The mountains, my life full of work and longing E-Book

Josef Friedl

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 659

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

The son of a family of mountain farmers in the Lechtal Alps experiences the hard and modest life of the old days on his parents' farm, where he is required to work very early on in his childhood. The development of the village with electricity and an access road ushered in a rapid development that changed many things. Josef Friedl tells of profound feelings, of the threat posed by the forces of nature, of special mountain experiences and a wide variety of events from old and new eras. Insights resulting from his own life experience complete a restless autobiography.

Leseprobe

Acknowledgments

In gratitude for my loving wife Gabi, who has carried my restless life with kindness and patience for decades.

My special thanks also go to Andrea Hohenrainer and Elisabeth Knitel as well as Mr. Andreas Pronegg for their helpful corrections and valuable advice.

I would also like to thank the staff at novum Verlag for aiding in successfully designing my book, especially Ms. Gabriela Ganzwohl for the pleasant cooperation and Ms. Theresia Riegler for the extremely careful editing.

Explanation

In principle, each chapter of this book can be read individually and independently of the others. You get a better insight if you look at related topics. If you want to get as much as possible of what I did, experienced and felt, you should read all of it. "It's really a never-ending story to know all about you", said an English-speaking technician with whom I had private as well as professional contact.

For the sake of clarity, the contents of the book are organized by topic and not chronologically. A location sketch of the local conditions in my home valley can be found in the appendix (19.17). All unmarked photos were taken by me.

1 Introduction

It happened as it should: The small mountain village of Boden, situated at 1,356 meters, became my home in April 1956. There hardly could have been a better place for me than this secluded spot in the middle of the Lechtal Alps, surrounded by steep and rugged mountains. Even though my previous paths were often steep, rocky and arduous, I am grateful, happy and satisfied that I was able to follow my destiny in the Land of Mountains.

The wide range of what I have experienced so far stretches from the modest village life in the primitive wooden huts in Pfafflar with exclusively manual labor through many rapid stages of development to artificial intelligence!

Comparably, the mountain farming life of my childhood took place in a completely different world. Not only were the ways of living and working completely different, but also the attitude towards life, the way of thinking and the resulting behavior have little in common with today’s customs.

The struggle to survive in this harsh mountain world was at the heart of everything my ancestors did for centuries. I still experienced first-hand how my parents’ constant work, toil and hardship were necessary to feed our family.

On my hikes and mountain tours, I often revisited the places where we herded young cattle, brought salt to the sheep, harvested mountain hay, built haystacks, cleared pastures, repaired avalanche damage, mended fences or grew potatoes. Today I feel it all took place in a different world, as if it were a different movie. The change in values that I have experienced and witnessed in my life so far is enormous.

The impressions from my childhood have shaped me, the rapid changes within a very short period of time, intensely emotional events, encounters with charismatic people as well as in-depth personal experiences are worth putting to paper. That's why I started writing articles for this book many years ago.

Also, a lot of space is given to the beautiful and delicate experiences on mountain and ski tours, which have increasingly become an essential part of my leisure time over the course of my life. I also mentioned personal insights that I consider to be very important in terms of physical and mental health.

In Boden, the world of my childhood, there was a church, twelve houses and around 55 inhabitants. Boden includes the two villages Brandegg and Pfafflar, which are not inhabited all year round. Pfafflar in turn consists of the farmsteads Unterhaus, Ebele and Haag. Boden and the village of Bschlabs, being five kilometers apart, form a political municipality called Pfafflar. Many people find it illogical that a municipality should bear the name of a district that was permanently abandoned 130 years ago. Bschlabs is made up of the hamlets of Aschlen, Sack, Windegg, Mitterhof, Taschach, Egg and Zwieslen. According to the official census, there were 198 inhabitants in our municipality in 1951; in 2023, there are just about half as many.

The rapid, enormous change of times within the last century, which my ancestors reported on and which I personally experienced, should make us aware that changes can occur very quickly and at any time. We must not sit back indifferently and feel secure in our current prosperity. On the contrary, we must do everything in our power to secure peace and freedom in order to maintain these social, medical and economic achievements. All of the comforts we enjoy today, while often taken for granted and subject to complaints from those who expect more, were not given in the past and could not be guaranteed in the future either.

