The Sierra Avalanche Disaster: Mothers, Adventurers, Sisters – A Tragic Loss That Shook the Mountains

A wall of snow the size of a football field roared down the slopes of Castle Peak on February 18, 2026, burying a group of experienced backcountry skiers in one of the most devastating avalanches in California’s recorded history. In the remote, storm-ravaged terrain north of Lake Tahoe, near Donner Pass, what began as a carefully planned three-day adventure ended in unimaginable tragedy. Fifteen people—11 clients and four professional guides from Blackbird Mountain Guides—set out for the Frog Lake huts, drawn by the promise of pristine powder and the thrill of untouched Sierra Nevada wilderness. Only six emerged alive. Eight bodies have been recovered, and one skier remains missing, presumed dead. This is not just a story of nature’s fury; it’s a heartbreaking chronicle of lives cut short—mothers who balanced demanding careers with family, sisters bonded by shared passions, lifelong friends who found joy in the mountains, and skilled adventurers who never imagined their next trip would be their last.

The avalanche struck around 11:30 a.m. on that fateful Tuesday, during the group’s return journey from the Frog Lake backcountry huts. Forecasters had warned of the season’s most intense winter storm dumping several feet of fresh, unstable snow atop already precarious layers. The group, fully equipped with avalanche safety gear—beacons, probes, shovels—was navigating treacherous terrain in blinding blizzard conditions when someone shouted, “Avalanche!” A massive slab released, sweeping them into chaos. Survivors described a deafening roar, the ground vanishing beneath their skis, and the suffocating darkness as snow entombed them. Rescue operations, hampered by relentless winds and whiteout visibility, stretched into the evening. Six survivors—four men and two women, ages 30 to 55—were located and evacuated by around 5:30 p.m., their ordeal a testament to endurance amid freezing temperatures and exhaustion.

This disaster marks California’s deadliest avalanche in modern times, surpassing previous tragedies in sheer loss of life. The victims, predominantly women, were not reckless thrill-seekers but seasoned skiers who cherished the backcountry as a place of renewal and connection. Many hailed from the Bay Area’s affluent communities—Marin County towns like Mill Valley, Kentfield, and Greenbrae—where outdoor pursuits blend seamlessly with professional lives in tech, education, and business. Others called the Truckee-Tahoe region home, or Boise, Idaho. They were mothers raising young children, wives nurturing marriages, and friends who had turned annual ski trips into cherished traditions. Their story underscores a painful truth: even the most prepared and passionate can fall victim to the mountains’ unpredictable power.

Among the identified victims are six women whose families, through a spokesperson, released a joint statement expressing devastation “beyond words.” Carrie Atkin, from the Truckee-Tahoe area, was remembered as a passionate skier deeply embedded in the local mountain community. Danielle Keatley and Kate Morse, both from Marin County, embodied the vibrant, community-oriented spirit of their neighborhoods—mothers who walked their children to school, volunteered at events, and inspired those around them with their energy. Kate Vitt, also from Marin (specifically Greenbrae), was described by neighbors as a devoted mom to two young children, always friendly and full of life, the kind of person who brightened every room she entered.

The most poignant thread weaves through Caroline Sekar and Liz Clabaugh, sisters whose bond extended far beyond blood. Caroline, 45, lived in San Francisco, where she worked in the tech sector and raised two children. Liz, 52, resided in Boise, Idaho, balancing family life with her own outdoor adventures. Their brother, McAlister Clabaugh, told reporters they were “the best people he ever knew”—moms, adventurers, and inseparable friends who often met up for ski trips with their tight-knit circle. The sisters represented the heart of the group: women who found strength in sisterhood, who laughed through powder days and supported each other through life’s challenges. Their loss leaves a void not just in their families but in a network of friends who had planned these escapes for years.

These women were experienced backcountry skiers, not novices. The trip, costing around $1,500 per person, was organized well in advance through Blackbird Mountain Guides, a respected Truckee-based outfit known for its expertise in avalanche terrain. The guides—three of whom perished—were certified by the American Mountain Guides Association (AMGA) and instructors with the American Institute for Avalanche Research and Education (AIARE). Founder Zeb Blais emphasized that field guides constantly communicated with senior staff about conditions and routing. “This was an enormous tragedy, and the saddest event our team has ever experienced,” he said, urging restraint from speculation as investigations continue.

The Frog Lake huts, owned by the Truckee Donner Land Trust, offered access to some of North Lake Tahoe’s finest backcountry terrain. The multi-hour trek from the trailhead involved crossing hazardous slopes, a reality of the sport that demands respect and preparation. The group arrived Sunday amid building storm warnings, spent two nights in the rustic cabins, and began their return Tuesday as the blizzard peaked. The avalanche’s scale—described as football-field-sized—highlights how even small triggers in deep, wind-loaded snow can unleash catastrophe.

Communities across Northern California reel from the impact. In Marin County, where several victims lived, school districts sent heartfelt emails to families. The Kentfield School District superintendent called one victim “a cherished part of our community,” while Mill Valley’s mayor confirmed local mothers among the deceased. Sugar Bowl Academy, a private ski-focused school near the incident site, issued a statement: “We are an incredibly close and connected community. This tragedy has affected each and every one of us.” Parents of students there mourned losses that ripple through classrooms, sports fields, and ski slopes. Tahoe Nordic Search and Rescue volunteers, including the spouse of one victim, joined recovery efforts, their work a poignant mix of duty and personal grief.

The broader backcountry community grapples with questions that may never have easy answers. Why did this happen despite expertise and equipment? Investigations by authorities will examine snowpack stability, route choices, and group dynamics, but Blais and others caution against premature conclusions. What remains undeniable is the human cost: children left without mothers, spouses without partners, friends without the women who organized gatherings and shared dreams of the next adventure.

In the days since, tributes have flooded social media and local news. Photos show smiling faces on sunlit slopes, arms around each other after successful runs, the joy of shared passion etched in every frame. Families describe them as “passionate, skilled skiers who cherished time together in the mountains.” One neighbor recalled Kate Vitt walking her kids to school, her vibrancy lighting up mornings. Another spoke of Caroline and Liz as pillars of strength in their families. These are not abstract statistics; they are women who lived fully, loved deeply, and pursued the outdoors with reverence.

As recovery operations continue amid ongoing storms—additional snow complicating access—the Sierra Nevada stands silent witness to a profound loss. The avalanche’s roar has faded, but the echoes linger in empty chairs at dinner tables, unsent texts, and trails that will never feel quite the same. This tragedy reminds us of nature’s indifference and life’s precious fragility. It honors the victims by urging greater respect for the backcountry—better education, rigorous preparation, and unwavering caution.

Yet amid sorrow, their spirit endures. These mothers, adventurers, and sisters taught those who loved them to embrace challenge, to seek beauty in the wild, and to hold tight to connections that matter. In their memory, the mountains call still—not with malice, but with the promise of renewal for those brave enough to return. The Sierra weeps, but it also remembers: lives lived boldly, bonds unbreakable, even in the face of avalanche’s merciless grip.