Daydream or Nightmare?

I have these pictures racing through my mind almost every day. I get anxious; I start to focus; it haunts me like a curse. I am talking about big wall skiing. Usually my daughter wakes me up from these daydreams. She shakes me up, wants to play with me. I have promised myself that I will never ski on such walls again. In 2010, I had a near-death experience in the Grossglockner Pallavicini couloir. The steepness, the unknown, the danger – they are always on my mind. In these walls, you rarely see the sun. It's cold and icy. If you fall, you risk serious injury or even death. I prefer the warmth of the sun and fresh powder. But the thrill of the unknown persists. And just like that, I couldn't look away when I first saw this couloir.

Most likely a first descent. Right in my backyard. It was a sunny day in May. I was on my way home and drove south through the Zillertal Valley. The afternoon light shone on some parts of a steep, rocky, treacherous and seemingly unskiable couloir. I was distracted, couldn't concentrate on the traffic, so I pulled over and grabbed my binoculars. A year went by. It was summer. After spending a few hours on Google Maps, I hiked up to the Stillup reservoir, hiked three hours following the Jagdsteig trail and then crossed a pine forest. And there I was, at the foot of the now snowless couloir, which looked completely different than expected. On this day it resembled a terrifying rock face with 500 to 600 meters vertical lines.

"Screw me," I called out loud. "What a stupid idea. That's it, back to the car!" Another year passed, and then winter came. I started to teach my daughter, who was two and a half years old at the time, how to ski. The slopes of the Ahorn mountain, which belongs to the Mayrhofen ski area, are ideal for this. My old friend, the couloir on the other side of the valley, is also perfectly visible from there, this time in a nice, puffy white dress. "Holy...." I thought to myself. It looked so perfect! The approach might be a bit tricky, also the climb through the ravine itself, but the line looked awesome if the conditions were right. And yes, there were a few other factors to consider. At lunchtime, I could not take the binoculars off this mountain.

I was hooked. I had to ski this couloir. But the winter went by, and spring came. Hardly a day had passed without me thinking of "my" couloir. It was time to investigate the best approach route. Since I was not able to convince any of my friends to join me, I set off alone. It was seven am. Avalanche danger level one, and there was hardly any snow left. Finding the trailhead was the first challenge. The summer trail was generally not easy, but in winter it was simply impassable. The only approach left would be the main gully below the Dristner – 2,767 meters – and that's not an easy route either: old avalanche paths, massive boulders, and I even came across two dead chamois buried under the avalanche debris. I had to come up with a different plan.

After two and a half hours, I finally found a possible route, directly accessible from the reservoir. Another two and a half hours later, I stood at the bottom of the wall and was again terrified: it looked steep, shady and simply brutal. I took some pictures. I knew that I had to ski this monster, but certainly not alone. I turned around and went home. In the following months, I talked to countless people, made several attempts, all of which had to be cancelled due to weather, avalanche danger or injuries. The project slowly seemed to fall into oblivion. March 2019, five years after I had first discovered the couloir and three years after my first attempt to ski it. It hadn't snowed for two weeks.

The avalanche danger was at level two above 2,500 meters; the weather and the temperature were perfect. This was the day! Fabian Lentsch and Markus Ascher wanted to shoot a Zillertal Valley home story for the Snowmads. I told them about the couloir, and they immediately loved the idea. Also present were Tom Klocker, the photographer, and filmers Julian Pintarelli and Marco Freudenreich. On March 3rd, we took the Snowmad van to the Stillup Valley and put our skins on at six am. After an hour of tracking across flat slopes, we slowly reached steeper grounds. Another hour later, we found ourselves doing kick turns. Eventually, we had to take off our skis and start boot packing. It took another two hours to reach the foot of the couloir.

One filmer and the photographer would stay here; the other filmer had already taken position on the opposite side of the valley. Fabi, Markus and I got ready despite imperfect conditions: a windblown crust, partially icy. It took two hours to climb 600 vertical meters to the exit of the Blaser northwest face – 2,695 meters. The views from up there were captivating. Below us, 1,800 meters of amazing terrain. It was now two pm. We decided to drop into the gully one by one. It was an extreme experience. The first turns didn't feel right. The touring skis too light, my legs tired, and an omnipresent "you must not fall" flag before my inner eye. In situations like this, however, full focus usually sets in after only a few meters.

Two minutes later it was all over. At the end of the couloir I smiled in relief: We did it! Today, I can look at the mountain and the couloir without getting anxious and impatient. The job is done, and I don't feel the need to repeat it any time soon. However, my daughter has laid an eye on the very mountain as it can be seen from our house. Every time she looks at it, she tells me: "I want to ski it!" Luckily, she is way too young for that. But I get a bit nervous after all because she won't be that young forever...