"Nothing is as constant as change", the Greek philosopher Heraclitus once said, or to put it in another way: "The only constant is constant change!"

2 My Life with Avalanches

Avalanches in every possible form have often affected my life. Due to the exposed location of my home village, living with the masses of snow sliding down from the steep mountains in winter has been part of my everyday life since childhood. Whether as slab, loose snow, dust (19.1), sliding snow or wet snow avalanches, I was fascinated by the shape, force and power of avalanches in every form. When my parents warned me, when I listened to avalanche stories in the living room, when school lessons were canceled due to avalanches, when countless roads were closed, when I climbed over fresh avalanche cones, when I dug emergency paths through avalanches, when there problems with tourists because the village was inaccessible or they were trapped, when avalanche damage needed to be repaired, when garbage needed to be cleared, when I was giving avalanche courses, as mayor, as chairman or member of the avalanche commission, when skiing off-piste, on many ski tours and also when I was directly confronted with the dangerous masses of snow, the topic of avalanches has always remained topical and sensitive in my life!

2.1 The Day I Was Born

Because it had been snowing a lot the days before my birth and the midwife in charge of our valley was not available at the time, my mother was taken to the Kreckelmoos hospital in Breitenwang in good time. These days, almost all children in our community had been delivered at home with the help of the local midwife.

On the day I was born, April 12, 1956 (at 11:35 a.m.), the men from Boden shoveled a footpath through deep snow and over several avalanches to Bschlabs. The path "Unter den Köpfen" from "Waldele" to the "Nassen Platten" was almost completely buried by avalanches. Due to the large amount of fresh snow deposited on a smooth, hardened layer of old snow, even the slopes between the usual avalanche paths had slipped. Towards evening, Michael Perl, the landlord of Gasthaus Edelweiss (the father of the people mentioned in the book, Otto, Helga and Margit, as well as Reinhold and Werner's grandfather) came in by foot from Elmen and told my dad, who was still standing on the avalanche cone with a shovel in his hand, that he had become the father of a healthy son for the first time today. My dad – as he used to say – had his "hair standing on end" hearing this good news.

2.2 Winter Days in My Childhood

I found the winters during my childhood and youth, which were usually snowy, to be very long, cold, dark, and often uncomfortably gloomy. Again and again, we were cut off from the outside world for many days, even weeks at a time. On the road from Boden to Elmen, which was still quite narrow at the time and around eleven kilometers long, there were around thirty places (19.2) where you had to be prepared for avalanches.

Snow blower in Kanzertal on the road from Elmen to Bschlabs

After intense periods of snowfall, which usually occur frequently in winter, it took a long time for the Unimog snow blower from the Reutte construction district office to clear the way back to us in Boden. The snowplow on Helmut Lechleitner's tractor, which is quite small compared to today's standards, was no longer able to cope with large amounts of snow despite being constantly on the move. To clear large dust avalanches and especially huge wet snow avalanches, which were often interspersed with trees, stones and soil, it was necessary to use push crawlers or wheel loaders.

When Alfons Kirchmaier, a hunter for the Pischl family's leased hunting ground from Telfs, fell ill with kidney colic, the men from Boden prepared a landing strip for a small plane in the 'Black Forest'—a flat field south of the Fundais and east of the Angerlebach—using skis and homemade snow tires, similar to modern snowshoes. The excitement was tremendous when the renowned rescue pilot Eduard Bodem from Innsbruck landed his Piper 180 on December 23, 1962. Testing if it was possible to take off again with the diseased Alfons, the pilot made a successful take-off in which my uncle Anton (6.7) was allowed to attend. Wrapped in thick blankets, being pulled to the runway lying on a hay sled, Alfons was transferred into the plane. Once the plane had disappeared from our view, the excitement died down and the Christmas hibernation returned to the village, which was separated from the outside world by avalanches. Anton often talked enthusiastically about this exciting test flight.

Before suitable helicopters became available, small, maneuverable fixed-wing aircraft were used to assist in mountain rescue operations, especially on glaciers and snowfields.

