There are precious few experiences more magical or more mystical, than starting my morning at the top of the world, above the scattered wispy clouds, the cold air tickling at my nostrils and the sun brilliant against the rich blue sky straining to warm my face, before skiing back down to reality, 2,000 metres below.
But, let's rewind the tape a bit as we must first get to the top of the world, which requires rides up a series of massive cable cars sprinkled with a dose of unabashed anticipation, if not outright excitement.
The cable cars connecting the ancient storied Swiss village of St-Moritz to its majestic Piz Nair, the highest peak far above, are huge, each holding 120 skiers and snowboarders. I have heard of even larger ones that have two floors, yes, a double-decker, but have yet to see this with my own eyes. These literally whisk us upwards at high speeds, paralleling the slopes below, where we can easily see the early morning skiers shushing down on piste beneath us. Even when speaking English everybody here says 'on piste' and 'off piste,' a touch of franglais (or is it frenglish?) that we are accustomed to at home.
I have come to St-Moritz for a week of off piste skiing. All that is required are the technical skills for skiing far from the tame, groomed trails in the deeper, fresh, untracked powder; an experienced guide to keep us from skiing straight off a hidden cliff or into a field of rocks; and finally an individual radio beacon strapped to my torso and a backpack containing a fold-up shovel and an extensible rod for prodding through the packed snow in the unlikely -- yet possible -- event of a life-and-death search to locate an unfortunate fellow skier buried below thanks to a freak avalanche occurring right here right now. Our leader, an affable, tall, heavily accented Swiss Italian named Giacomo, has been guiding for six seasons here and has yet to ever rush to the aid of anybody caught in avalanche. One of his skills is knowing the areas to avoid where an avalanche is likely to occur, due to its orientation to the sun, the quality and quantity of snow that has recently fallen, the pitch of the slope, the changing temperatures and other factors.
Reaching the summit by cable cars is insufficient. The off piste slopes easily accessible from the cable car's arrival point are quickly skied on leaving the snow 'used up' by early risers. No, we late risers who have slept in until 7:30am and finally arriving at the summit by 9:30am, have to traverse in one direction or another, remaining high up on top of huge bowls and couloirs of snow below. Often, for 15 or 20 minutes of traversing of perhaps a kilometer, or, even more taxing at this elevation: climbing higher still in boots, skis slung over one shoulder, breathless, arriving, at the very top of a steep pitch with an even steeper and narrow entry point to the mountain of fresh powdery snow awaiting us below.
Depending on one's character, I can see it clearly in the concerned faces of my fellow skiers, the adrenaline rush we all feel is either painfully scary, or simply delightfully exhilarating! No need to be deposited here by helicopter, the climb was exhausting and worth it, the view from the top of the world, is, well, otherworldly.
Strange how the snowy peaks directly across the other side of the valley beckon, it feels as if I can stretch out my arm and scoop a handful of snow in my glove even though I know that gloveful of snow is 10 kms away. And so the dream starts with blue within blue skies above, faraway rugged mountains at the horizon that I caress with my mind's fingertips, rarified cold air that will sadly not luxuriously fill my lungs as at sea level. Most important the first turn that I will soon take over the small cornice, a drop of less than ten feet, into a mountain of snow below. That first turn beckons the second, and the rhythm is then set, for better or for worse for the next minute. I know that I will be breathless by then and my legs will stop responding to the music playing in my brain, that helps me keep the beat. No, I never ski with earphones, but yes, I do hear the lyrics of my favourite tunes, keeping my skis on beat or getting them back on beat when I fumble and miss a turn. When the pitch is not terrifying, nothing can stop me, my skis react instantly to every contour below my feet, I feel like a God, something like that life-size Popeye stand-up inflatable doll I had when very young, no matter how I punished it, it always landed on its feet. In these conditions I manage to impress my ski colleagues. At the top, however, when the pitch feels nearly vertical, I do my very best to ski, pretending as though the powdery expanse is not steep, as though I am still a God, and I freely admit it is very challenging, however I also relish in telling you that it is always exhilarating to ski down from so high up, in an expansive bowl of powder untracked by others, with the belief that the perfect run is always inside me... waiting to get out!
But I know you want to hear about St-Moritz, enough about skiing and its accompanying exhilaration, what about the town of St-Moritz? Is it true that it is here that the most valuable real estate in all of Switzerland is located? Yes, this is correct. It may also be true that St-Moritz is the first ski village in the world, where apparently the sport first came into existence. However the village is centuries older, with its narrow cobblestone pedestrian streets winding their way up through the heart of the central shopping area. Dotted with wine bars and famous chocolateries, more obvious are the most expensive branded stores in the world lining the sidewalks: Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Bottega Veneta, you get the idea. We know there is no upper limit to the price tags of jewellery and watches, however when I see $3,000 jerseys, $7,500 sweaters and $15,000 jackets, I understand. The bus driver that drove us back to Zurich at the end of my week told me that one day last year he was asked to go to the airport to collect the luggage for a client and transport them to the hotel. The client was the uncle of the king of Brunei and arrived, alone, in a 747, with 195 pieces of luggage in tow. Purchasing a $7,500 sweater for him is likely equivalent to my purchasing a $2 fridge magnet: neither of us is the poorer for the purchase. The few five-star hotels in and around St-Moritz have rooms that start at $2,000 per night. Breakfast not included. Royalty and the very wealthy have been coming to St-Moritz for centuries and thanks to them, the common folk (me?) can browse the most incredible fashion shops unparalleled anywhere else on the planet, try on an article of clothing that may be more expensive than a small car, and gaze at ourselves in the mirror. St-Moritz, like most Swiss villages, features a tall clock tower at the top of the town. No Swiss citizen can be excused for arriving late to an appointment as the clock towers are visible from all parts of town. On one weekend in January the world-famous horse races take place on the large frozen lake at the town's base, an event I am informed that must be added to my bucket list. Fortunately, I did witness (again) the Engadin ski marathon, a 42-km race that attracts over 40,000 Nordic skiers, which passes right through lower St-Moritz at kilometre 15. If you enjoy skate-skiing, it's a sight that will turn you green with jealousy for not having decided to participate. A ribbon of thousands of XC skiers, as far as you can see, dressed in all colours and patterns of skin-tight outfits, visible from far against the snowy white background, races by, the strain of their efforts clearly visible on each racer's face.
