Nature has spoken.
Manfred Ried, Tirol planning expert

Mont Blanc Overview - From Left to right: Aiguille du Midi, Mont Blanc du Tacul, Mont Maudit, Mont Blanc. Photo by Pierre Tairraz

So what should we make of all this?

Outsiders tend to see hardcore skiers through green Mountain Dew lenses thinking us to be crazy and foolish daredevils, saying, “see, look there!” whenever there is another fatality.

The knee-slapper is that in a sense they are right. Skiing is a dangerous sport. There are dozens of ways to get injured or worse in the ski area alone, not to mention going off piste or into the backcountry. Danger often lurks and Carcharodon precarious has to always be considered.
We are all brothers and sisters in this soulful sport of ski and it is tragic whenever another one of us dies. It is, obviously, a question of management of risk and, while most of us reading this have gone through the trouble of learning and training for safety in wild snow, no one can be right 100% of the time.

Fortunately, most of us will lead long, safe, enjoyable, ski lives. But skiing is a dangerous activity. Take me for example: I got caught in a avalanche, going under twice (unbelievably and stupidly, not wearing a transceiver) and fell in a crevasse the same season.

Which brings us to the 60+ who died that horrible February whose only mistake was being in the wrong place at the wrong time—people asleep at home, on holiday, building a snowman, or driving the snowplow. Looking at the big picture, this is the real tragedy. Going on holiday, or doing your job, shouldn’t be a risk management decision.

The Alps—where the valleys are steep and the vertical drops large—face these types of catastrophic avalanches occasionally. Some say that the villages are located in illogical, dangerous places. Maybe. But remember these villages have been around for hundreds of years. Computer modeled avalanche barriers, as well as other systems, are in place above many of these villages, but as we have seen, they are not foolproof.

So what is the answer? I don’t have one, save staying at home.

Stabilization

Skiing is a way of life.
Otto Schniebs

I have been going round and round in my head thinking thoughts brought on by recent events.
But let me get back to the season—the Great White Euro-storm season of 99—and how it all finished off. Fortunately, Verbier, as well as the rest of the Alps, finished off splendidly. The snow settled quickly and became stable. After the February Yin and Yang Chung, March rocked like it had never before with lines being skied that had never felt p-tex and steel. By the third week in March, we saw normal, solid conditions but with the added advantage of a thick, Anna-Nicole’s bum-like, snowpack.

I skied with Captain Powder on the Grands Montets mid-April. The Captain in a way, is the reason for it all… We had a big summer trip to China scheduled—to ski 7546m Muztagh-Ata—and we needed to start getting prepared. So we headed to Russia’s Caucasus Mountains for the first warm-up, spending three weeks skiing this incredibly wild region. We spent acclimatization days climbing and tele-ing back and forth between Russia and Georgia, crossing borders like at the Portes du Soleil.

Later, days of getting storm-worked high on a rarely visited side of the mighty bulk of Elbrus, some of us holed-up in a Falkiner-designed snow cave, the rest trying to keep the seams of our tents from bursting and spitting us out like wasps from a broom-smacked hive. We got worked up high and worked down low; keeping pace with our Russian friends in vodka consumption being akin to staying with the Kenyans in a marathon—hang for a while then fall on your face.

I had never ridden the Aiguille du Midi téléphérique this late in the afternoon. The sky was cloudy and I wondered if we would be stopped by weather the next morning.

The Mont Blanc is a beautiful apple that I had wanted to pick for a long time, a Duchess to satiate the high mountain appetite. I had been thinking about it ever since my mate Nico described his epic tele descent he pulled off several years before in the month of March. He skied off the summit at 4807m and slid onto the road skirting Chamonix three hours later finishing at an elevation of 1100m, a descent of 3700 vertical meters (or around 12,100 vertical feet). And it seemed like this might be the right time to do a partial descent—if the weather held out. There weren’t many on the Midi at 4pm as we donned crampons and started down the now ropeless snow arête, the high wind mixed with snow keeping us bent over, moving slowly like dwarves heading down the diamond mine.

Twenty turns and a hard traverse right deposited us at the Refuge des Cosmiques where we proceeded to settle in. There were few groups staying at the refuge this night and at dinner, the friendly guardian was especially attentive to our culinary needs. Breaking bread and le dunking into the tasty soup, we talked plans, hoping the morning would not produce Dead Sea fruit. I had a hard time sleeping as is typical for me, my mind anticipating the morning. The eight of us left at 4am. We were a motley crew of skiers, telemarkers and one snowboarder—a good mix. Making turns at 4am behind the cone of my headlamp played with my senses but fun in the snow conditions we had.