As I remember from several stories and also from the chronicles, this was the second time an airplane landed in Boden for the rescue operation for Alfons: Earlier in August 1926, the hunting tenant Rudolf Pischl from Telfs came over the Hahntennjoch in his biplane. When it landed on the flat field northwest of Boden (known as "Anlage"), it was badly damaged due to the underestimated unevenness of the terrain. Mechanics from Munich repaired the propeller and the wings of the plane next to the house of Leo Lechleitner (6.1), Boden 35. The necessary spare parts were delivered to Imst by train and were then carried over to the Hahntennjoch. The flat area that gave Boden its name allowed an airplane to reach the village 24 years before the first car.

Once there was no connection to the outside world for a very long time, an army helicopter flew important foodstuffs into our village. The pilot likely wanted to bring us some joy, and as a little boy, I was fortunate to take a short flight over the village with a few others. It was a truly special experience that we talked about for a long time afterward.

I can also remember a teacher who couldn't bear to be trapped by the snow because her family lived out in the Lech Valley. Every time it started to snow more heavily, and a roadblock occurred, she immediately left the village. It regularly happened that there were no lessons for days. At first, we were happy about the extra days off, but soon it got boring at home sitting behind the stove or endlessly shoveling snow and we longed to go back to school. As soon as we had regular lessons again, we hoped that the streets would remain accessible so that we wouldn't have to experience another forced vacation.

If our family couldn't leave the domicile in Pfafflar (3.7) – where we had to stay for several weeks with our cattle until the local hay supply was used up – before the major snowfalls, there was also a risk of avalanches on the route from Pfafflar to Boden on the way to school.

When our much-loved teacher Edeltraud Wagner, unfortunately, broke her foot, the innkeeper Otto Perl had to take us to the elementary school in Bschlabs in his VW T2 bus for a few weeks so we could visit teacher Johann Ostermann (6.4) and his pupils there. Otto continued his duties even when the road was closed due to avalanche risk but could still be navigated with snow chains – something that would be unthinkable today. Before crossing avalanche tracks, our driver would often say: "Luagats aua, ob a Lahna kint!" - "Look up to see if an avalanche is coming!"

Towards spring, I kept a close eye on the daily slowly cracking snow on the mountain meadows and hoped to see the descent of a wet snow avalanche. I was particularly interested in the Ahorntal avalanche (19.3), which could reach the fields near the village. I often ran outside the house to observe how the snow masses came crashing down from the Reichspitz massif or the Spitzachsel into the valley with a loudly audible roar as days warmed up quickly.

On steep slopes that were safe to reach atop, I repeatedly tried to trigger avalanches myself, as I knew exactly which snow conditions were conducive to an avalanche when I was at compulsory school. Wet snow in spring was particularly suitable for forming an independent avalanche. I hoped to trigger a small avalanche by jumping vigorously with my legs straddled into the suspected avalanche zone so I could observe its descent. Of course, I paid attention to the thickness of the snowpack above me and the possibility of holding on to avoid being swept away.

Once, on a sunny afternoon towards the end of April, I climbed up the already bare meadows to Habart, the mountain where we harvested our hay. On the very steep north-facing slopes behind the ridge, there was still a thick blanket of snow that was completely soaked and loose. This is the kind of situation where you need to stay away from the slopes at all costs. If you were trapped in snow of this consistency, you would be encased in concrete and there would be no escape, even if it was only a small amount of the crushing mass!

Standing safely on the ridge line between Ahörnle and Habart, I formed as big a snowball as possible with my hand, from which the water dripped. With all my strength, I threw it into the steepest accessible part of the slope. The rotten snow immediately collapsed at the point of impact and the slushy mass slowly began to move. The initially punctiform crack quickly widened into a cone shape and the snow cover was loosened in ever deeper layers. Further masses of snow became loose after the small avalanche hit the slope below after falling over a vertical step.

With my heart pounding and great excitement, I followed what was happening next: At first, I thought I could no longer see clearly or that I was feeling dizzy, but I immediately noticed that almost the entire snow blanket of the Nudleskar, which must have covered a hectare, was suddenly in motion. With a loud roar, the increasingly rapid, gigantic amounts of snow at the lower end of the cirque were channeled into the rock channel and then poured like an oversized waterfall into the Plötzigbach stream 700 meters below me. I stood there rooted to the spot and couldn't believe what a gigantic natural spectacle I had triggered with one single snowball. In the evening, I walked along the hiking trail into the Plötzig valley to marvel at the impressive avalanche cone of the avalanche I had triggered. I will never get an answer to the extremely tingling question of whether this avalanche would have occurred without me.

