The Lost Girda

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP is the noise that has been greeting me every morning for the past couple of weeks. Question: have I given up on the shred this year, in exchange for boozy nights out and ENA based hangovers?  Answer: nope, that thumping noise is not my head. It's the noise of the carpenters building the first ever snowboard shop in Gulmarg! That's all I'm going to say on that. Andy is putting together a little ditty on that project. So much has happened in the past few weeks that I'm at a bit of a loss as to where to start. To roll back three weeks, season passes were obtained and the shred could finally begin, on a low tide. Roll back two weeks, we're picking off lines and loving life. Roll back one week, we're in the midst of our first big storm, with no power but huge grins! But roll back just three days and we're, unfortunately, present for the first avalanche related fatality in four years.

That brings us to today and my quandary as to where to begin. I know it's important to give all the news of a season here in Gulmarg. However, it's difficult for me to write about the death of someone I've never met. Where information is limited and the rumours are rife, alongside the nature of the avalanche and the circumstances that caused it, the true story will probably never come to light. This can lead to speculation and untruths. All I know is that it leaves me with a heavy heart and a thought for all people that enjoy the mountains. It would be to easy to wax lyrical about the ever present dangers, the need to be extra vigilant after a big storm and how we are just guests on mother natures curves. But I won't. For me, the simple fact is, a man died doing something, one would assume, he loves and somewhere more lives have been affected. I know many ski towns will also suffer a similar fate this season, so please everyone be as safe as you can.

So now I'm left hanging in a melancholy space. How can I go on and tell you all about how epic my riding has been, without sounding a little ungracious? Well, the story I am going to tell happened before the storm. It was our first mission over the top of Mt. Affarwat for 2014. The forecast was for a sunny morning, the avalanche advisory had been digested and we were confident about our terrain choice. Want to hear what happened? Then read on.

Our line as viewed from the east side of Gulmarg on a much nicer day
click to enlarge^^

Skins on, I begin my first tramp up to the top of the mountain. Approximately 250m of vertical to climb over a little more than a kilometre. Fine if I'm at sea level, relatively painless at 2000m, get up to 3950m (top of the gondola) and I start to wheeze a bit. Things slow down and I feel I've gone for miles and looking back it's about 50m! Deep breaths don't seem to fill my lungs. I can't seem to get into a nice, regular stride, which matches my breathing. It's tough pushing to the top. Especially, when the weather that was nice at the beginning, is slowly turning. Now, I'm not only trying to regulate my breathing but contemplating what to do if it turns into a complete white out.

looking for the entrance to our line in the
approaching storm.

The wind is bringing in the cloud and the visibility is as regular as my breathing. I push on to the top and over to our first re-grouping spot. I can see that the visibility isn't as bad as it could be. But I'm no way fooled that it can't get worse in seconds. When the others arrive we discuss our options and decide to lose a little altitude and reassess. Split-skiing is still a novelty and I have the grace and balance of a newly born foal! At the next spot, the cloud is a little thinner and the decision is made to continue with our original objective. We skin on, aware that, if the weather dictates, we can still turn around. A little further we need to stick the boards on our backs and search out the entrance on foot.

My feet punch through the sugary snow to the brush underneath, with a regularity that makes me wonder how my board can survive this scratch free. We locate the top of our line and scope out our dropping in point. It's unanimous that the true entry isn't going to be ridden by us today. We select a safer spot and begin to transform our boards back. This is when the wind plays her hand. She screams in my ear as I try and rip off my skins. The unruly things flapping in the wind refusing to behave. Fingers fumble with buckles and she even snatches up my mountain snack! The saving grace is that she's moving the cloud through so quickly that there are plenty of clear patches.

Perseverance is key when it comes to a transition in a blizzard. But we do so and are soon ready to move out. One-by-one we cross the shady part and move down the ridge top. I get to ride the short first pitch and the flat light puts me on my bum. Unperturbed I'm up quickly and over to our next safe spot. Once we're all there, it's this season's newbie to the area that gets to ride the first line. Off he goes and he does a good job of making it look awesome. With a spotter above and one below, it's my turn next. My head slips into my snow zone and away I go. The feeling of gliding over the snow brings me no ends of joy. I pull up next to Jason and I can see we're both wearing the same sort of smile. Andy is down last and surfs the white waves with his usual grace. All back together we scope the next pitch and it serves to provide us with more of the goods.

Jason does the billygoat

Down the bottom I look back up at the treats and am happy with our decision making process. In my mind it was better to ride something slightly narrower, with heavily identifiable features, than a wide open bowl in the clouds. Now on lower angles we head off back to the gondola. So that was a day before the last storm. We looked at the conditions, discussed and assessed the day. We rode something well within our abilities and did so in the safest manner we could. However, I'm now all to aware that it only takes the smallest change to make a massive difference. February is fast approaching and with it we'll have more people on the mountain, bigger snow storms and the potential to go on even bigger adventures.



I'm not here to offer safety advice, there is an amazing amount of information out there. Nor am I hear to sugar coat the dangers associated with being out in the backcountry. I'm here to recite what a season in the Himalaya can be like. It's just unfortunate that, this year, life in the mountains, here, have had such a serious consequence. What I'll take away from it is the real importance to assess the risk, be aware of the consequences and, above all, play it safe.