On the summit of Mont Blanc with perfect weather. Left to right: John, Kasha, Hilaree, Bob, Hans Ueli, Victoria, Stephen. Photo by Christian Paul

With a three-quarter moon low in the sky, we traversed and skinned the approach to the North Face of the Mont Blanc du Tacul, the skinning easy in the winter snow at this altitude. A short section of cramponing to get past a difficult bit, some more skinning and we crested the top of the Tacul as the black sky merged into a deep blue. Contouring around the Tacul, a steep void to our right, Kasha had a lapse and slipped but immediately self-arrested with her Whippet ski pole, clinging onto the steep roll-off. It was a tense moment. We were above a 150m icefall where an uncontrolled fall meant certain death. As the deep blue sky slowly turned azure, we reached the base of the next peak to overcome, Mont Maudit. The Northeast Face was dished and steep near the top with large séracs framing the left and right sides of the face with the center perfect to set the skin track. First sun on the face about halfway up, I stopped and remember thinking, “whoa Bob, slow down, check it out, look-at-where- you-are.”

About to do birthday turns off the Mont Blanc. Kasha. - Photo by Bob Mazarei

Turning my head towards the sun, allowing the rays to kiss my cheeks, I basked in the moment and this spot. Skinning up this spectacular face with these friends that I have become so connected to over the years, friends from five countries, growing up so differently from one another yet joined, years later, by a singular passion is, for me, what it’s all about. Turns are icing on the cake. Sweet icing, to be sure.

The conditions couldn’t have been any richer up to this point. A crevasse blocked our way near the top so John took out his handy-dandy Wilson picket, reached over as far as he could and sunk it making a handhold for the delicate bridge across. Skis on the back and crampons on, we long stepped across, grabbed the picket, and climbed straight up and over the shoulder of Mont Maudit, the exposure breathtaking—especially without a rope. Excellent. Two down and Mont Blanc to go. We skied down the backside of Mont Maudit to the base of the final, long climb that would take us to the zenith of the Alps.

Mont Blanc, being the highest peak in the Alps, draws thousands of people every summer to the region to try and scale its sometimes benign-looking trade routes. But make no mistake, a multitude of dangers wait on even the easiest routes. The weather can turn with alarming swiftness, there are all the hazards of moving on its vast glaciers, the sheer bulk and Mont Blanc’s great height, all contribute to the fact that one-hundred mountaineers fail to return alive from its slopes every summer. More people have lost their lives on this great peak than any other in the world—estimated to be between 6000 to 8000 people or about 1.5 people for every meter of its height.

The skin, steep towards the end with difficult kick-turn sections, went for a long time before the angle eased. Then bam, just like that, we were on the summit of Mont Blanc (4807m), seven hours after

leaving the Cosmiques. There was, unbelievably, no wind. Like flies around a porch dog on a hot day, helicopters and planes buzzed us, sometimes getting close enough to swat. The view, from the hazy Lake Geneva basin to the sea of rugged, snowy peaks as far as we could see, was astounding. And it was Kasha’s birthday.After an hour on the top, we stepped into our various sliding tools, ready for the descent. Skiing directly off of the summit, we rolled off steeply...onto sketchy ice. After ten cautious parallel turns on my telemark skis, I hooked left onto the North Face proper. I let out a sigh of relief as the ice transitioned into—yes —powder.

Sweet Splendor, Bob off the big one... - Photo by Christian Paul

Nico, Stephen, and I left Verbier at 4:30pm. We reached Cabane Brunet about an hour later whereas Nico realized that he had forgotten his skins. This was understandable since the whole plan was hatched only hours before. Fortunately, the guardian—my wife’s cousin—had an extra pair that he loaned Nico, and with that we set off up the trail. The approach was leisurely, the trail nice and, as is the case on most trails in Switzerland, well marked by the ever-present little yellow signs telling you, altitude (usually), direction (with place names), and average walking time. Red and white rectangles mark the trails at intervals to help from straying off route. Most are repainted every year, all very Swiss-like.

