In Gulmarg, a well bridged early season snowpack was providing great skiing conditions and a benign start to winter in the Pir Panjal Range. Well into it’s second season of operation without incident, the illusory sense of safety that skiing near the lift produced seemed to have climaxed. I remember going up the lift that early Febuary day when Shaggy (Shaun) was killed by an avalanche. Arriving late after a casual breakfast, I marvelled at all the careless tracks already laid by the first people up the second phase of the gondola. There were traverses everywhere, under start zones and above other people. Groups of 5 were skiing at the same time when there were clearly natural and skier triggered avalanches visible. My first run, I ski cut a roaring class 3 avalanche in Sarah’s Couloir, stomping through the top bits of the slab to not get sucked down. The next ride up the lift, I saw Shaggy’s last turns disappear into the void of a departed slab on the same aspect in the gully lookers left of the lift.






Decisions and consequences both happen in the blink of an eye. Shaggy had decided to drop in on pretty well the steepest most exposed bit on the entire front side of Mt Apparwat and didn’t make a ski cut on a day that followed a snowy, windy period with the lift closed. The wavy surface of the windslab wasvisible everywhere. There are many ways to rationalize complacency of skiers in super-exposed terrain. Perhaps it’s the illusory sense of safety of being near the lift? Maybe it’s the over-psychedness that develops while waiting for the weather to clear and the lift to re-open? Could it be misguided notions that the terrain is actually controlled and safe because the lift is open? Gulmarg is no longer innocent to the potential realities of an off-piste ski area that cannot provide proper avalanche control. Every one riding there is still at risk of the ignorant protocols of over-confident skiers and snowboarders that are permitted unbiased access on a basically “raw” mountain. It was fortunate that that was all that happened that day. Hopefully, Shaggy’s transformation will shine the way towards the awareness of the commitment and the proper procedural perspective involved in skiing a backcontry line, even if it’s right beside the lift.

As fate would have it, the lift also broke down this year for 11 days. Waiting for a part from Iran or France or somewhere, the Gulmarg crowd was forced to earn it’s sweet powder by hiking and skinning from where the courtesy snowcat dropped them. A completely unexpected twist of fate for the gondola clientelle but a blessing in disguise to anyone that could tolerate ski touring for an hour and a half to 2 hours and actually feel the size of this innocuous looking mountain. The weak departed and more didn’t show up as a rumour spread globally that the lift was down for the season. For a brief window, gondola madness was gone and it was back to old school Gulmarg and vast solitudinous runs.

Eventually, I knew I would be lured away by the incredible view that presents itself across the Kashmir valley while skiing at Gulmarg. The Great Himalaya Range in winter and it’s remote cultures have always been intriguing to say the least. My good friend Ty Mills who had come along to Gulmarg for the winter was equally ensconced, not only by the view but also by the mysterious kingdom somewhere back there known as Zanskar. Before we knew it, we were back at the Srinagar airport, but this time in our ski-clothes and heading to Leh, Ladakh to begin a ski and splitboard traverse back to Kashmir. On the map, it seemed obvious enough, yet we were engaging logistics that were scarcely precedented in this remote and wild region of the Himalaya.






The plan was to walk, ski and bus/jeep from Leh through Zanskar, over 4400m Pensi La to Kargil and then through Dras (the second coldest inhabited place in the world they say) and finally over 3800m Zoji La through Sonamarg and finally into Kashmir. We arrived in Leh with 70kg of food supplies unsure of what was available there in the winter when all road access is shut off. Leh was quiet, but there were groups of foreigners there expressly to do the same trek that our first stage involved. Trekking the frozen Zanskar River would require a guide and porters to haul our expedition. We needed several weeks of food to allow a margin for weather contingencies and skiing objectives. After 4 days of preparations and a winter festival at the nearby Tibetan Buddhist monastery in Likir, we left the Indus valley for the committing and only passage into Zanskar.

For 4 days we waddled over ever changing ice and slept in caves, fully committed in a canyon encased by 2000m vertical mountainsides. Finally the valley widened into a white expanse surrounded by fantastical peaks. Now with approximately one quarter of the journey behind us we enjoyed the hospitality of our guide’s family home in the Zanskar capital of Padum. Our first night there it dumped 30cm on top of the 30cm of sugar that was already there. The enticing slopes that surrounded us remained unskiable and swayed us towards making progress on the long road ahead. After 4 days of police formalities, another festival at the Karsha Monastary and a miracle plastic sled donation, we headed north following the Doda River, slowly ascending in altitude from the constant 3500m since Leh. We were following the road that led to Pensi La, a pass open only for 3 or 4 months a year. Since the Zanskar River had now become impassable, ski touring was the only way out.

