IZZYISMS ALMOST PERFECT Words Michael “Izzy” Israelson Sam Podhurst, Mark Morris and Keith Garvey arriving at the Observatory, a backcountry hut near Alta Lakes, CO. Set just 11 miles outside of Telluride, it was the perfect spot to score light San Juan pow, minus the hustle and bustle of town. Photo: Fredrik Marmsater PICTURE YOURSELF sliding down a steep, icy face, the same one you ascended minutes prior using crampons and ice tools. You are unsure why or how you transitioned from skiing to sliding flat on your ass, but the approaching crevasse doesn’t seem to care. This is the unenviable position I find myself in right now. As time slows, I look down at my right foot to see my tech binding attached firmly to my right toe, just where it belongs. It is the ski that seems to be missing. A ski that I now realize is hurtling toward the aforementioned crevasse—fast. During my self-arrest, I see Keith Garvey triangulate his tra-jectory to stop my runaway ski. I dig my one remaining uphill edge into the ice and find purchase above the crevasse, just as Garvey saves the ski. Chevalier and Zip-Loc mention that the Yankees are looking for a shortstop, and Keith’s fast-twitch muscles make him a decent candidate. It is at this moment that I begin to laugh. Uncontrol-lably. Not out of joy. I am laughing because now, at nearly 12,000 feet on a bergschrund-infested descent and with only one ski, I have finally found my story. Until now, our tour of the Bernese Oberland region of Switzerland has been alarmingly ideal. Flights, gear, trains, hotels—all relatively uneventful. The weather and the snow are fine, the huts perfect. Garvey, our steadfast guide, has proven that good snow can still be found weeks after a storm. His unwavering optimism leads to such laudable declarations as, “That was the third-best corn run of the season!” Still I am convinced that today’s trouble has its roots in last night’s revelry. Over lagers and rosti at the incomparably perched Finsteraarhorn Hut, we plotted today’s adventure, skipping the Grosse Wannenhorn and Finsteraarhorn in favor of the lovely and less-climbed Agassizhorn. Perched adjacent to the impressive Finsteraarhorn, the Agassizhorn had a similar aspect, a longer snow descent and, most importantly, zero other parties planning to poach our line. As lagers ac-cumulated and tales grew more colorful, we started referring to the mountains as the “F-horn” and the “A-horn.” A word to the wise: Think twice before taunting a 13,000-foot peak where she can hear you. Alpine starts are easier when the previous day’s promise of a great, big, white snowfield whisper in your short dreams. Early in our ascent, a deafening roar brings us all back to the moment as we watch the hanging glacier lining the arete between the F-and A-horns calve a house-sized chunk of ice. The great cloud of white ominousness is very real as we all scatter, aware that we are looking at a true-to-life version of every avalanche video we have ever seen. Skiing any face greater than 45 degrees lends an imme-diacy to the situation in which turns are contemplated and executed with a profound amount of single-mindedness. When a turn goes wrong in a steep-and-icy situation, the mind dials in. Fast. So when I see a pulled binding and the very real need to stop on just such a pitch, I go into survival mode. Fast. In Europe, the local rescue option is helicopter. If you carry REGA insurance, they will chopper any legitimate emergency to safety. I have the insurance, but I also have Garvey. After some cured meat and a minute to assess the situation, he decides to lend me a ski and descend the remainder of the mountain—the glaciated and crevassed behemoth—on one ski. Reaching the bootpack to the cliffed-out entrance of the Finsteraarhorn Hut, we run into a team of Swiss ladies who were skiing the Finsteraarhorn. They are ogling us. It takes a second to realize what they are staring at, when I remember that my binding-less ski is still strapped to my back as I sport mismatched planks on my feet. They tell us what we already know: “It looks like today, the mountain won.” 028 The Ski Journal
The Ski Journal Volume 15, Issue 4: Page 28
