33 Lost in the Austrian Alps (Cont.) Song: “Lady”. Photo: View of Mayrhofen Village From Above. Below: Marriott Gig Poolside.

Since it was, then, almost 5 PM, the time for all the lifts to be shutting down – we knew that we would have to make our way down the service road as fast as possible now, to tell the “j-bar” operator (he only spoke German) about our emergency, hopefully before he shut the lift down, and left to go home. That would leave our whole group on the side of the mountain where we, too, wouldn’t be able to get either down the mountain, or back up and over the mountain, in order to ski down and return to the village. Though I knew that it had just snowed over three feet of snow in the last four days, and the forecast was predicting more severe snowfall nightly, I was not aware that the temperature would be plummeting, tonight, to a record-breaking 25 below zero. Even if our friends were able to stop only a few feet beyond the forest line, any attempt to side-step back up with skis or by trying to walk back up any of the four runs (which all ended on the service road where we all stood) in order to get to the top of the mountain through three or four feet of powder, would be impossible, without snow shoes. We hurriedly skied down the service road, parallel to the tree line, to the only “J-bar” on that side of the mountain, and tried to alert the ski lift operator what had happened to our friends. Since he didn’t speak English, he was eagerly gesturing for us to get on the “J-bar” lift, while, at the same time, we were frantically trying to gesture back to him, and explain, the best we could, that our friends had disappeared into the Alps. (The photo below shows the “J-bar” lift hut, which is right on the edge of the Alps.)

The “J bar” operator, who obviously would rather have gone home, got on his radio speaking agitatedly in German. Meanwhile, I directed our group to face in the direction of the woods and yell, in unison, our friends’ names, so that way, hopefully, it would be understood what had happened, and that this was an emergency. The lift was down on time, which made it quiet, then we all shouted, again, in unison. Again, we listened for a response from our two friends, expecting beyond hope, that we might hear them. We didn’t.

In a minute, two German Mountain Rescue squad members appeared, neither of whom spoke English, but, having radios, I thought correctly that they understood the emergency, and they appeared eager and ready to find our friends quickly. I knew that they had no idea at which point along the service road that the two had dropped into the forest, and I knew that I could lead them to that point, so felt most obligated to go help find them. I had the English group all yell their names again (this time in the presence of the rescue squad), and when we all listened, it gave me the opportunity to communicate the fact that I knew, at least, where they both went into the woods, by waving to get the rescue squad’s attention. Then, with my index and middle finger, I pointed to my eyes, then back toward where they disappeared, and repeated my same signals again, ending with an “okay” signal with my fingers, and waved a “let’s go” to the two rescue squad, and started walking my skis away from the lift. All the English blokes communicated to the rescue squad with encouraging “Yah Yah’s” while pointing at me. The two rescue squad looked at each other, and at me seriously, before nodding that they understood, and that they were both in agreement for the three of us to go, while my good natured English friends all waved confidently, spouting encouraging good lucks and goodbyes. The “J-bar” started, and as our friends all turned, and headed for it, they promised that no matter what, or how late it was, they would all wait up at the hotel bar in the village. Later, my friend Lucian told me that word had spread, and that the whole town was talking about it, and waiting to hear whether the news that night, would be good, or be bad, because skiers had died trying to go down the mountain that way.

I led the two rescue patrolmen, while staying uphill by traversing as much as possible, to as close as we could get to where I knew that the two skiers had dropped into the woods. As I led through the thick trees as fast as possible, fearing that my friends had hurt themselves, I reached the point which I determined was close to where they had dropped into the forest. From there, the three of us skied straight down, steeply, through the woods.

The three of us made our descent, spaced evenly apart, while scouring the woods the whole way down, and we reached where the forest ended into a frozen river bed, where we spread out and looked for them. I can’t imagine what might have been going through the minds of my two English friends, knowing that it was way too steep to ever be able to climb back up. After several minutes, I discovered the markings of freshly disturbed snow, where it appeared that the two skiers had landed. Luckily, I had led the rescue squad to nearly the exact spot. Otherwise, we would have lost precious time which we would desperately need because it would be getting dark soon. Now, we had to discern which of the numerous circular tracks we found all over the river bed (that they had obviously made, in their effort to be seen and found), were the ones which pointed in the direction they had gone. Soon, we found where they had clambered up on the other side of the river bank. The Rescue Squad tried to radio that they had found their tracks, but I noticed that there was just a lot of static, probably from being so deep into the woods, and on the other side of the mountain. We followed those tracks to where the two had broken into a small deserted shed used in the summer months. They had decided (wisely) to try and stay there until someone rescued them, and were majorly relieved when they saw us appear. I think that the rescue squad was able then, to get the message through, that the skiers had been found unharmed.

