Skiing the Lost Horizon
Why is the Roaring Fork Valley home to more high-altitude skiers than almost anywhere in the world?
Photo by Jim Giles
Steve Marolt on top of Cho Oyu with Mount Everest in the background.
“I wonder if one could get any ski-ing on some of those slopes up yonder,” mused Mallinson, referring to the lofty Himalayan peaks in James Hilton’s 1933 classic tale, “Lost Horizon.” A wild thought at the time, but one apparently shared by some of Aspen’s most adventuresome ever since.
Aspen’s ski link to the world’s highest mountains started early on with Andre Roch, who visited from Switzerland in the 1930s and ’40s to help select a ski hill (eventually Aspen Mountain) and lay out the runs. Roch is reported by H.W. Tillman and Mahmud Aswad Rajput to have climbed in the Karakoram in Pakistan in 1934 and to have skied with Jimmy Belaieff “from about 7,000 meters [22,966 feet], creating a world altitude record on skis.”
German emigrant and printer Fritz Stammberger (pictured at left; photo courtesy of the Aspen Times) moved to Aspen in the early 1960s. “In 1964, he became the man with the highest ski descent to that date when he skied from 24,000 feet on Cho Oyu in Tibet (after making the first oxygen-less ascent of that 8,000-meter peak, the seventh highest mountain in the world),” writes longtime Roaring Fork Valley resident Lou Dawson in his book, “Wild Snow.” Dawson knew Stammberger and was the first person to ski all 54 of Colorado’s 14,000-foot peaks. Stammberger, who used to train for his high altitude climbs by duct-taping his mouth closed and hiking up Aspen Mountain, disappeared in 1975 on a solo expedition in Pakistan. In 1998, local ski star Chris Davenport (two time world extreme skiing champion, only person to ski all of Colorado’s fourteeners in 12 months, and so on) recorded the first ski descent from the summit of Baruntse in Nepal. In total, 12 past and present Roaring Fork Valley residents have descended on skis from above 7,000 meters. There are probably no more than 150 people worldwide who have done so, and only Chamonix, France, an Aspen sister city, claims a greater concentration of them.
Aspen’s most prolific practitioners of high altitude skiing are twins Mike and Steve Marolt, the fourth generation of a prominent Aspen ski-racing family. They have more ski descents above 7,000 meters than any other Americans. “As far as I know, we are tied with Hans Kammerlander for the most in the world,” says Mike. The brothers have led a coterie of their Aspen friends on six ski-mountaineering expeditions to the Himalaya. They share the challenge of fusing alpinism with skiing at high altitudes and are bound by the friendship and trust required to pursue such activities, elements nurtured and encouraged by the environment and community in Aspen.
The paramount distinction of doing anything at high altitude is the lack of oxygen. At 23,000 feet, air has only 42 percent of the oxygen content of air at sea level. Recalls Kevin Dunnett, who was on Everest with the Marolts in 2003: “It was brutal going up there at 17- to 18,000 feet for the very first time. ... I don’t think you ever really get used to altitude. I don’t think anyone does really. I think you are genetically built for it or not really.”
Former ski racer Mike Maple (pictured at left; photo by Jim Paussa) who was on Noijin Kangsang with the Marolts this past spring, relates that “Our summit day was the hardest day physically that I ever had. It was 14 hours from the time I started walking until the time I took my pack off. When you are on that rope above 21,000 feet, someone else is dictating your pace. It might not have been that fast, but for me it was absolutely exhausting. There is no such thing as a conversational pace at high altitude.”
Motivations for this grueling and often dangerous pastime are highly personal and varied. “The line between exhilaration and fear is often thin and blurred,” observes Jon Gibans, a local doctor who has climbed with the Marolts three times and skied with them twice above 7,000 meters. The quest for exhilaration becomes ever more demanding for those who have mastered their fears skiing the north face of North Maroon Bell and the like. They seek thrills on a grander scale, and the Himalaya and Karakoram are the ultimate destinations for scale.
“Skiing at altitude in the Himalaya is the toughest place to play the game,” contends Mike Marolt. “You’re dealing with the same factors, but you’re at 26,000 feet and the body supply is limited. And you’re talking about a trip of weeks and months. It’s just the ultimate challenge in skiing—and the most satisfying.”
