Desperately Cold
As the temperature hovered at 10 to 15 degrees, Andy's clothes stiffened and froze. Shivering in total darkness, he was losing hope. He began thinking, This is it！ I'm gonna die. With numb hands he found a scrap of paper and a pencil in one of his pockets and went to work scribbling a message： “To whomever finds me, my name is Andrew Jeffrey Zeller. I am 16 years old. …… To my parents Jeff and Eileen Zeller, I love you dearly. I'm very thankful to have had the two of you for parents. Tell my brother Jake I love him too. Love, Andy.”
That Thursday night, the ski patrol came up with nothing. Andy's parents were notified, and before daybreak on Friday they were driving with Jake, 12, to Silver Mountain. They had rounded up some of Andy's clothes with his scent on them, thinking this would help the search dogs. Jeff Zeller kept saying to his wife, “Andy's a sensible kid. He'll make it.” Eileen worked hard to push away her worst fears.
By 6 a.m. on Friday, a team of volunteers gathered at the mountain. Their best guess was that Andy had gone down a groomed run and fallen into a snow pit beneath the trees. He might be injured and unable to move, or just trapped.
Weather reports were calling for another storm. The Civil Air Patrol could fly a search pattern, but all helicopters were grounded. The only hope for finding Andy was by searchers on the ground.
Dean Jenicek, a 37-year-old volunteer ski patroller and lifelong outdoorsman, knew the area well. Starting at the summit of Kellogg Peak where Andy was last seen, Dean circled around the top, along with a dog handler and two Labrador retrievers. They wove through groves of trees, paying attention to the tree wells. Then, down off the summit, the dogs began snuffling the snow, excited.
The group paused as the dogs searched. But when nothing turned up, they moved on. Over the next few hours Dean and the team cleared their area, and by 10：30 a.m. they were back at headquarters with nothing to show. Other teams were still out on the mountain. But Dean couldn't forget the snuffling of the dogs. Another search, this time across the out-of-bounds terrain parallel to the southern boundary, was the only thing that would ease his mind. While the dogs were resting, Dean went back out with Gary Yergler, another volunteer.
The men spent most of the afternoon climbing, clawing and working their way across the thick snow. Then, midway across the southern side of the mountain, they came across a deep path. Was it human or animal？ Finally, the men saw something that made their hearts beat a bit faster： A ski-boot print headed straight downhill.
That Friday morning at first light, Andy shook several inches of snow off his makeshift bed. He was hungry and thirsty, and still desperately cold. He knew he couldn't eat or drink the snow, or he would lower his body temperature, perhaps dangerously —— the Scouts had taught him that. His best strategy right now, he decided, was to get himself out of this creek bottom and into the open, and make himself visible to anyone who might be searching.
He remembered a clearing on the slope above. What if I climb up there？ Stepping out from under the trees, he sank up to his neck in the snow. Using a ski pole, he cut stair steps up the slope through the drifts. It was laborious work. Hours passed. And all along he kept fighting off panicky thoughts： Is this right？ Am I burning energy I might need later？ Will my sweat freeze and kill me when I stop？
As the temperature hovered at 10 to 15 degrees, Andy's clothes stiffened and froze. Shivering in total darkness, he was losing hope. He began thinking, This is it！ I'm gonna die. With numb hands he found a scrap of paper and a pencil in one of his pockets and went to work scribbling a message： “To whomever finds me, my name is Andrew Jeffrey Zeller. I am 16 years old. …… To my parents Jeff and Eileen Zeller, I love you dearly. I'm very thankful to have had the two of you for parents. Tell my brother Jake I love him too. Love, Andy.”
That Thursday night, the ski patrol came up with nothing. Andy's parents were notified, and before daybreak on Friday they were driving with Jake, 12, to Silver Mountain. They had rounded up some of Andy's clothes with his scent on them, thinking this would help the search dogs. Jeff Zeller kept saying to his wife, “Andy's a sensible kid. He'll make it.” Eileen worked hard to push away her worst fears.
By 6 a.m. on Friday, a team of volunteers gathered at the mountain. Their best guess was that Andy had gone down a groomed run and fallen into a snow pit beneath the trees. He might be injured and unable to move, or just trapped.
Weather reports were calling for another storm. The Civil Air Patrol could fly a search pattern, but all helicopters were grounded. The only hope for finding Andy was by searchers on the ground.
Dean Jenicek, a 37-year-old volunteer ski patroller and lifelong outdoorsman, knew the area well. Starting at the summit of Kellogg Peak where Andy was last seen, Dean circled around the top, along with a dog handler and two Labrador retrievers. They wove through groves of trees, paying attention to the tree wells. Then, down off the summit, the dogs began snuffling the snow, excited.
The group paused as the dogs searched. But when nothing turned up, they moved on. Over the next few hours Dean and the team cleared their area, and by 10：30 a.m. they were back at headquarters with nothing to show. Other teams were still out on the mountain. But Dean couldn't forget the snuffling of the dogs. Another search, this time across the out-of-bounds terrain parallel to the southern boundary, was the only thing that would ease his mind. While the dogs were resting, Dean went back out with Gary Yergler, another volunteer.
The men spent most of the afternoon climbing, clawing and working their way across the thick snow. Then, midway across the southern side of the mountain, they came across a deep path. Was it human or animal？ Finally, the men saw something that made their hearts beat a bit faster： A ski-boot print headed straight downhill.
That Friday morning at first light, Andy shook several inches of snow off his makeshift bed. He was hungry and thirsty, and still desperately cold. He knew he couldn't eat or drink the snow, or he would lower his body temperature, perhaps dangerously —— the Scouts had taught him that. His best strategy right now, he decided, was to get himself out of this creek bottom and into the open, and make himself visible to anyone who might be searching.
He remembered a clearing on the slope above. What if I climb up there？ Stepping out from under the trees, he sank up to his neck in the snow. Using a ski pole, he cut stair steps up the slope through the drifts. It was laborious work. Hours passed. And all along he kept fighting off panicky thoughts： Is this right？ Am I burning energy I might need later？ Will my sweat freeze and kill me when I stop？