When the Story is Still Raw
Tragedy has a way of drawing attention far beyond the place where it happened. And when the cameras arrive, journalism is forced to confront one of its hardest questions.
In the days following the Castle Peak avalanche, national media descended on Truckee, some of them knocking on doors, cold-calling businesses in search of anyone connected to the victims, and even stopping search and rescue volunteers as they headed out to do critical, dangerous work.
Yes, journalism plays a vital role in keeping the public informed, especially during moments of crisis. But when a community is grieving, the question becomes unavoidable: Where is the line between reporting the news and exploiting the pain around it?
It’s not an easy question to answer.
From the journalistic side, our responsibility is to help the public understand events that affect the community. When official channels fall silent or communication is limited, reporters must reach out to other sources to piece together what happened and report accurately.
The public deserves to know what happened with the avalanche, why it happened, and how similar tragedies might be prevented. Transparency rarely arrives on its own; journalism exists in part to insist on it. When authorities cite ongoing “investigations” or “potential litigation” as reasons they can’t comment, those realities do not erase the public’s need for information.
At the same time, tragedies like the avalanche near Perry’s Peak carry a crushing emotional toll. Journalists must remember that behind every headline are families, rescuers, and neighbors trying to process unimaginable loss. A community like ours is shaken to its core. The responsibility of journalism is not only to seek the truth, but to do so with care for the human beings living inside the story.
We saw this tension four years ago when young Truckee resident Kiely Rodni went missing one summer night. Speculation spread quickly across social media while television crews flooded the region as the community held its breath. After two long weeks, Kiely and her car were found at the bottom of Prosser Reservoir. When her family later hosted a celebration of life, Kiely’s mother asked that the media respect the privacy of attendees — many of them teenagers like Kiely. Moonshine Ink was invited. It was a quiet reminder that trust within a community matters.
To many here in Tahoe/Truckee, some of the recent national coverage felt intrusive — even predatory — as reporters chased every lead in the race to be first.
And yet some of those efforts revealed critical pieces of the Castle Peak avalanche story. The New York Times’ detailed account from two survivors deepened the public’s understanding of what happened that day. Without that persistence, those details might still be unknown. Was the aggressive reporting worth it? That is a question each of us must answer for ourselves.
History reminds us that grief and understanding unfold on different timelines. Survivors of the avalanche at Alpine Meadows in 1982 did not speak publicly for decades; some only felt ready when the documentary Buried revisited the tragedy nearly 40 years later. Even then, the pain was palpable — avalanche forecaster Jim Plehn, who worked at Alpine in 1982, can be seen in the 2021 film still carrying the weight of that day.
Some stories take years before those closest to them are ready to tell them.
In the case of the Castle Peak avalanche, speculation spread across the world almost immediately. Even while cautioned against conjecture, people continue to ask the same questions: “What happened? Why?” and share opinions and rumors.
It’s part of being human. It’s part of remembering those we lost. And it’s part of trying to learn from tragedy so that we can do better next time.
Truth be told, we may never fully answer every question.
After the Alpine Meadows avalanche, litigation followed. Three years later, a jury in Auburn heard sharply divided testimony from avalanche experts about whether the disaster could have been predicted — a reminder that courts also struggle to resolve the uncertainties of mountain hazards. In the end, the jury found for the defense.
There is another truth that we often overlook: it is humans who bring the drama. The mountains simply do what they have always done. Snow accumulates and releases. Wind scours ridges. Trees sway. Granite slowly erodes over millennia.
In a fraught democracy, we need all forms of journalism — national outlets and small independent papers alike. Each plays a role in the broader information ecosystem. The difference for local journalists, however, is that we live in the communities we cover. The people in the story are also our neighbors.
As we reflect on the tragedy of Feb. 17, we hold two truths at once: the need for clarity and the need for dignity for those who suffer. Our commitment is to pursue the facts while honoring the humanity of the people living through them — telling the full story without losing sight of the community at its heart. In the end, journalism should illuminate the truth, not deepen the wounds.