In the last two nights, the temperatures had gone down to below zero, and tonight it was going to a record breaking 25 below, with more blizzard conditions predicted in the higher elevations. It was still snowing hard, plus, it would soon be getting dark. The possibility of rescue by air, was not a choice now, because of the heavy snow, and the ferocity of the expected blizzard may have made it so there was no way of seeing us, even with powerful searchlights. On top of that, they still, probably, wouldn’t have had enough space to get in. Also, I don’t think a snowmobile would have been able to negotiate all of the terrain. There was no other option but to walk, slide, climb, and ski.

The two rescue squad motioned for the two English blokes to put their skis on quickly, by hurriedly pointing at their watches while repeating in English, “The time”. The five of us took off through the thick falling snow, delving into the forest in a single line, while using our poles to push us along, walking and sliding our skis through the thick evergreens. The rescue squad pressed on ahead with me following, and they had to slow down several times, because we weren’t keeping up. At the beginning, the forest was flat, and sometimes even went uphill. The fir trees were all bloated with snow, which would drop down on us without a sound or warning. The first of these startling and unexpected snow surprises, not only landed on top of my head and shoulders, but made its way inside any nook or cranny which was ever so slightly exposed to the air, making the light-weight dry icy-cold frozen snow crystals cover my back and chest, both, at the same time, which caused such a shocking body chill, that I felt that it was absorbed through all of the blood cells in my body, spontaneously. That was when I realized that the temperature had fallen drastically, and within the next hour while treading through the Alps, I noticed that it was getting slowly, and frightfully, darker.

I found myself thinking that if any of us had lost our hats, goggles, or gloves, or even not have dressed appropriately for these conditions, we would have, very likely, soon, suffered from cold exposure. The blizzard blew on, and the snow from the trees continued falling, unforgivingly at times. The conditions slowed our pace down enough, that the two Rescue Squad leaders ahead of us, had to stop at least twice for us to catch up. Each time they waited, they agitatedly pointed at their wrists saying (in English), “The time, the time” repeating it again to emphasize the very important point, that out ordeal was far from over. We had already been walking for what seemed like forever, through seemingly endless woods, in the bitter cold, and instead of imagining what it would be like walking through the woods in pitch blackness, at 25 below, instead, I focussed my attention on keeping my two friends walking faster, and keeping up the pace.

Soon, the rescue squad would have to choose between two routes, and both would be equally dangerous. After nearly three hours since leaving the “J-bar” lift, and plunging into the Alps, we finally broke through the woods to an area with no trees which was much steeper, and which reached over to where the side of the mountain forest began again. Now that we were temporarily out of the forest, I could see enough of the sky, to guess how much light we still had. Fierce wind was ripping around and grabbing big segments of snow flakes, and erratically tossing them around, from one direction, to another. The terrain we saw, there, was very steep, and I could see nearby where it became even steeper, and then disappeared.

The five of us skied across this very steep clearing to the other side, where we stopped, while the two rescue squad quickly side-stepped up, and onto, a man-made wooden ramp, and up the ramp onto a wooden platform. (I was later told that during the summer months long ago(?), it had been an observation platform in order to keep a watchful eye on lift buckets, which once hauled mining material through the mountains. I followed the blackened cable line in the dim light, and as it faded out of sight beyond the first tower, heard the sound of their hand held squelching from that platform. After the three of us managed to huddle up onto the platform with them, we all started singing in perfect harmony “THE HILLS ARE ALIVE, WITH THE SOUND OF MUSIC” … kidding… (just kidding!… it was really “Edelweiss”. Just kidding about that too.)

From that platform, the rescue squad tried to make contact with their radios. Hopefully they could get through, and hopefully the batteries were still holding up after possibly being used all day long. I think that they were debating if we’d drop into the valley below and walk the rest of the way using the long cable line and towers to guide us, but that may have been impossible in -25F temperature without snowshoes, and it could have been pitch black because of the the high forrest, and the predicted blizzard conditions for our higher elevation.