No strain on my face, for now my blissful week of action is behind me as I relax, finally, on my flight home.
Cheers!
Barry from Switzerland xx
Showing posts with label ski. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ski. Show all posts
Thursday, March 15, 2018
Sunday, March 27, 2016
Postcard from Les Arcs - postmarked 23 March 2016
Hi!
First we must back up in time as it takes a forty-five minute sequence of lifts, a poma, a chair and a gondola, before arriving even near to any of the summits.
From there, the hearty strap their skis to their backpacks and climb. Depending on the particular objective, the uphill walk may take from 15 to 45 minutes. Thanks to the 3,000 metre elevation, I struggle with the climb. Difficult enough in ski boots on the crusty, uneven snow on the edge of a mountain top where one slip can ruin your day, the rarified air intensifies the effort. Climb a little too fast and it begins to feel like you are breathing through a straw! But we do this because so very few skiers do and the otherwise inaccessible couloirs that I will soon ski down take my breath away. But I'm jumping ahead of myself.
I arrive at the summit -- only here can one gaze around in any direction of the 360 degree palette of options, and see forever! The immense blankets of snow spill away below me, the wind having sculpted them into arrays of textures further enhanced by the myriad of shadows realized by the sun's rays, that slowly fade downhill into the distance. Very far below, there is no longer any snow remaining and one can see across to a hamlet, a handful of centuries old homes, patiently awaiting the warmth that always comes with spring. I look up at the horizon, 20 or 30 km even 40 km away to see ranges of snow-covered mountains, some presumably perched above their own ski villages. The air is crisp and so transparent that it feels as though I can reach out and touch the other side. Not a cloud in sight, the sky is perfectly blue although broken now and then by the wispy contrails of jets passing so very high above in all directions whisking their passengers to and fro. I imagine that some of them are straining to see straight down to the very summit on which I stand. It is magical on this sun-drenched day for how can my eyes tire from this that is nature's splendour?
We approach the couloir with trepidation, its pitch is so steep that I cannot see the slope itself even whIle standing at its precipice with my ski tips over the edge. Almost scarier than the steepness is the narrowness, I must manage each turn immediately after the previous one -- there is no space to serpentine downhill as when skiing the vallons. One more concern: falling is not an option. I would slide down at least 250 metres and possibly crash into one of the rock walls on either side of the couloir. It is not terrifying, frankly, as I know I am capable of navigating the challenge, but I am apprehensive, which emotion I conclude will keep me safe. All my senses heighten as I enter and make my first turn. I not only feel the snow's reaction under the weight of my skis but I can hear the comforting sound it makes, I can see the powder kicking up behind me in my peripheral vision, I can almost taste it as I breathe in and out. I have no time to revel, I turn again and again as I advance down the (did I mention?) narrow, steep, scary couloir, stopping every 15 turns to catch my breath and look up at what I have just successfully accomplished. My confidence is boosted, and coupled with the gradually widening couloir, I continue with more finesse than before, and with more satisfaction, too! I cannot be sure that I am skiing better than ever (which I doubt) but I am certain that I am replete with contentment, with the joy of taking the chance to succeed as opposed to abstain, to marvel at the beauty with each pause as opposed to passing up the opportunity and descending an easier slope. Unlike other sports that require motors (like water-skiing) or opponents (like tennis), or even cycling (which requires a path to follow), skiing hors-piste avails the athlete to choose his own route, and speed, and style so long as the laws of gravity prevail. The fluidity or sense of flow that can be experienced is lacking in most other sports but ever-present for me here, now.
Just yesterday, a man was skiing a couloir (alone) at the neighbouring ski resort and fell. All we know is that he was found dead, below, an hour or two later. I suppose with all the millions of skiers that love the sport, and the many thousands that crave the hors-piste challenges, these horrific accidents are bound to happen. Of course I am safe and never alone when I ski. In fact we wear a location beeper if ever the unlikely avalanche occurs and our backpacks contain collapsible shovels, in case.
There are few areas in the world where one can ski down steep, untracked hors-piste slopes from a 3,200 metre elevation down to 1,200 metres, the last 300 metres through the woods, without seeing another human other than those in your own group. And for me, the frequent pauses to recover my breath give me pause to gaze around and remember that the possibilities are infinite!
Here's hoping you can pause, breathe and be grateful, from time to time, too.
Barry
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