Once having crossed a questionable slope in the terrain on skis without any problems, or successfully passed a potential avalanche line on the road by foot or by car, as was often the case in our valley when the road was closed, you always ask yourself the same questions: "How problematic was the situation? Were the masses of snow firmly anchored to the ground or have they just got stuck on the last spike up there?" You never get an answer to that either. It is worrying if you assume that no avalanche is to be expected and therefore behave negligently. An avalanche either does or doesn't happen. There is nothing in between.

2.3 Powder Snow Instead of School

One Friday morning in the middle of the winter in 1976/77, during the long break at the Higher Technical College (HTL) in Fulpmes (12.1), we saw deep snow-covered, shining-yellow mountain peaks emerging from the slowly clearing fog banks. As there had been a lot of fresh snow in the last few days and the weather was about to clear up, we couldn't resist the temptation of deep snow skiing in the Schlick ski area. Nothing could hold us back. One of my classmates and I agreed and signed out of class with a dubious-sounding excuse. We hurried to our accommodation, threw on our skiing attire, and shortly afterwards the lifts were whisking us up to the Sennjoch, the highest exit point in this ski area. Even on the first ascent with the Zirmach T-bar lift, the immaculate deep snow slopes below the Hoher Burgstall were simply unmissable. In the meantime, the last remnants of the fog had lifted, and nothing stood in the way of having a glorious skiing day. Unfortunately, the open terrain outside the secured area was closed due to the risk of avalanches. For the time being, we contented ourselves with a few runs on the well-prepared slopes, which were picturesquely set in the snow-covered landscape. Wherever possible, we made a few turns in the untouched snow next to the piste.

It wasn't long until the temptation became too big, and we headed over to the slopes below the Hoher Burgstall, which caught our eye every time we took the lift. Ignoring the barriers and the lift attendant's unmistakable warning, we tried to reach this deep snow Eldorado with as little loss of altitude as possible. It was great fun, and we were thrilled to carve our tracks in this fluffy powder. Because it was so beautiful, the venture went so well and there were no problems in sight, we repeated the descent down this dream slope again and again. After getting off the lift, we immediately turned right to the huge "canvas", where we made the artwork bigger from run to run with our flawless tracks. Each time, Manfred and I added between 65 and 70 perfect-looking turns on the slope between the upper entrance and the lower exit. On the way back, we always followed the same track, which led through small valleys, hollows, over crests and through a few stone pines back to the lift station. These increasingly fast runs have also been great fun before the drag lift took us back up again.

Round after round followed and by the end of the lift, we had decorated the entire slope with countless, even and flawless garlands, which we had drawn with elegant, closed ski guidance. We were proud and very satisfied with our work, which no other skier dared to ski down all afternoon. We were looking forward to presenting our masterpiece to our school colleagues and the girls from Plöven, a district of Fulpmes, at the weekend.

The next morning, however, when we returned with our clique, our necks grew longer and longer because we could no longer see the tracks, we had made below the Burgstall rocks during the previous day's lesson. We were shocked and heartbroken to realize that all our tracks had been buried by a huge avalanche. Not a single wedge track could be seen, only the clearly recognizable tracks leading into and out of the avalanche cone revealed that someone must have been in this danger zone before the avalanche occurred.

The first time I got off the Zirmach T-bar lift, the lift operator grabbed my anorak so tightly that I lost my balance and almost fell to the ground. "Did you see that?" he asked in an insistent voice. "Yes, I got it!", I timidly replied.

It was only over time I realized how lucky we were back then. Even today, the thought of our recklessness back then still gives me goosebumps. A few years later, one of our HTL workshop teachers unfortunately died in an avalanche during a ski tour in the same area.

Note: It's hard to imagine today that we always used to ski in deep snow on skis that were more than 2 meters long, narrow and barely waisted. During my HTL days, I was proud to be able to ride a Kneissl Red Star with a length of 2.05 meters.

