AUSTRALIAN LANDSLIDE
Rescue at Thredbo Ski Resort
by Jeremy Zakis
| Jeremy Zakis is a journalism student in Adelaide, South Australia, and a volunteer freelance correspondent for Emergency Net News Services and 9-1-1 Magazine. |
| Illustration: (select thumbnail to view detail image) |
 Area of landslide. Vera Milosavich |
This article can be found on
page 52 of the Mar/Apr 1998
issue of 9-1-1 Magazine.
Every year hundreds and thousands of people make the trek to the Thredbo Ski Resort near Canberra, Australia, to take advantage of the pristine skiing conditions offered during winter. However, on the night of Wednesday, July 30th, the place of joy became a place of disaster, when Thredbo became the scene of one of the biggest operations in Australian rescue history.
It was 11:40 pm. Most people were asleep in their beds when a 100-ton torrent of earth cascaded down the 70 degree slope pushing the four-story Carinya lodge 100 meters downhill into the lower Bimbadeen staff quarters.
The sound, much like a fighter jet, snapped those in surrounding lodges wide awake. Outside they discovered a nightmarishly black void where two large buildings had once stood and instinctively started digging frantically, spurred on by spasmodic cries from the rubble.
The small rescue team at Thredbo comprising of three fire/rescue units responded within minutes to the report of a `small explosion' within the village. Upon arrival they realized they were up against something bigger than just a small explosion. Calling for assistance, the trained emergency workers then joined the hordes of people digging at the site.
Response
The frantic efforts continued until half-past midnight when police arrived, evacuating the area for fear that natural gas lines had been broken and another slide was imminent. For now the rescuers would have to endure an agonizing wait until the all clear was given to start digging again.
Emergency service personnel continued to arrive. By 2:30am, just two and three-quarters of an hour after the accident, 100 professional services were on scene and an enormous army of volunteers had arrived. Members of the Volunteer Rescue Association of New South Wales and the Red Cross made up a large contingent at the scene. But all services would remain stagnant until they could start digging.
At 8:15 am the next morning the man in charge of heading the rescue attempt, NSW Police Inspector Gary Smith, arrived on scene. The first thoughts on his mind was the safety of rescue crews and the preservation of life in what he described as "harsh conditions." The site was declared safe at 10:00am by geophysicists flown in from Sydney and light excavation of the top layers was possible.
Excavation
The excavation could only move slowly to clear the wreckage; heavier equipment would be needed if there was going to be any chance of finding anyone alive. A large KATO digger was called in to lift the heavier debris. Even combined with the efforts of rescuers working with chainsaws and in human chains, the going was slow. The sheer slope of the cliff, 70 degrees and the constantly cold sub-zero temperatures made working at the site a complex task. Working in 3-4 hour shifts during the day time and 1-hour shifts at night when the temperature fell well below freezing, the rescuers' endurance was put to the test.
Not a single sign of life could be found the entire first day. As darkness fell on the valley, emergency lighting equipment was set up, including a new product which had only been on the market for six months. Six helium-filled lights approximately 1.5 metres (16.5 ft) in diameter rose above the site creating an eerie canvass of soft light. In hindsight, a worker at the site believes that they were lucky no strong winds swept the area, as the lights may have gone skyward!
By midnight the next day, just past 24 hours after the disaster, only one body had been found. Another would be discovered in the early hours of Friday morning and, as the day progressed, another two would be discovered but would remain trapped in the rubble until rescuers could safely remove them.
The rescuers were being hampered by a large slab of concrete where they believed many people were trapped. Using chainsaws they cut the slab into 2 metre squares and removed them with heavy earthmoving equipment. The concrete slab was part of the carpark between the two lodges and there were at least five others like it, buried in the rubble.
Three more bodies were discovered in the wreck of the lower Bimbadeen ruins as night fell. The Helium balloons were raised and the night shift workers began the task of continuing this unceasing effort. Weather for the next few days was forecast as fine, with no change due until the next Wednesday.