We headed south towards the North Face of the Petit Combin then hooked eastwards to gain the Avoullions ridge that separates the Petit Combin approach with that of the Glacier de Corbassière. The Corbassière, with its great, arching rows of crevasses, leads up to the north and northwest aspects of the Grand Combin, which tops out at a lofty 4314m. The aesthetic horse saddle-shaped Grand stands proud, its great bulk completely separated from the surrounding mountains. The massif is like a holy-crap-oh-wow exclamation point finishing a hellacious mountainous paragraph that is the Pennine Alps. It’s easy to get sucked into gazing at the Grand as you are making turns in Verbier. I had been looking at this massif for years gauging various faces and approaches, its Medusa-like quality sometimes turning me to stone.

Although the Grand Combin is known as a great ski touring mountain the tales of how dangerous the Normal Route—called the Corridor—can be were on my mind. The Corridor is not technically difficult but is nevertheless exposed to frighteningly large ice-cliffs that can collapse at day or night. It didn’t matter how fast we could skin because we would still be exposed to a pancaking for more than an hour—a nerve-wrenching, gut-twisting amount of time that I didn’t want to deal with.

Cooking up tuna and pasta, our yellow home, standing out brightly on the white house plateau, lit up by our excitement and later the incredible full-moon light-show, it was no surprise that I didn’t sleep well (again). My water bottle leaking into my down bag didn’t help either. The warm, clear night was broken by sounds of sérac-falls and Corridor ghosts.

We were up and skinning by 8am (we think—not a watch among us) and in short time were donning crampons and working pied à plat up the NW Valsorey face, ice axe in hand. I knew that the face had been skied before but that it didn’t happen often, as it’s normally a huge ice face. The stories I had heard of the Valsorey were always climbing related tales of running belays and ice screws.
I was beginning to have doubts, however, as I started up the frozen crust. Heading up using French technique and later kicking two or three times per step to bust through the crust, I worked my way up. The climbing conditions were as pleasant as could be expected, axe shaft plunging in sometimes easy, other times requiring a forceful butter-churning technique. Three-quarters of the way up the 700m vertical face, focused and in a rhythm, I was really having my doubts on the possibilities of skiing down. I felt as if I was climbing up the side of a giant toilet bowl and it was difficult to picture myself later skiing this crazily tilted slope.

Looking straight across the fall-line I thought no way, this is too risky; it would be all too easy to lose it and get flushed down said toilet. Plus there were two large barres des séracs that traversed most of the bottom of the face making an out of control fall non-survivable in these firm conditions. The hardest part in situations like these is keeping the butterflies in check. Anxiousness is inevitable, but channeled the right way you can act within the uncertainty. Do cerebral-spin mind drifts come more frequently as you get older and, hopefully, wiser? It is different for everyone. I know when I was younger I tended to be blasé in these situations, never thinking too deeply into consequences. The nice part was that I didn’t feel too nervous, just enough to keep the mind-edge sharp and shimmering. We moved most of the way up the face then bailed off straight left onto the summit saddle.

Another view of the Valsorey, this one as it often looks--this was in April. Icy and wild. - Photo by Stephen Hadik

The Grand Combin really does look like a horse saddle from afar—the summit being the rear where you would hang your rawhide rope, and the top of the Valsorey face being the saddle horn. The three of us roped up, none voicing any opinion about what we climbed up, keeping the objective of the summit the immediate goal. The snow here was winter powder mostly, with a light, delicate, croissant-like crust, interspersed.

Skinning to the summit took a dreamlike 45 minutes. I remember being 16 and going to Mt Waterman for my first taste of skiing. I had only seen snow a couple of times by that age, but by the end of that day I knew that this sport (sport doesn’t even sound like the appropriate word; it is much more than that) would have a profound effect on my life. This path that I have been on for over a decade—skiing, mountaineering, traveling—is one that I am so thankful to have chosen. The ironic part is that although this path has given me everything, it can, with just a snap of the finger, cost me everything as well.

Yogi Berra once said, “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.”

This life that we live, playing in nature, traveling and exploring this world, learning and loving, is this road. Our pastimes are deeply embedded into our thoughts and for most of us, help dictate how we lead our lives. Nature and our place in it, is a gift. Besides family and friends, there is no greater gift—as long as we stay safe. All those feelings came rushing through me standing on the summit of the Grand Combin, with two of my best mates, the views extending, spiraling, into the celestion of peaks and possibilities.

