It wasn’t long after lunchtime and I was searching the summits for trouble, looking for an avalanche. Suddenly, as a flash of sunlight pierced the clouds, we stopped our snowmobile and my guide, ski patroller Rene Schmid, pointed out a half-hidden shelter beneath the rocky tower of Ballunspitze.
The roar of the engine, the sound of footsteps in the snow, and we were heading towards it, clattering behind the accelerating machine. Our quarry: A warehouse full of TNT and dynamite for avalanche control; its location is next to the helipad where the most skilled Alpine pilots and patrols set out to bombard the mountaintops with explosives, leaving the valley shaking below.
February 10 was International Ski Patrol Day, and I was learning the ins and outs of avalanche control with the resort’s rescue team in Galtür in Austria’s historic Paznaun Valley. There are few places that better appreciate a patrol, and when I arrived the snowflakes were heavy, obscuring the roads, paths and trees, and much of the town was bustling for the half-term break.
Last year, patrol officers at Galtür responded to more than 200 accidents on and off the track; This figure is already predicted to rise this year due to superior snow conditions and increased overnight stays.
The increase in broken arms, shoulders and legs is troubling patrol officers. Cracked helmets and concussions are even more common. On a good day there may be no paperwork, but during school holidays many serious accidents can occur in as little as 10 minutes. Their days are also defined by the cold fury of avalanche calls, moments when the slopes turn upside down.
My home town of Glencoe, Scotland, is very different. It consists of short, narrow paths and difficult basins, but it is also cut by scrub and ravines, and its two steep sides drop down towards rocky areas and scree. I have known Glencoe Ski Patrol volunteers for many years, and thinking about their heroic accomplishments helps me time-stamp my own history.
They were there when my father crashed down Flypaper, Scotland’s steepest track, in the late 1980s. They planted a butterfly on the top of my head when I was hit by a metal T-bar when I was nine years old. They were on the front lines 11 years ago when an old friend of mine, the best skier I’ve ever known, was caught in a deadly avalanche. Glencoe and Lochaber mountain rescue teams drifted away and found him buried 13 meters deep, his lungs full of snow.
And so, years later, I was here in Austria to find out why my friends, family and people like me were putting ourselves at so much risk. There was no need for a helicopter on the day of my visit, but the sirens of the patrol’s snowmobiles were a constant ghostly presence.
“Skiing is much more dangerous these days,” said Rene, who is in his 15th season in the Alps. “Carving the edges is more aggressive, people are too fast. Beginners think they are advanced, focus on their own lines and rarely pay attention to what is around them.
“We are closing the slopes and erecting barriers, but skiers do not heed the warnings. Sometimes the bigger problem is that we have to go rescue them, and that’s We in danger.”
The patrols in these high valleys do their hard work for one reason only: sacrifice. I asked Rene’s colleague Julia Margard, a qualified nurse, why she did this, and her answer was less proactive. As he puts it: “This is a little medicine for me.” He said the sense of community may have been the reason he eventually went to the mountains after working for years at Innsbruck University Hospital. Snowdrifts are also more unpredictable in this era of climate change, she said. “We always need better risk awareness.”
Galtür is a ski village that hides its trauma well. Twenty-five years ago, on February 23, 1999, the brutal Sonnenberg avalanche ripped through the village, blanketing the valley with 330,000 tonnes of snow and causing the worst loss of life in modern Alpine history.
Buildings were torpedoed, cars were thrown and 57 people were buried, 31 of whom died. Steeply sloping terrain, a cold polar front, days of heavy snowfall, swirling northwest winds, freeze-thaw conditions and a weak base layer compounded the devastation. Galtür was placed under the time bomb. Later, scientists at the Snow and Avalanche Research Institute in Davos, Switzerland, announced that this was the most dangerous winter in 75 years.
The next morning the sky faded, the valley was shrouded in fog, and I decided to visit the Alpinarium, which was built in memory of the victims but also offers visitors a window into the world of the world. Alpine weather systems and forecast. From the outside, it is also unmistakably recognizable that at the foot of the Grieskogel and Grieskopf there is a huge avalanche barrier, a 234-meter superstructure built to protect the village from future turmoil.
Rene Schmid and Andrea Hajdina, who currently work at Alpinarium, went through this difficult process in 1999. Both still remember the panic among their friends and family in the Paznaun Valley. According to Rene, it was “a freak accident that will never be forgotten.” Meanwhile, Andrea remembered the night when her mother almost never came home. “My uncle was part of the rescue team,” he told me. “He removed one of the bodies.”
Among those killed 25 years ago were locals, visitors and entire families from Austria and abroad. The youngest person killed was Fabian Simon Vogl, who died aged five, and his older sister Hannah Julia, aged nine. Their names are now listed in handwritten chalk on a wall, along with an abstract triptych dedicated to remembrance but also hope.
Any visitor would be right to think that the dangers in the mountains cannot be eliminated, but luckily the beauty of Galtür prevails. On my last morning I hiked up Ballunspitz again, this time in bright sunshine. Before me was a wave of snow-covered towers. Everywhere was nature, Galtür’s great enemy.
It occurred to me that in this age of unpredictable weather, there is something reassuring in knowing that a presence is out there watching us, identifying risks and easing concerns. While watching the white curves of the mountains, I was thinking about what might happen in the future and decided to stop by the Track Rescue Team once again and thank them. Their passion and honor should be celebrated not every February, but every time the mountains call.
Fundamentals
Mike was a guest of Galtür and Hotel Zontaja. Rooms from £77 per person per night. A six-day Silvretta adult ticket costs £332. You can rent equipment from Intersportrent.com from £7 per day. Learn more at Galtuer.com.
