Beyond the village, the final stretch of road hadn’t even been cleared. We drove slowly as the road wound through twilight into darkness, covering the final few metres on foot. The snow creaked beneath us.
It was still getting light when we awoke the next morning. The snow outside was the pale blue-grey shadow of dawn, undisturbed by the worries of the week. Even the cool air was kind, gently embracing my sleep-warmed body as I stood on the threshold, waiting for the day to begin.
It began with routine, but we soon left all traces of diurnal familiarity behind.
We drove back down to the village, through the bustling centre where weekend tourists were looking confused, parents were hoisting rental skis onto their shoulders and small children were losing gloves; up the other side of the valley, following the contour line round the mountain, past the second chair lift; until we found the end of the road where there was no infrastructure, only trees – and snow.
Avalanche transceiver – check. Shovel, probe – securely stowed, but accessible.
I hoped they wouldn’t be required.
Headtorch. Water, food, warm layers. Helmet strapped to my rucksack. Skins on, rucksack on. Ready.
The path was narrow, only just wide enough for the parallel tracks of a pair of skis. First a gentle incline, then an upward zigzag as the mountain straightened its back. When we reached the first shoulder – a modest mountain pass – the sun boldly raised its head.
Squinting, blinded by the glare from the bright whiteness all around me, I searched for my sunglasses, and felt the first gusts of wind tear at my jacket.
Had I imagined it? The air was deceptively still as we continued along a snow-covered road, an unyielding wall of rock rising up on one side of us. Skis and poles keeping time, side by side, an easy rhythm.
No, it hadn’t been my imagination. Beyond the wall of rock, here was the aggressive push and pull of the wind again as we attempted to make our way across a short stretch of steep ice and windswept snow. It was all I could do to focus on each step, the angle of my body, the grip of my skis as the wind pelleted my face with small, sharp crystals and threatened to knock me off my feet…
And then we were back in the trees, only a gentle flurry of snowflakes suggestive of a breeze.
Yet before long, the trees were replaced by a scrubby vegetation that did nothing to protect us from the vicious wind. Each step became a battle to stay upright, let alone to make forward progress. I pulled the hood of my coat tighter around my face and tried not to let the wind steal my good mood.
As we got higher, my fear increased. It was another world up here, emotions more intense, thoughts more vivid. Did David understand? He just kept going, getting further and further away. ‘David, wait!’ I called after him. He didn’t turn around.
Was it a good idea to keep going? We could stop here, we didn’t have to reach the top…
We continued. Towards the edge, where the rock fell away from an unforgiving precipice that didn’t bear thinking about – nearer and nearer – and now we were walking along the ridge, the mountainside dropping steeply away on both sides. It was oh so narrow, this thin, high place. If I lost my footing here…
Small steps. Breathe in – two – three; and out – two – three – four – five…
The rocky spine rose up in front of me, bones protruding from the snow. Or were they teeth, and was the Ötscher not a mountain at all but a hungry creature that would swallow me up at the first opportunity?
I did fall. I landed on my side, hard on my hip bone, and cried out in fear and pain. But the mountain was still there beneath me and the sky was still there above me and I was neither in the hard, stony belly of the earth nor in heaven, but somewhere between the two.
Nearer heaven, perhaps, as we reached the top and looked across the snowy peaks that stretched in all directions, the forest only a dark shadow below and the houses all but invisible. There was a low cloud bank in the distance, but we were far above it, the sky a brilliant blue – and the wind as strong as ever.
Skins off, helmet on: the day wasn’t over yet and there was one rather concerning question to which we didn’t know the answer.
Which way down?