We were guessing that it was 11:30am or so when we stepped back into our cables and pushed off into the soft snow, compass-arcing turns towards the Combin de Valsorey. Our plan was to try and ski the couloir that led to the top of the face proper. We sidestepped up for a few minutes until we reached the top, just where the saddle horn would be. And then we went for it. The three of us were anxious. Stephen went first followed by Nico, then me. I made about six turns on the steep beginning before the couloir. It was firm but grippable. We were then in the couloir that was six meters wide and steep enough to where, even after breaking at the waist downhill to stay balanced, you could touch the wall with a straight-arm at shoulder height. The exposure was maximum here, but in reality there would by no safety until the bottom. I was surprisingly calm at this point just slowly side-slipping in until the angle eased a bit. Then a pole plant way back by the heel and a light hop-turn landing in the fall line—the first few turns on the face helping to release fluttering butterflies. The face, we realized, was too steep and firm to try and do telemarks —with the launch pad sérac lines way below us, the wide-stance lateral stability of a solid parallel was the only turn to go for.

It took me a while to get totally on it as there was, on one hand, a lot going through my mind, but on the other hand, a tight focus that this firm face demanded. A quarter of the way down, my focus turned technical: how can I ski this more efficiently, more solidly? The answer, for me, was two-fold. First was that I had to weight the uphill ski, strongly loading it, with a singular purpose of mind. (It is almost like, you can’t ever get on the uphill ski too early or put too much weight on it). And the second was a firm and focused tail pressure on both skis through the turn.

A week later Jean-René, owner of le Look Montagne in Martigny, and a one-man almanac of Val de Bagnes climbing and skiing, told us that no, the NW Face doesn’t get skied often; that it is not usually in condition. I then plucked the Guide Olizane for Valais Central off his shelf where I found a two-line description—Face NW du Combin de Valsorey: 670m ‡ 49_ de moyenne; pente souvent en glace. Seule descent connue ‡ ce jour: Stefano de Benedetti, 9 juillet 1981.

Stephen Hadik with solid form down the Valsorey. Left photo by Bob Mazarei, right photo by Nicolas Jaques

Then a week or so later, Falkiner got an inspiration. He made a few calls to our mates in Zermatt and Italy to gather what information he could, packed quickly and headed out, dragging his chalet-mate, snowboarder Victoria, helicopter rescue pilot and mountain guide Hans-Ueli from St Moritz, and his partner, American North Face team ski mountaineer Hilaree Nelson, with him. In an epic all-night marathon skin, they boarded the Gornergrat cog railway at Zermatt, exited at the 3000m top station, made their way down to the Gornergletscher and proceeded to climb. With just a few hours rest at the Monte Rosahütte they set off again at 10pm, Victoria on a splitboard, Hans-Ueli and Hilaree on alpine touring skis, and John on his telemark gear. They reached the Margherita hut by 4am where they took a bit of a break then headed to the 4452m col Gnifetti in between the Signalkuppe and the Zumsteinspitze on the giant Monte Rosa massif at around 9:30am.

As John poked his head over the east side of the ridge, looking for the first time down the vertiginous Macugnaga Face of the Monte Rosa, he was looking at more than the technical aspects of the face, the stacked ice-cliffs below him, and the tiny rooftops impossibly far down below, he was looking into himself, into his 20-plus years of experience, of seeing-it-all in the Alps. And Victoria, the Alps greenhorn right there with him.

At ten kilometers wide and more than 2000 meters in height, the East Wall of the Monte Rosa—also known as the Macugnaga Face—is simply, as author Helmut Dumler writes in his wonderful book, The High Mountains Of The Alps, “the greatest sheer face in the Alps.”

The two guides, John and Hans-Ueli, put their heads together deciding the best plan of attack. Then skins peeled off, snowboard reassembled, and in Victoria’s case, ice axe in hand, they slid over the edge into Italy and firm conditions. Slowly down and heading skiers left, skiing down and across in a somewhat stair step pattern, over the mind-numbing ice-cliffs, Victoria going backside, Hilaree behind her, and Hans-Ueli running sweep, they made it to the Canalone Marinelli—the Marinelli Couloir.
First skied directissima (and solo) from the Silbersattel just north of the Dufourspitze, in October of 1969 by the monster-thighed Swiss steep-skiing pioneer, Sylvain Saudan, the Marinelli is the longest straight shot couloir in the Alps dropping some 6800 vertical feet.

The epic Macugnaga Face of the Monte Rosa, the "greatest sheer face in the Alps." The descent starts skiers right of the triangular peak (the Zumsteinspitze) just left of the center of the photo. Drop in, don't fall, stair step angling left until you reach the Marinelli Couloir. The Marinelli is the longest couloir in the Alps. - Photo by Willi Burkhardt (from The High Mountains Of The Alps)

The couloir is hella-dangerous as well. Helmut Dumler puts it very succinctly in The High Mountains Of The Alps saying, “…yet nothing can disguise the sobering fact that the ice avalanches still thunder down the couloir and that there are only very few places on the wall where one is safe from falling debris.”