2.4 Easter Ski Tour

Once at Easter, in the early 1980s, my brother Markus and I decided to go on a ski tour by the Schlenkerspitze with Helmut Lechleitner (a Bodener born in 1939, who was always ready to help me and with whom we experienced a lot). At that time, this tour to the highest peak in the eastern Lechtal Alps was still considered a very long, arduous undertaking and was hardly undertaken by anyone. We didn't have any special touring equipment yet, but left with piste skis, and heavy ski boots, sometimes even without touring bindings and with sealskins attached to the skis with leather straps.

The fairly passable conditions below 2,000 meters deteriorated with increasing altitude during the ascent. The initially well-set and consolidated fresh snow became deeper and deeper towards the top and was a little windblown in some places, making it increasingly difficult for Markus, who always led the way. With many hairpin turns, we fought our way up the long, steep slope from the upper cirque directly to the ridge that leads from the Galtseitenjoch to the Schlenkermassiv. Although we were already worried about the risk of avalanches, we didn't think about turning around and going back. We had to carry the skis along the partially blown-off ridge, we climbed over the rock ribs, and with a few last hairpin turns we finally reached the terrain shoulder below the summit gully, where we set up the ski depot.

Suddenly, dense fog completely obscured our view. Nevertheless, we trudged up the side of the gully towards the summit, sinking into the snow up to our hips. After we could no longer get past vertical boulders on the right-hand side, looking in the direction of the ascent, we decided to cross the gully. Markus left a horizontal, deep trench in the meter-high snow. When I was in the middle of this extremely steep couloir with Helmut, the valley-side edge of the track we had created suddenly disappeared silently into the fog. Fortunately, the snow above us between the increasingly narrow rocks didn’t slide. As we could hardly see, we didn't think much of it and carried on struggling to reach our destination. On the last few exposed meters, Helmut and I were secured by Markus with a rope. It had taken us quite a long time to make the strenuous 1,500-metre ascent from home to the summit cross on the Schlenkerspitze (2,827 m) and we were delighted that the fog was clearing up. Then the sun was coming out and we could take in the wonderful, wintry mountain panorama of the Lechtal Alps.

On our descent, we were horrified to discover that we had not only triggered a snow slab in the summit gully but that had also caused a huge avalanche on the entire eastern flank, which stretches from the Brunnkarscharte up to the Schlenker. Some of our ascent tracks below the Schidepots, which we had deliberately placed as far as possible to the edge of the slope, had also been swept away. On the descent along the avalanche track on consolidated old snow, we felt safe and realized that we had unleashed a huge avalanche of dust that had flowed even further down into the Brunnkar than we could see from atop. It's unthinkable what would have happened if we hadn't triggered this avalanche on the ascent, as we would have had to ski down this eastern slope because the route down via the ridge was not a viable alternative.

Uncle Anton (6.7), who had considered joining us on this tour the day before but then changed his mind, was worried because we were not back by the late hour. He took the cable car to Pfafflar and then walked up towards Kögele to get an overview of the tour area we were aiming for. As he did so, he recognized the huge avalanche chute with his binoculars and our ski tracks leading into the avalanche. Completely shocked, he immediately wanted to get on his way back to Boden to alert the mountain rescue service.

However, before he left the area from which you can look at the Schlenker area, he took another glance at the supposed accident site and was more than relieved to see all three of us descending from the Brunnkarscharte into the Fundais valley. He didn't lose his sight of us until we had reached the safe bed of the Fundaisbach, which was hidden under a thick blanket of snow.

It was only over the next few days that we gradually realized how lucky we were and how many guardian angels had protected us so that we didn't come to grief in one of several possible avalanches on this daring Easter tour.

2.5 My Building Site

It has always been my greatest wish to build a house in Boden and stay in the village; yet, I realized that this plan was not easy because there was no suitable building site. The village of Boden is surrounded by red danger zones and cannot be extended. Towards the south, the dangerous Fundaisbach (19.4) formed the boundary of the development, and on the north and east sides the Ahorntal (19.3) and Eifertal avalanches. Downwards, in a westerly direction, i.e. below the Bergheimat inn, housebuilding was also prohibited due to the potential avalanche down the Spitzachsel.