As we passed villages, people invited us in and fed us, thus saving our rations for skiing further on. With one family, we waited 2 days through a 60cm storm and then set out again in difficult travel conditions managing less than 15km per day. At the last villiage we stayed with one of our river porters and took a last rest and dose of yak dung smoke before being on our own. Despite carrying about 60kg of food and equipment each, we were feeling strong and enjoying the fine weather. The mountains lining the valley became increasingly dramatic and glaciers oozed down betzeen them. 2 days out of civilization and with Pensi La in view, we stopped at a small stone hut, with no door and window, to avoid setting up the tent. Despite my smokey attempt at a fire with some not quite dry juniper branches, we had an enjoyable meal and went to bed stoked to be at a thicker snowpack with imminent riding. Little did I know that sometime in the night I would get up and become violently ill.






The next three days I was incapacitated by fever, coughing up blood and diareaha. Ty made tea and food as I laid in my sleeping bag having profound internal experiences. On day 4 I had improved slightly and could cook for myself but my condition was still poor and so Ty went back to the last villiage to organize a rescue. I improved over the next 2 days while it snowed. The improbable skiing surounding us now felt impossible and I pondered how best to survive. Maybe I finally had a reaction to inhaling yak dung smoke as old friend Ace Kvale had warned me of during a chance meeting in Leh. I awoke from a morning nap to find the weather had broken. The sound of helicopters ripped me out of my sleeping bag. Next thing, I was scrambling out through the rotor wash with everything I could stuff into a backpack and into an Indian Airforce Llama.

There was a lot of retropspection done in the helicopter ride, cruising at 17000ft back to Leh. Below was the route by which we had just come and now it was left unfinished. This was my first rescue in 18 years of ski-mountaineering in wild, remote places. Retreat and having to leave crucial equipment behind challenges the ego, even if it’s the best thing to do. Sometimes, the smallest mistake can have dramatic consequences and sometimes the unknown simply takes controll of the situation. I still can’t explain exactly what happened to me. Heading for the pass we were already well acclimatized, feeling strong and equipped with 2 weeks of food and fuel. Was it a fate of statistical probability or something else more profound? It takes time to know and ultimately I am grateful to have recovered and keep pondering.






The helicopter had delivered us back to Leh just as a big storm crushed the Himalaya. Our flight back to Srinagar was cancelled and the road between Jammu and Kashmir was also shut by landslides and avalanches. During our 5 days there, Ty and I found out about our friends, Ido, Francesca and Guy back in Gulmarg who had apparently experienced an epic during a previous storm. Expecting the high pressure to last longer, as had been forecasted, the 2 splitboarders and one snowshoeing boarder were caught out in a heavy dump on the tail-end of a multi-day mission to the Sunshine Peak area. Reaching the end of their food, they ended up in survival mode having already dealt with a shoulder dislocation, a destroyed 3-season tent and circumnavigating a cliff band surrounded by avalanches in unfamiliar terrain. The press conference and some physio would fortunately be all they had to deal with after being greeted by the rescue party.

High pressures did not have the same amplitude and frequency this year as the last few. The multi week anti-cyclones weren’t appearing but another weather window did and our flight to Srinagar finally materialized. At the airport and the moist morning air of the Kashmir valley, we happened to run into my friend Firdous who completely ruined an otherwise nice day by telling us that Sylvain Saudan and his clients had crashed in their helicopter and their status was unknown. I was extremely happy to learn later that evening that Sylvain and his clients were OK and had skied down to the nearest town. The pilot wasn’t able to ski and had to remain with the helicopter, which had flipped over several times, untill being rescued the next day. It was unfortunate that the News announced everyone dead initially before the details were even clear.






Like Antione St Exupery (author of Le Petit Prince) who crashed his airplane a few times while pioneering flights in Europe and Africa, the Frenchies often exemplify the acceptance of risk as well as the acceptance of defeat or getting totally reduced. The media most often distorts the actual story further alienating the public from understanding people doing seemingly frivolous things on the fringes of civilization. Sylvain’s third heli-crash in the Himalayas was in pursuit of a very challenging thing, heli-skiing in the Kashmir Himalaya. His passions for creating possibilities can only theoretically justify the reported use of an older helicopter and so long as his customers share his enthusiasm. There is strong support for saying there is a reality of crashing when pursuing adventure. The exposure that anyone creates when they use whatever is available to achieve a certain goal in the pursuit of happiness, exploration, buisness or whatever, reinforces the notion that nobody is stronger or tougher than nature. Then there is the classic Japanese word “nanakorabiyaoki” which means, or at least was translated to me as, 7 times fall down 8 times get up.

Gulmarg had a considerable snowpack accumulated by mid-March when Ty and I returned. Our few days there saw many stories and thoughts passed around the dinner table. Unfortunately, enthusiasm to do some lift skiing was washed away by 2 days of rain which then turned to heavy snow the morning of our depature. We barely made it out of Gulmarg and the rivers were swolen as we drove through the valley in the pouring rain back to Srinagar. This was one of those times where it definately felt like enough, that it was time to get out and be somewhere different. It was a rough winter in the Himalaya but it’s no reason to turn away. Just like the first time I visited the Himalaya, I know I’ll be back again to get that special feeling of being a puny human amongst giants.