But everything went well for our heroes and by noon they were strolling down Main Street Macunaga, John having made the first free-heel descent and Victoria, the first female snowboard one.

And as for me, well, my season ended on August 4th, a beautiful sunny day following three days of snowfall on 7546m Muztagh-Ata in Western China. The high winds had sculpted the endless summit flats into a wind-chop frozen ocean sastrugi with no sign of a Great White dorsal fin slicing. And then that plateau sastrugi turned, at the roll-off, into a solid two-star powder day at around 7300 meters.

Addendum

It has been over four and a half years since that tragic February took and shook so many lives.
A few weeks back I opened up the paper and saw the Evolène avalanche was back in the news.
The examining magistrate of the central Valais has accused two people of negligent homicide concerning the Evolène avalanche that fateful February.

A civil complaint was filed by two families of victims involved in the tragedy. An investigation into the incident in 1999 concluded that the avalanche was an unpredictable occurrence and that no one was at fault, they then considered the matter closed. The families involved didn’t agree and filed the complaint in May of 2000.

The president of the commune of Evolène, Pierre-Henri Pralong, and the person responsible for security of the commune, a well-known guide by the name of André Georges, are the two men accused. (Just a small side-note: André Georges is one of the most famous and respected mountain guides in Switzerland, perhaps second only to Erhard Lorétan in stature. He’s a legendary hardman that has climbed eight of the world’s 14, 8000-meter peaks.) At the request of the two families, the Cantonal Tribunal has ordered further investigation into the matter.

The families opinion is, in effect, that the fault lies in the zoning configuration—the chalets that were swept away were built in the blue zone. The other point being that there was no evacuation plan in place. If found guilty, the two men accused would be the first to be convicted for such a charge in the Canton Valais. A recent assessment report of Swiss and French experts—I presume, hired by the families—conclude that there should have been an evacuation plan in place.

The defendant’s lawyers argue that the report is one-sided and that the trajectory of the killer avalanche was totally unpredictable. They point to the fact that several of the chalets that were engulfed had been standing there for over 400 years. To André Georges the whole affair is simple: it was impossible to judge where the avalanche would strike and that there was no way to know it would run down as far as it did. Curious about the layout of the area, my wife and I drove out to Evolène—about a 50-minute drive from our place—the other day. As we stood looking over the foundation of one of the chalets, Fabienne turned to me and said she would never have guessed that an avalanche could get so far down the valley floor. But it did.

One French man lost everything that horrible day. His family was on holiday and had rented the chalet from friends (the same spot where my wife and I had stood). He lost his wife, his only child —a daughter—his son-in-law, and their small son. His wife, daughter, son-in-law, and grandson.

The trial should begin by the end of next year.

Links

The Haute Route is an exceptional experience that I encourage everyone to come try. It’s a week that you won’t soon forget. But if you have an inkling to try and tackle some of the more adventurous peaks and faces here in the Alps—and beyond—check out the links below.

Email: bobATverbier.ch (that would be me, Bob Mazarei)

Adventure Skiing On Tap

Check out the following websites:

www.johnfalkiner.com UIAGM Mountain Guide, John Falkiner
www.alpine-guiding.com UIAGM Mountain Guide, Stephen Hadik
www.swissguides.com UIAGM Mountain Guide, Hans Solmssen
www.dougcoombs.com UIAGM Mountain Guide, Doug Coombs
www.proguiding.com AMGA Ski Mountaineering Guide, Mike Hattrup

Additional Info

www.televerbier.com TeleVerbier S.A.—Ski Heaven
www.verbier.ch Verbier Tourist Office
www.thebunker.ch Verbier Backpackers Lodging
www.mammothmountain.com Mammoth Mt.—Ski Heaven

Special Thanks

Reto Niederhauser of Movement-The Swiss Freeride Ski Company, www.movementskis.com
Sandro Parisotto of Scarpa Footwear, www.scarpa.net
Christian Jaeggi of Black Diamond Equipment Europe, www.bdel.com
Andy Schimeck of Marmot-For Life, www.marmot.com

Final Note:

I would like to acknowledge my greatest inspiration. That of the three below—thank you for your guidance and friendship, your Spirits and sense of adventure. You three are the masters, and the reason why I came to Verbier.

Team Clambin

Mark Shapiro—Ace Kvale—John Falkiner

I love you guys.