From the observations and experience gained from earlier contact with avalanches from the Ahörnle and the Eifertal, older villagers were convinced that the Karleite, a ledge above the village, deflected the avalanches and therefore could not cause any damage to the buildings on that ground.

This reason, which I have often heard, and which also seems plausible to me, as to why the village center has so far been spared from avalanches, came to my mind every time I looked at the possible avalanche paths and the houses below from the surrounding mountain slopes during mountain tours.

I, therefore, became increasingly convinced that the "Fasche", the field just north of the church, between Gebhard Perl's stable built in 1972 (6.3) and below Anton Friedl's relatively new building (6.7) on the "Gorenbichl" would be a suitable building site. With the photos I took in flat sunlight, which clearly showed the structure of the terrain above the village, I wanted to justify the application to the authorities to lift the red danger zone.

I postponed writing a request and forwarding the photos I had taken until next year because of the imminent change in my private life – my girlfriend Manuela was expecting a child, and the winter had been approaching.

Due to the exceptionally intense snowfall, which lasted several days and was brought to the northern Alps by a strong north-westerly current, huge amounts of snow were deposited, particularly on the south-east facing slopes. The steel snow bridges of the avalanche barriers built on the Ahörnle in the 1960s were not able to hold these masses of snow on the mountain and so a huge dust avalanche (19.1) broke loose the night of February 9-10, 1984, which crashed down to Boden with full force. The masses of snow were not dispersed by the Karleite hilltop, as I and others had hypothesized. On the contrary, it flowed over it, tearing down the newly erected structure on top of Anton's garage and shattering the entire wooden structure of the building. The avalanche had shot over the garage, which had been concreted deep into the ground, at such a high speed that the negative pressure created on the valley side of the building had sucked out all three sheet-steel garage doors. With immense force and the dismembered wood from Anton's building, the avalanche flowed right through the middle of my intended building site and then tore down Gebhard's stable building. Twelve head of cattle, a pig and several chickens were killed instantly. Subsequently, the avalanche of dust, which had still not stopped, also destroyed Helmut's garage, where the tractor that had broken down while clearing the snow had been repaired just an hour earlier. Several onlookers from the village watched Helmut and Anton at work until late at night and kept them company. This tractor was swept about 50 meters by the avalanche and got completely destroyed. The 200-liter diesel barrel, which was also deposited in the garage, was later found in the swimming pool below the Gasthof Bergheimat. The windows of the inn were smashed, and the restaurant was filled with snow.

It was only a good week after the avalanche and three days after the birth of my first child – my healthy, lovely little daughter Christine – that my brother Markus and I were able to walk from Elmen, where the Bschlabertal valley branches off from the Lechtal valley to Boden and seeing the devastating extent of the avalanche. The very next day, we both climbed up to the avalanche's break-off point on good snow with touring skis where we followed and examined the avalanche line stretching from the Ahornkopf to the Brandskopf. As we stood under the meter-high edge of the avalanche and looked over the huge area of the avalanche, I realized once again that it was not a good idea to build a house on the edge of the village, which seemed small and vulnerable from above! Like others, I had severely underestimated the potential of the forces of nature. I never spoke about my plans again.

With my daughter Christine in March 1984

In the same year, the "Wildbach- und Lawinenverbauung" (an Austrian organization subordinate to the Federal Ministry of Agriculture, divided into 7 sections and 21 regional construction management offices for the planning and construction of protective structures against the forces of nature) thankfully began with the project planning and very soon built a sufficiently dimensioned shoring with many steel snow bridges in the demolition area, so that the Ahorntal avalanche (19.3) could no longer cause any damage to the ground as far as human beings could judge.

Rosi Friedl recorded this avalanche event in her diary. I would like to thank my sister for allowing me to reproduce this document about an incisive event in her life in my book, in chapter 4.3.1 "When white death came knocking!".

Rosi's diary, the stories of my mother, other people’s notions and also my personal story formed the essential basis for the play "The Avalanche" written by Claudia Lang-Forcher, which was successfully performed around twenty times in the summer of 2009 on the open-air stage in Elbigenalp.

Claudia Lang-Forcher is an author, director, actress, theater educator and organizer. She was artistic director of the Geierwally open-air theater in Elbigenalp until 2013.

