The gondola was a sweatbox. The temperature in Zermatt, where I had just boarded, was pushing 30 C. It was late April and my five-man group had just begun the Haute Route, a six-day backcountry ski traverse between Zermatt, Switzerland, and Chamonix, France. It's one of the classic ski tours of the Alps. Leaving the gondola at Scharzsee, at 2,583 metres, the landscape was a zebra's coat of grassy slopes and melting snow. The peak of the Matterhorn loomed above like a lioness.
Brett Lawrence, my guide from B.C.-based Bugaboo Alpine Adventures, led the group skiing down a narrow track of dirty snow. After about two hundred metres, we were out of snow. "Depending on how good your skis are, you might want to take them off," said the 29-year-old heli-ski guide, who sports a perpetual four-day beard. He kept his skis on and plodded over the spongy tundra to the next patch of snow. Not wanting to damage my new skis, I quickly unclipped and chased after him.
Last season was the warmest winter the Alps have ever experienced. Images of dormant ski lifts dangling over green slopes were broadcast around the world. It has led many to believe that this iconic ski tour, which was first traversed in 1911, may soon become another victim of global warming. There are no reliable forecasts for this season, but there is pessimism about the long term.
"Most glaciers will be gone from the Alps in the next 50 years," Johannes Koch, a glacier scientist at Vancouver's Simon Fraser University, told me in a phone interview after I returned home. A study by the University of Zurich found that the area covered by glaciers in the Alps has shrunk 50 per cent since 1850, with almost half of that occurring since 1985, when melting began to accelerate. Several ski resorts at lower elevations have closed. The terrain is changing rapidly, and the Haute Route has become more technical without those highways of ice to travel upon.
"Most maps are now out of date in 10 to 20 years," Koch said. "We don't know what's going to happen in the future."
Larry Dolecki, who runs Bugaboo Alpine, has noticed changes in the eight years he has been guiding in the Alps.
"Glaciers make great skiing - a smooth slope and consistent pitch," he said. "The moraines they leave behind are generally uneven and less pleasant to ski."
He predicts that the route will be around for some time to come, but may involve much more walking in years with less snow.
A late-season snowfall had made me optimistic that conditions might be okay for the trip. Then most of Europe was hit with a heat wave in April as warm air from Africa produced record-breaking temperatures. After about an hour of skiing and shouldering my skis, I ran out of snow and strapped them to my backpack. I hiked up the lateral moraine of the Zmutt Glacier, a precipitous ridge of crumbling rock and gravel where the glacier has receded. Led by Lawrence, the group consisted of Leigh Williams, a 33-year-old finance specialist from Wales, and his buddies Chris Carrs, a 49-year-old hotel owner, and Frode Iversen, a 46-year-old real-estate developer.
We arrived at the Schonbiel Hut, a three-storey, stone-block building with red wooden shutters, in the late afternoon. Chiselled peaks of rock and ice surround the hut, which at 2,694 metres overlooks a glacier-scrubbed valley and the north face of the Matterhorn. Inside, long wooden benches and tables provide space for guests to relax and unwind. Black-and-white photos of early mountaineers stiffly posed with ropes and wooden ice axes hang on the walls.
The backcountry hut system is one of the highlights of the Haute Route. For about $60, guests are provided dinner, breakfast and a bunk with blankets. Wine, beer and snacks can be purchased. This allows light travel and maximum enjoyment on the slopes. Stephi, the hut caretaker at Schonbiel, made us a delicious tomato noodle soup, followed by scalloped potatoes with ham and cabbage and chocolate pudding for dessert.
When the breakfast call came at 5 a.m., I was still half-asleep and too tired to eat. I force-fed myself muesli, bread, cheese and jam, then strapped my skis to my pack and was soon hiking down a steep boulder slope. My skis constantly clipped the rocks as I clambered downward. I used my poles to balance myself and thought how nice the slope would be if it were covered in snow. After a short, icy ski down the Schonbiel Glacier, Lawrence told us to put on our skins. We were using alpine-touring gear - fat skis with removable skins for travelling uphill and heel-lift bindings, which are locked for going downhill. As I skinned up the Zmutt Glacier, other groups of skiers glided downward, smiling and yelling "bonjour" as they passed.
At the top of Glacier Mont Mine, visibility was nil and snow was blowing sideways. The seasons had changed. I put on my goggles and cinched my hood to stop snow from going down my neck. Lawrence led the way, GPS in hand. I followed his tracks, snowplowing just at the edge of visibility. It's a strange feeling skiing in a whiteout. You know you're moving, but have no idea where. The fresh powder swooshed over my skis, and I longed to let loose and rip. At the bottom, the clouds parted and the sun illuminated the slope. We cursed at not having waited 10 minutes.
The day ended, about 12 hours later, at the base of the Arolla Glacier, where it turns into a riverbed. I crisscrossed flowing streams of glacier meltwater until I reached the road and the hotel taxi, which transferred us to the Hotel du Glacier guest house in the tiny town of Arolla, Switzerland. While the Haute Route can be done entirely using the huts, Bugaboo Alpine prefers to come down into the villages of Arolla and Courmeyer, Italy, along the way, to stay in guest houses, allowing the group to shower and experience the culture of the Alps. Although only a day's traverse from German-speaking Zermatt, Arolla is a French-speaking village. I tried my high-school French on the hotel staff, but they had better luck using their high-school English on me.
By the third day, I was getting my stride. My body had acclimatized. I slept like a baby in the dorm-style huts despite the loud snorers in the group. I got up early, ate as much as I could stomach, organized my layers and packed for the day. Williams, the fit finance guy, and I followed close behind Lawrence, while Carss and Iversen brought up the rear.
I spent most of the day skinning up and skiing down in blowing snow, looking at white. When I arrived at the 2,928-metre Dix Hut that afternoon, I found my bunk and crashed. A short time later, I was awoken abruptly by Lawrence. "Wanna go skiing," he said in my ear. "It's a bit windy out, but it's good."
I stumbled outside without my sunglasses and was blinded. Iversen and Carss continued to nap, while Williams, Lawrence and I would get one ski run in before dinner. We moved quickly up the Cheilon Glacier. At 3,870 metres, Mont Blanc de Cheilon dominated the horizon to the south like a giant snow-covered pyramid in the afternoon sun. The plan was to climb up as high as we could and ski back to the lodge before dinner. Protocol is for the guides to help the caretaker serve meals and wash the dishes. To be late for dinner would be a major faux pas.
An hour later, my tongue hanging around my knees, I removed my skins and locked my bindings for the long run down. I carved fresh tracks in knee-deep powder. The run was exhilarating, one of the best I've ever done. We arrived back at the hut just in time for a dinner of roulade de boeuf and pasta with soup and salad starters. Afterward, I relaxed with a beer as Pierre, the stocky, fiftysomething hut caretaker, sang and played guitar with a group from France; among their playlist was a French version of Blowin' in the Wind.
The final day of the traverse was to be the ski down the Valley Blanche, one of the premier off-piste ski runs in the world. From the 3,812-metre summit of Aiguille du Midi, it's a 17-kilometre-long, 2,800-metre vertical descent to Chamonix and the end of the Haute Route. But it wasn't meant to be. More than 30 centimetres of snow had fallen overnight, adding to the already unstable snow pack.
The irony wasn't lost on us as we sat glum-faced in rainy Courmeyer, waiting for the decision. Lawrence said the avalanche risk was too high. At least this year, there was too much snow to finish the trip.
Special to The Globe and Mail