For Jeremie Oates (pictured, right; photo by Steve Marolt), who skied on Mount Everest and Mustagh Ata with the Marolts, “the challenge and reward is how well you can actually ski a particular pitch or face or col or whatever. If you put down some good turns, even if it is only three or four, as is the limit on a peak like Everest, then that is a pretty cool feeling. And believe me when I say it hurts just to do that. It’s your lungs feeling like they will explode, your legs burning like you just finished the Lauberhorn and your head going faint—the whole deal.”
Jim Gile (at left; Jim Paussa photo), who grew up with the Marolts, has a more sublime take: “It’s all about the views and the people.” Similarly, local Olympic Nordic ski racer John Callahan, who has been on three Marolt expeditions, views it as a great excuse “to see a part of the world I otherwise never would travel to.”
One thing seems universally understood: It is not about a quest for an epic powder line. As Cherie Silvera (at right; Jim Paussa photo), who was with the Marolts on their first successful 7,000-meter ski, notes, “It’s generally not aesthetic skiing, just really hard. If you have great conditions, sure it’s terrific. But nine out of 10 times you don’t.” Davenport’s law: “The higher you get, the worse the skiing gets.”
Whether risks scale similarly is a matter of opinion. As Callahan solemnly points out, “Taking a risk with avalanche is the same whether you are on Castle Peak or whether you are in the Himalaya. If you get killed in an avalanche, you are not coming home. It doesn’t matter if you are not coming home from Tibet or from Castle Peak.” Any activity in the giant mountains of Asia tiptoes past danger: crevasses, avalanches, extreme weather and thin air. Skiing just compounds them. When asked why he hasn’t ever skied above 7,000 meters, Lou Dawson answers, “Because a lot of people die doing it.”
Support in time of crisis is minimal or nonexistent. “It’s not like a bad fall and a blown knee is as easy an exfiltration as calling a helicopter for extraction. A small injury or piece of equipment failing could be a disaster for you and your group,” says Oates, a lieutenant colonel in the Special Forces.
As one of the centers of North American skiing since the 1930s, perhaps it’s not surprising to find Aspen pushing the boundaries of the sport. But local accomplishments in ski mountaineering highlight an aspect of the Roaring Fork Valley that doesn’t always get much publicity. “On the surface Aspen is famous for its glitz and glamour set. That’s its identity,” observes Silvera. “But on another level there is a huge pool of talent and passion for the mountains usually associated with a Telluride or a Jackson Hole.”
Both the physical and cultural environments promote excellence in activities like ski-mountaineering. Says Maple, “When you live in a place where your friends, families, peers and idols are making their name and possibly their living being outdoor adventurists, that is a whole lot more encouraging for outdoor adventure than if you live in Boston.”
Aspen has long inculcated the virtues of exploring and respecting its outdoor environment in its schools. “Every kid that has gone through the school system since 1968 has gone through outdoor ed,” notes Callahan (at left; Jim Paussa photo). “There was a great group of teachers that was really into the outdoors and taught us a lot. Mike Flynn, Frank Beer, Bernie Pausback, Bill Klutchko, Grif Smith. They got us started on doing these more challenging things. It really hasn’t changed much.”
Aspen’s community promotes another essential ingredient: trust in your mate. Spending long hours in close quarters and taking exceptional risks demands a high level of trust and values enduring friendships. As Gile says, “There are a lot of people capable of doing what we do, but there aren’t many that have a group of people that they can do it with. A lot of us grew up together on the same street. It’s a way different thing if you are in a guided group with 20 people you don’t even know—that’s crazy.”
Other factors have also promoted ski-mountaineering in Aspen and the U.S. in general. In the ’70s and ’80s, exploits by Roaring Fork Valley residents Lou Dawson and Chris Landry gained attention as they started climbing and skiing Colorado’s fourteeners. When Chris Davenport (pictured below; Jim Paussa photo) skied them all in 2006 and 2007, 15,000 people regularly tracked him online.
Aspen and many other resorts also removed structural and regulatory barriers to ski-mountaineering. “When I was a kid it was absolutely prohibited to ski out of bounds. Now you can ski pretty much anywhere at anytime. People get a taste of backcountry skiing with lift service, and they become enthralled by it,” says Maple.
And the equipment companies have made huge leaps. Instead of the 30 extra pounds of separate ski gear Fritz Stammberger may have hauled up Cho Oyu in 1964, you now climb and ski in the same boots, and space age materials reduce the weight of skis and bindings to an extra seven or eight pounds.
Next year Davenport heads to Everest, and the Marolts are contemplating an assault on Manaslu. So, yes Mallinson, you can ski those slopes. But it helps to live in Aspen.
