The Unknown Back of my Hand

There is this mountain between the Wetterstein mountains and the Karwendel range. It's quite inconspicuous, yet it always attracts my attention when I drive south or back home again. Year after year I intend to climb this mountain, but somehow I have never managed. Every time the conditions are good, I'm on the road or traveling somewhere for work. I have never seen ski tracks on this mountain myself, but I know that a few people have already been there... "The sky is clear as we set out and we ascend through an untouched powder field." Sounds great, but utterly boring, no? In reality, we are following a dreary forest road. As soon as we turn off this trail, we find ourselves in a steep forest, surrounded by dense undergrowth.

The kick-turn technology is put to the test. We are searching the forest for an escape route, wanting to get out of this as quickly as possible. We keep thinking that we see a way that takes us quickly to the top, but after a few minutes, we find ourselves back in the undergrowth. "Aahhh, goddamn!"; even Toni seems to be desperate, he who is usually very easy to please with any condition. Finally, the forest is thinning, which is only due to the power line above us. To make matters worse, it's just getting even steeper now. Come on, be honest: Almost every ski tour starts like this. Unless you choose the easy way and float over the first couple hundred overgrown vertical meters with a gondola.

Somehow this is part of it – crossing a stream dizzily with your free-heeled touring binding, getting the thicket whipped in the face by the person in front of you or staggering across a frozen snow crust as if you had to walk barefoot over a nail board. But plowing through untouched powder or gliding uphill in the moonlight through the glittering white splendor of nature is also part of it. Perfect touring conditions, as known from the magazines, on the one hand, and hard work with skis under your feet on the other are so close together. When the slope finally gets more comfortable, we are happy we made it through, only to realize that we have to descend about 100 meters through the undergrowth. And the next steep forest is already in sight.

Nevertheless, we are motivated by the hope of finally being able to enjoy the white glory on untouched, vast slopes. We are between the Karwendel and the Wettersteingebirge on the way to a mountain which Toni and I regularly pass by car. Every time I drive through the valley, I look out the window and think to myself: "You need to ski this ravine once." Within the blink of an eye, it's out of sight – and usually also out of mind. Luckily, Toni called me two days ago and asked me if I would like to waddle up there with him. We did not know what to expect. This mountain is not listed in the local ski tour guides. A few local farmers may occasionally ski their turns there, unwatched and never telling anyone about it.

That's why we even brought our crampons. The evening before, we had checked a possible ascent route on our map. But we would not stay on it for too long. Finally, the forest is thinning out. The first rays of the sun reach through the trees, and we are happy thinking that we can ski this powder later on, on our way down. Shortly after, we reach the "magazine spread of the mountain": A little hill here, a couloir there, and a picturesque hut over there. A vast playground is unfolding in front of us. Click, click – the generic magazine pictures are taken care of. Fortunately, nobody knows that one of the images shows a total fake turn. So we can finally ski down the nicely truncated terrain with a clear conscience. Yippee – check out this snow!

Luckily for me, there are no pictures. That's the only way we could ski down without a disruptive photographic break. We throw the skins back on our skis, and the trail climbs a few meters to the next ridge. Just like in the guidebooks and glossy magazines, we zigzag through some wide, untouched slopes. Arriving at the top, we quickly take some heroic ski touring pictures before we hurry to get back into downhill mode because the wind is blowing uncomfortably cold up here. We choose different lines. Toni follows the dry powder; I ski the ravine, which I have been observing from the car for such a long time. And what a pleasure it is! After reconvening at the bottom, we realize that we missed the beautiful forest we had been looking forward to.

Instead, we unexpectedly stand in the middle of a huge avalanche deposit with many man-sized ice chunks. There are no photos of these unfavorable snow conditions, neither of the last 800 meters of skiing through magnificent snow. Maybe it's better that way. And it's true: You can make more money with cover page-worthy images, but to experience something exciting, I advise you to forget about the magazine presentation. As we arrive at the valley bottom, two kilometers of cross-country skiing still lie ahead and we start pushing out. Once again I realize that this is also part of a real ski tour. Two days later, Toni sends me the pictures. The folder is called "Hasellähne_Brey_Photography." Now I finally know the name of the ravine that I always see from the car – and that I finally got to ski.