Instead, with the three of us following, the two dropped into the woods and started skiing down through the trees, traversing down the fall line, back toward the direction we came from. They soon stopped, after passing a few feet beyond where the slope became even steeper. They stopped, and both paused with their heads bent. They had their heads bowed in prayer, probably paying their respects to the skiers in the past who had gone this way, and died. The two Englishmen caught up from behind me, both stopping cautiously above me. There, the three of us realized something else. We had all, thankfully, stopped just above where the ground was so camouflaged that there suddenly wasn’t any ground… just air.

The two rescue squad went even closer toward where the terrain ended, and nothing but misty sky began. They were side-slipping their way down even steeper terrain, and we all cautiously followed. Before any of us had time to digest this, while knowing that it was a do or die situation… – like it or not – … we all knew that we were going to have to follow the rescue squad wherever they went… – easy or not.

We continued following as they now began traversing backwards, in what was our original direction, sliding ever so cautiously closer, and soon dangerously near the edge, then stopped where all of the ground, like the bottom of a huge funnel, led in between two solid rock walls that formed a twenty foot “chute” which led down to where it dropped off. (This, I was later told, was where the waterfall was in the summer months.) The width of this “chute” was wider at the top, but barely more than the length of our skis where it ended… in a mural-like view of the cold misty sky, with a lopsided mound of untouched snow standing rounded on the ground at the end of the right side, nearly touching the rock wall. That large bump was going to be troublesome for us all to get around in order to make it onto the front face of the cliff we’d all have to negotiate our skis onto. This was where the rescue squad was leading us, and they were, obviously, going to do this first. What we were ALL going to have to do was make a 90 degree right turn, and get our skis onto a one foot ledge which started around the corner on the cliff’s face, which led downward 30-40 feet but, since none of us spoke German, the rescue squad couldn’t explain what was, or wasn’t, around that corner, so the three of us had no idea as we watched them.

We all began sidestepping down that “chute”, and when we got close to the end and saw more closely where the surface was lopsided, I could see that the only way to successfully negotiate around that 90 degree corner, was with a 180 degree turn, and making that 180 degree turn had to be completed in a perfectly coordinated way… This could be done either by jumping both skis all the way around at once (as the first rescue squad member would do), heel stepping one ski, and bringing the other around (as the second member did), or by making V’s with your skis (almost impossible to do standing, because of the angles at the edge). Once you commit to placing both skis onto the ledge, they must be placed parallel, and it should be done all in the same movement so you won’t lose your balance, in order to ski down a one foot ledge which extends all the way across the mountain’s face, and tosses you off the side of it, landing in the open. (In other words, get both of your skis balanced evenly onto that ledge, in the same movement to start your skis moving!) Any deviation placing your skis too far right, or pointed too far left, or any slip, would cause you to fall off the little ledge way over 1000 feet, straight down!

The first of the two rescue squad, side-stepped his way down the 20 foot “chute”. Then, when he reached the very end, he used his poles for support standing right at the edge. He demonstratively jumped up both skis together in the air, and “jump turned” 180 degrees, landing with them both pointing exactly the other way, lifted his poles, leaned forward, and silently, slowly, slid out of view, as we all watched in awe! Now, the second rescue patrolman followed suit, side-stepping down the last 15 feet of the “chute”. However, as he did so, he, almost probingly started poking his ski poles into the snow (but not too hard or too deep through the snow), trying to communicate something to us all while looking up and saying, in a warning tone, “Avalanche”. I immediately understood that meant there possibly could be many layers of snow or ice (formed from warmer days melting the snow, and colder nights freezing it) underneath the snow, and if you poked your pole(s) too hard, it could go all the way through to the rock, and easily break off a little piece, or even cause a whole big piece to break off, then slide down with you (or everyone) on it, right off the end!

The second rescue squad member went the rest of the way down as we all watched. He gingerly side-stepped down the few more feet to the very edge of the cliff, and stopped at the large bump. He made his 180 degree right turn, by lifting his right ski up high in the air, and planted the heel of of it right next to the toe of his left ski. He then let it drop swing around right, landing it exactly parallel with the left ski, but in the opposite direction, then while his left ski was still faced slightly uphill, he jerked up on his left ski bringing it up and around his body using the side of his planted leg as a fulcrum, and landed it with both skis together, sliding perfectly straight onto the ledge, and he, too, disappeared around the corner. Because of the language barrier, the two rescue squad weren’t able to tell us about the ledge around the corner. We’d all have to learn it was there when we got to the very end ourselves. Only then, could we see what we had absolutely no idea it was, where, or how they had disappeared.

