days, there were tributes and a candlelight vigil. The town's high school sports teams wore black armbands whenever they competed.
There are still reminders of the men on the streets. Many pickup trucks parked around town have snowmobiles sitting in the back, and the trucks have decals --a cross intertwined with the number eight and a flowing ribbon inscribed with the men's names.
The main memorial is, at this time of year, buried deep under snow in a steep, rocky bowl known as Harvey Valley. It's near where the men's bodies were found. In August, when the snow had finally almost cleared away, the families gathered to place a granite tombstone-style rock.
"No person is ever truly alone," it reads, alongside smiling pictures of each of the eight men. "Those who live no more, whom we loved, echo still within our thoughts, our words, our hearts."
The families also placed small metal crosses where each of the bodies was found. The crosses are inscribed simply with their first names.
On Monday, Sparwood residents plan to again gather and light candles at the massive mining truck that sits at the entrance to the town.
Amy Morrow, who lived with Blayne Wilson, said the vigil's purpose is to thank the community for its unbelievable support rather than to give the families closure.
"We remember them every day of our lives," she said quietly. "It doesn't change because it's a year."
Outsiders have speculated that before the slides the men may have been cutting up the sides of the mountain in a dangerous practice known as high-marking. It's a charge the survivors have denied.
Sparwood Mayor David Wilks says those who criticize the men are speaking out of ignorance. They don't understand the risks and rewards that everyone living in the shadow of a mountain accepts from a very young age.
"You're amongst nature and sometimes things happen," said Wilks.
Many in the community live for the first snow and the chance to get their snowmobiles out onto the mountain, he explained.
"That's our best form of saying we're OK. We've moved on."
Adams was back on his snowmobile within a month of the accident and put on 700 kilometres last winter. This year he's only been out three times -- the first two rides were rough but the third offered glimmers of the fun he used to find in the sport.
"I've thought about it. If it was the other way around, I'd never want any one of them guys to quit doing what they love to do."
As for what happened that day, Adams said he sometimes believes he did the right thing, leaving when he did. Other days, he's wracked with guilt.
What he is sure of is that his friends died trying to save one of their own.
"They all lost their lives trying to save somebody. They put themselves in harm's way just trying to save a life.
"They're all heroes for trying."
