David Lama’s Backyard

October 2018. As Hilaree and I walked into the Yak and Yeti in Kathmandu for a drink to celebrate our ski of the Lhotse couloir, we saw a guy in the lobby and smiled at each other. As I walked up to him, he greeted me with a friendly, boyish grin. David Lama was about to launch on his expedition to Lunag Ri, a climb he had attempted twice before with Conrad Anker, only this time he wanted to do it solo. We exchanged stories, laughed at the coincidence of meeting here, and vowed to find each other for some skiing the next winter. Our paths crossed a few times again, and it became more and more apparent that David was not only an amazing climber, but also a true skier at heart.

A few months later, I saw David again at a trade show in Munich, and we made plans to meet in Innsbruck right after. David wanted to meet at a fast food chain café near Innsbruck. His ferocious thirst for the alpine was equalized by a love for coffee and pastries. Even this meeting place created time for a human touch shared with this man who often appeared to be on a mission. David, in his infinite hurry, took time to appreciate important moments in life and be present. We followed his car up a mountain road to his favorite valley. David explained that this was the coldest place, held the best snow, and had some amazing ski lines. Without fanfare, we put our skins on and started on a long approach to our day's objective. David's pack was tiny.

He had told me earlier that to access the desired couloir, we'd have to climb a steep icy section that was "quite hard." I asked him how hard and whether we should bring an ascender. With a laugh, he said that was a good idea. So here we were, skinning up a valley to approach a climb over a difficult rock and ice crux, led by David Lama, and eventually accessing a 800-meters, super steep couloir above a 100-meters cliff. Sounded like a dream to me, and the snow was incredible. Some of us who spend our lives chasing a feeling and looking for demanding experiences, enjoy the challenge of seemingly high-risk endeavors. Perhaps it is because that risk makes our focus more precise, our tenacity more apparent, our stoke more alive.

Personally, I feel more connected with my surroundings, my family, my friends and the essence of life in these moments. Ironically, I'm also more connected to those I've lost in the mountains. I quickly felt attracted to David because he shared a similar passion for risk and reward. He was no fool. He was friendly, open-minded and had a calculated spirit. After we got far enough up the valley into David's amphitheater of stunning mountains, he pointed out several huge first ascents he had climbed. He was delicate about how special this place was to him and noted that the "difficult" part of our climb was looking "easy." He stashed one of his ice axes and soloed up with a ski pole in his other hand.

I only had one axe as I thought I would be using an ascender, so I made like Lama and just followed him, less gracefully. The ice was deteriorating, and our photographer Christian was calling for a rope. From David's pack came a space-age 5-mil rope and one of his state-of-the-art homemade pitons to make an anchor. He chuckled as he belayed the others up through spindrift. We then traversed up and horizontally across a ramp that led into the main couloir. The snow was stiff powder in a super steep couloir, which had been sloughed a bit from the spindrift off the rocky headwall above. David was in his happy place. When he started to ski, we were shocked at how he ripped. Most climbers at his level can survive on skis, but they don't excel.

David broke that mold. We shared smiles as we ripped down to the car after an epic day with 2,500 vertical meters. The next morning, while David had to have an office day, I texted him a photo of a steep ramp we had seen. He said he had never been there but we might have to do some climbing to access the line. We set off from Nordkette, skied the couloir and kept skinning further, ending three-quarters of a day later at a small hut that friends of his owned. We then finally skied down to the end of the snow line, walked a bit and hopped on a train back to town after traversing 21 kilometers of David's mountains.

The next day, David drove us to a popular ski touring spot, and we skinned up a track with many others before we broke free and casually scrambled up to a rocky ridge. Below was a couloir that led into another valley – David's plan for the day. Instead of a rappel, he suggested climbing down to get into the line. In a flash, as if he were walking on a trail, David expeditiously bumped down 50 meters to the snow. With his skis in one hand and poles in another, his movement was precise and inspiring. Christian thought the exposure was unnerving and suggested perhaps skiing down was a better method, but it was too rocky, and he made it like David with his skis on his pack but very carefully.

This time it was only three of us, and we had enough photos in the bag, so David planned to just flash his line. A few big turns in perfect steep powder, a slash through the choke of the couloir and he was off for what would prove to be the best run of our friendship. I can say now that following David in his mountains around his hometown was something akin to bliss. The way he moved, his skill and grace were unlike anyone else I have known. I had the time of my life skiing with David Lama†. He touched me with his charisma, his gentle approach, and his undying passion. I'm incredibly thankful to have spent time skiing with him, laughing with him as he crashed in a cloud of powder while we played cat and mouse.

We are all busy with our lives, but it is important to take time, enjoy a coffee or a beer with friends and family. Stay a bit longer. Climb one more line and ski more. I take those memories with me all the way. They will never die. David will live in my heart for as long as it beats and I can't wait to chase his spirit down the mountains around Innsbruck again.