My two English friends quickly started having a hard time among themselves about who would go first, and/or which would even try to go at all, and they weren’t getting anywhere even close to deciding, so I slipped around, and stood firmly below them and tried to calm them both down. I started by assuring them both, that no matter what, I wasn’t going to let either of them fall. I knew that I had to say everything positive, because all I was hearing was totally negative! I said, “guys, this really a piece of cake that I KNOW you can do”. I said that I was completely confident that they would, both, be able to do this well. I slid the rest of the way with them sliding with me, until we all reached closest to the edge as possible, all the while telling them not to jam their poles in too deep, or step their skis too hard in the snow so we wouldn’t all slide off in an avalanche. I couldn’t demonstrate a combination of simple”V” turns while standing up, because I’d slide right off because of the bump. However, I proceeded to demonstrate (as I had with them all week), the way that they witnessed the second rescue squad member do the turn, and I, again, explained it while I was doing it, so they would be sure to understand completely how they would easily be able to make the turn which they had no choice but to make. As I walked them through how to do it correctly, I reminded them not to jam their poles too deeply into the snow, or disturb it too drastically with their skis. I reached the very edge, and looked over. I saw that it was so far up, that I couldn’t even see ground… It was clear for several hundred feet, straight down, and then, all I could see was white mist. I turned back and told them that snow was so deep at the ledge, that I was confident they would be be able to do this any way they could. (I don’t know, but I think, the last of the two tried to accomplish it from a seating position.) I told them not to look down to see how high you are, just look at where you are putting your skis, and to be sure to get them both onto the ledge together parallel. After I “flipped” my right, and stepped my left ski and slid onto the one foot wide ledge, I could see around that bump, that it went downward across the cliff’s face for 30 to 40 feet, and I FAKED a breath of positive relief for them saying, “phew, it’s only a few more feet that we have to ski down from here.” I added, “I KNOW you can BOTH DO THIS”, as I skied down the ledge on the side of the cliff, and landed right next to the rescue squad in the clearing. (The two Englishmen were fortunate that that they had short skis, because it would be much easier to get them around that corner.) We soon saw one of them appear, and finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the other landed hard in the clearing, and did not fall. Much to everyone’s relief, the worst was over.

From that point on, it was all downhill skiing through woods and meadows until, finally, we came out at the very top of a little winding road. We skied down that, until eventually got to lower elevation, where the weather had cleared. We reached the place on this road where there were cars waiting for us with their engines running. Everyone fit in the waiting cars except two, so two (me, and one of the two mountain rescue squad members) would need to ski the rest of the way down, toward the village below. The predicted bad weather had miraculously cleared. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and I could see by the light of the moon, that there was tons of fresh power all the rest of the way down, and I got to experience powder skiing in the moonlight. My friend Lucian, who had skied in Austria for years, had arrived in his Porsche, and he obviously knew that the rest of the way was all fresh powder skiing, so for the FIRST TIME EVER, he offered to let me drive his car, so he could ski down from there. Thanks for the offer Lucian, but I wouldn’t miss this for the world. The remaining other rescue squad member and I took off together, and skied in the moonlit deep powder toward the lights of village far away, below.

Without a cloud in the sky, the moonlight guided, as the beautiful lights from the village below came in and out of view, while softly gliding over each rolling hill, adding light to the whole memorable scene… just like a sweet dream. Within the space of the past few hours during the rescue, I had seen, first-hand, how skiing in the Alps can go from extremely dangerous, to extremely wonderful. The two of us were picked up on the outskirts of the village. I was dropped off at the hotel bar, where the whole group was still waiting. I think it was about midnight and, since the incident happened between 4:30 and 5 PM, it means the entire ordeal took over six hours. Everyone was tired and extremely relieved that everything turned out so well. It was an experience that none of us will ever forget, and one that strengthened bonds. It was the last time that I would see Austria, and my newest English friends (please email me at ENTNOW@MAC.COM).