It snowed overnight, there is a thin white down on the slopes at Titlis. But you have to wait a while for the real winter, says Christoph Bissig, "it will only come to us in February".
Bissig is the head of the Engelberg slope and rescue service. It is his 20th winter on the 3238-meter Titlis, and he says he loves this mountain. He calls him his "frozen wife" who sometimes makes him laugh and sometimes cry. Like the day the young snowboarder crashed.
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Engelberg-Titlis ski area: slope manager about the dangersFog was hanging over Engelberg, the view in the ski area had been bad all day. In order to find the missing snowboarder, Bissig had mobilized search teams and rescue workers and also a helicopter. Finally they discovered a snowboard in a gorge. But any help came too late for the man. Apparently he got lost in the field and fell.
Death is part of Bissig's job. He had to get 24 people from the mountain in the 20 years, including friends. "Death is tolerable," says Bissig. "What hurts a lot more is when you have to tell the relatives."
It was the same with the snowboarder, a young American. Together with the boy's father, Bissig hiked to the scene of the accident on the day after the accident with snowshoes. When they got there, the man started to cry and shouted out his son's name. "I will never forget this scream in my life," says Bissig.
Christoph Bissig can tell a lot about skiers and snowboarders who ski off the slopes, but have neither the equipment nor the skills necessary to survive off-piste safely. He sees them every day in winter, and sometimes he can only shake his head. "Personal responsibility is generally decreasing," he says. "And risk appetite is increasing."
Harakiri in the field
If the sky at the top is blue and a few meters below, the fog sticks to the slopes like a viscous mass, "then there are those who still drive into the terrain." Maybe because they believe that an avalanche beeper and an airbag can protect their lives. Or because they came for the weekend to "powder" and are not ready to miss the experience because of the weather.
Freeriders from all over Europe like to come to Engelberg, because the small town in central Switzerland is logistically favorable and is considered a deep snow mecca. The slopes around the Titlis in the Uri Alps are among the snowiest in Switzerland. There is, for example, the "Laub", an untracked descent that has legendary status among freeriders. Because it is steep, but still so regular that you drive there on good days like on clouds.
The place markets the "Freeriding" experience with beautiful pictures. But marketing people don't want a harakiri in the field either, which is why there have been "Snow and Safety" days in Engelberg for several years: days on which tourists can learn the basics of behavior in the field free of charge with a mountain guide. "Sensitizing such courses," says Bissig.
The number of avalanche deaths has actually decreased in recent years in relation to the increasing number of deep snow skiers. Still, it remains a dangerous pleasure. "Someone died last year. And according to statistics, someone will die again this year," says Bissig matter-of-factly.
"Always ready for surprises"
Bissig was born and grew up in the mountains. His parents ran a mountain inn with their own ski lift. In order to get to school, Bissig first had to take a Buiräbähnli, a supply gondola, to the valley and then walk four kilometers.
In winter he strapped on his skis for the downhill stretch or sat on a sled. Nevertheless, Bissig could not go to school on some days because an avalanche had slid down his way to school or the wind made it impossible to drive the Buiräbähnli.
But skiing was actually always possible. Snappy has been on the boards since he was three years old. "I always wanted to be a ski instructor. Or a ski racer. In any case, I wanted to have something to do with snow," he says. But he first became a cook, his parents wanted it that way. During his apprenticeship he already worked on the slopes of Andermatt, then he worked as a ski instructor in New Zealand for ten years. When his father died, he came back to Switzerland. And stayed in Engelberg.
Bissig's working day begins long before the lifts open. He collects data from weather maps, checks snow bulletins and looks at the avalanche reports from neighboring ski areas. He wants to be prepared for what the day will bring. "Although you always have to be prepared for surprises in the mountains. Up here every day is different."
Titlis in transition: melting glaciers and star architecture
Sometimes he trudges out with his colleagues at dawn in a snow storm and blows up avalanches so that the slopes are safe. But of course accidents do happen, an average of 300 per winter. "People drive more ruthlessly today than they used to," says Bissig.
The "easy going" attitude of many young drivers made his job more demanding. Fortunately, says Bissig, he has a team of experienced mountain people around him. Almost everyone has known the Titlis since childhood. And they see how the mountain changes.
Because the ice on the glacier is getting less. "And it is melting faster and faster," says Bissig. In Engelberg they protect the snow in summer with huge tarpaulins. It's not nice, but it is necessary. Because the glacier provides work in the village. Skiers come in winter and tourists from the Far East in summer. Indians and Chinese then ride a futuristic rotating gondola on Little Titlis, stalk through an ice grotto and fascinate with their hands to form the first snowballs of their lives.
A futuristic building on Little Titlis, designed by the star architects Herzog and De Meuron, is soon to be built for a lot of money. It will surely make the Engelberg one attraction richer.
Bissig is involved in the planning, they need his expertise in snow and ice. But he has mixed feelings. On the one hand, he can't do much with the show on the mountain. On the other hand, he also knows that it has to go on, somehow. "Because we can no longer save the glacier," he says. Then his radio beeps. Snappy is needed outside in the snow.