REVELSTOKE, B.C. - In the seconds before a wall of snow swept over them, George Hall turned, wrapped his arms around his 13-year-old son as tightly as he could and hugged him.
The two tumbled together down the side of Boulder Mountain, tossed like ragdolls by the concrete force of the avalanche alongside whirling snowmobiles and dozens of other riders who, like them, were blindsided by the rushing wave.
Hall was knocked unconscious, coming to as rescuers frantically dug him free to see his son was still by his side.
"All I remember is running and hollering at my kid and I grabbed him and that's when the snow hit us and took us down the mountain," Hall said Sunday, the day after the deadly avalanche near Revelstoke, B.C.
His son, also named George, said he saw stars floating in front of his eyes as the raging snow tore their bags, gloves and helmets from their bodies.
Hall Sr., who came up from Montana for the annual Big Iron Shoot-Out, was left with a huge gash in the back of his head, while his son was banged and bruised but otherwise OK.
"There were a bunch of sleds on top of us, but somebody dug us out," he said, his voice unsteady.
"I owe somebody my life for it."
Hall's friend wasn't as lucky.
The man he identified only as Shay was slightly higher up the mountain when another sledder zipped around him, darting up the mountain and setting off the first cascade that grew larger and larger as it rushed toward the others below.
Hall said he was blue and cold by the time his fellow riders were able to dig him free from under the snow.
RCMP said at least one other man died, but they were increasingly optimistic after searching for abandoned vehicles and canvassing hotel rooms Sunday that all of the people known to have been up the mountain had been accounted for. The names of the deceased were not released.
Pierre Beaudoin, 48, had stopped along with about 100 other sledders to watch the daredevil riders cutting up and down the mountain in a practice known as high-marking.
He looked away briefly and suddenly heard screams all around him and the roar of engines coming to life.
He revved his machine and took off, but seconds later realized he was no longer in control, the crushing power of the snow propelling him along at breathtaking speeds before finally jolting him high into the air. He slammed into another snowmobile and continued through the air before he felt someone run over him.
Incredibly, Beaudoin emerged with only a bloody nose and quickly jumped into the pandemonium to try to help.
People were running everywhere, he said, one man screaming for his son, another for his brother.
Like many of the hardcore snowmobilers taking part in the event, Beaudoin was wearing an avalanche beacon, which emits an electronic signal. He switched his from send to receive, and set about trying to find anyone buried beneath the snow.
But again and again, his beacon led him to those who had escaped the slide unscathed but who, in their panic, hadn't turned their beacons off.
"For the first 10 minutes, it was chaos. It was panicking everywhere," he said.
Eventually, order was restored by a few experienced riders who run snowmobile tours in the area and mobilized the chaotic crowd for a proper rescue effort.
The slide had slammed down the middle of about 150 people, explained one witness, leaving a huge number of people able to help in the search.
They formed a line, and holding long slim poles that they jammed down into the snow, they walked down the mountain shoulder-to-shoulder, probing the devastation down to the left, in front, and to the right before stepping forward.
Beaudoin's friend, Steve Langevin, had left the group for a bathroom break just before the slide came down and returned to find the tragic scene. He joined in the rescue effort.
He said people were trying desperately to find anyone missing.
"People were screaming, 'I got something here, I got something here' and everybody's there and digging and digging and it's a piece of plastic or whatever, so much debris underneath the snow. That was hard."
Soon, they discovered the first body.
"I saw him at the Tim Hortons in the morning. And then I saw him in the parking lot again, and I was making a joke with (him) about the traffic," said Beaudoin, his voice shaking.
"I talked to him, and then I saw him blue."
A woman performed CPR on one of the deceased men for more than an hour as they waited for help to arrive, said witnesses. Other calls went out for medical help up and down the mountain as people were pulled out hurt.
Amid the chaos and fear, there were also some happy reunions, said Beaudoin.
One man's son had been pushed far down the hill by the force of the snow and knocked unconscious. He emerged about half and hour later to the indescribable joy of his frantic father.
Beaudoin, who came with Langevin from Calgary, said he's angry at the men who were high-marking, saying the tragedy was avoidable if they'd just been more careful.
"It's all the high-marking. They know, but they've got big machines - 'I'm the biggest guy in town,"' he said.
Hall said it was difficult facing his wife after insisting again and again that their young son was safe with him while they were both out on the snow.
But the experience won't dampen his enthusiasm for the sport.
"I have no regrets at all," he said. "When you're extreme riders it happens to all of us."