Survivor
Saturday morning brought what searchers had been hoping for since the start of the operation: a survivor. At 5:37 am, digging ceased and sound equipment was lowered into a hole drilled into another of the concrete slabs at the site, a process which had been being repeated constantly for the past 48-hours. This time however, the procedure had an unexpected result: faint movement was detected under the slab.
Rescuers began tunneling further into the slab and stopped again five minutes later when they were near where they believed the sound emanated from. Rescue expert Steve Hirst, who had been conducting the sound tests, leaned down into an opening in the slab and called, "This is the New South Wales Fire Brigade. Can anyone hear me?" The reply: "I can hear you."
Morale at the site increased as new sense of urgency was created to pull the survivor from what had been an icy tomb for the past two days. Hirst asked about the survivors' injuries to which he got the answer, "None, but my feet are bloody cold!" Now that they had found a survivor in fairly good condition, it was up to the rescuers to get him out without causing trauma.
A small pipe was passed down through the gap to the survivor, identified as ski instructor Stuart Diver. Warm air was circulated through the pipe to increase his body temperature, which was dangerously low. He was suffering from lacerations and the advanced stages of Hypothermia. Another tube was passed down to him carrying re-hydration fluids from which he was only allowed two sips every 20-minutes, allowing him to re-hydrate slowly without going into shock. According to ambulance spokesman Dane Goodwin, his morale, with everything that had happened, was "fantastic."
Stuart was 2 metres (6.5 feet) below rescuers, through two slabs of concrete. It was not going to be a quick removal. Paramedic Paul Featherstone became the vital link to the outside world for Stuart as he remained near the opening communicating with him for the next 12 hours while workers meticulously dug at the concrete, moving it piece by piece to widen the gap.
It took another five hours for rescuers to reach Diver and physically be able to touch him. But it would be a long time before they could get to him. If the wait was unbearable at the scene, then the wait endured by his parents, who had been informed early on in the ordeal, was unimaginable. Meanwhile, on the rest of the slope, more bodies were being recovered and retrieved.
Rescue
At 5:37 pm, after being trapped for 65 hours, Stuart Diver was pulled free. A stretcher board had been taken to the hole and a team of 30 workers stood by to form a chain by which they would pass him out to a waiting ambulance. To the applause of everyone at the village and on the slopes he was carried to the ambulance and moved to the Thredbo Medical Center. After two hours he was stable enough to be flown to Sydney where he would undergo swift, but extensive recovery. Under the eye of the nation's media services, which were broadcasting live, the effort of the rescuers had paid off.
Unfortunately for the rescue crews, this would be the only survivor. The remainder of work was in body recovery. Although the situation was grim, the remaining rescuers still held the hope of recovering another survivor, a hope which was held until the last body was recovered on the following Thursday. For Australia, a rescue from a natural disaster of this magnitude had never been seen before. At any one time, nearly 1,600 people were working at the site in Thredbo. Weeks after the tragedy, a small army remained to continue ensuring the site was safe.
Communications
Usually, communications for the departments at a major scene are done via each agency's own radio; no mutual communication channels exist. Because of this, most communications during the Thredbo incident were done by mobile phone and by face-to-face talking.
Requests for additional resources are usually made over the requesting unit's radio to their respective dispatch center. This was originally the case with the Thredbo incident, although a separate channel had been made available to order additional equipment.
Once the mobile phones came into use, requests for specialists and civilian contractors were made by phone from the scene. The challenge of working in these trying conditions made radio procedures a formality they could do without, and the close proximity of the site rendered them unnecessary. It was also quicker to get in contact with specific members of each department by phone, rather than trying to raise them over the radio.
Lessons Learned
The main lesson learned by rescuers is that tragedy can happen anywhere, and one has to be flexible to the conditions presented. The government launched a full inquiry into why the landslide occurred and will no doubt pass legislation in an effort to prevent it occurring again, but at least if it does happen, the Australian rescue force knows it can handle it.
Police Inspector Smith, like the VRA, strongly emphasized that the different departments worked extremely well together. Cooperation throughout the ordeal was very good. Tactical operations had to be improvised when situations prevented themselves but Insp. Smith made it clear that the safety of rescuers was first priority and that they would not rush into any area without fully surveying it and knowing that it was safe from further landslides.