2.6 Endless Road Closures in Winter

In the following passage, I describe just a few of the countless avalanche situations I have witnessed in our valley.

In the late fall of 1981, the landscape was only covered by a thin layer of snow before the heavy snowfall on November 30th made it necessary to close the road. Numerous avalanches were cleared by December 7th However, before the road could be reopened, there was another exceptional increase in fresh wet snow on the night of December 8th, which meant that many avalanches buried the road again. The men of the valley shoveled sled-wide footpaths over the avalanche cones by hand so that they could cross the danger spots by foot as quickly as possible while keeping a constant eye on the avalanche tracks on the mountainside. Due to the continuing avalanche danger, the road could not be cleared by the Christmas holidays and New Year’s Eve. Holiday guests couldn’t arrive, and the locals had to carry the Christmas shopping essentials by foot or sled from Elmen. On Christmas Eve, also my brother Markus and I took some things home on a hay sled.

Brother Markus with his Christmas shopping on the way from Elmen to Bschlabs

The wheel loader only began clearing the road in Elmen on February 2nd. It took three days to clear the first 2.5 kilometers to the "Wiesenrinner" and then a whole week until the entire road length was clear again. In the winter of 1981/82, the road from Boden to Elmen was officially closed for a total of eighty days due to avalanche danger and sliding avalanches.

In February 1985, the attempt to remove the large avalanche masses on the "Wiesenrinner" with a wheel loader also led to a tricky situation. The trench, which was several meters deep and had been dug into the avalanche cone by the clearing vehicle on the country road, became increasingly narrow as the masses of snow on the mountainside slowly slid down the slippery, wet, unfrozen mountain meadows. Attempts were made to continuously widen the trench, but at some point, the danger of the machine becoming trapped became too great. The clearing had to be stopped, and the road had to remain closed.

A few days later, the new clearing attempt also failed. As soon as the avalanche snow on the road was removed, the avalanche cone, weighing countless tons and reaching far up the steep, slippery slope, slid down.

The makeshift roadway on the avalanche was used for weeks

A few days later, another 50-meter-long roadway was built on the compacted avalanche snow at a height of a few meters without having to remove the supporting snow base. As long as it was cold and everything was frozen, it was easy to drive vehicles on the compacted snow. However, it was somewhat problematic to drive normal cars up the rather steep ramp onto the avalanche. Driving down on the other side was usually easier. Yet, as soon as the thaw set in, the snow became soft and it was difficult to negotiate the increasingly deep ruts on the temporary avalanche track, even with snow chains fitted.

As it was not possible to estimate when the road could be properly reopened, registered guests were taken down into the valley via the makeshift avalanche path. One Saturday, I was asked to transport guests departing from Gasthof Bergheimat to their cars, which they had left behind in the valley, using the VW bus. There had been a few centimeters of fresh snow during the night. As I carefully drove the fully loaded bus out of the valley on the avalanche track, the left front wheel slipped into a pothole covered by fresh snow, and we got stuck. It turned out that the entire avalanche was still slowly sliding downhill. The roadway, made of avalanche snow, was being pushed down a few centimeters every day without us noticing and crevasses were forming on the steeply sloping edge of the slope in the same way that crevasses form on glaciers. With the help of shovels and boards lying around as well as the strength of many helpers, the vehicle could be freed from the crevasse and the journey continued.

Back then, we had the most avalanche-prone access road of any municipality in Austria for decades. There was no other place in Austria that was closed thirty to eighty days a winter due to avalanches or avalanche danger. However, the official road closures, which would also have applied to pedestrians, hardly stopped anyone from using the closed road at their own risk if necessary.

People opened barriers without permission, then put barriers, warning signs and prohibition signs aside and tried to drive as far as possible by car, then climbed over one or more avalanche cones by foot to borrow a vehicle that was on the other side of the blockades, to be given a lift by such a vehicle or to travel out and back in by foot altogether. In a special way, these customs became a "normal state" of everyday life. Enormous luck and many guardian angels were probably involved, considering the fact that there was never an avalanche accident.

It is close to a miracle that the inhabitants of Bschlabs and Boden were repeatedly confronted with avalanches day and night but were never seriously injured!

The dangers, circumstances and hardships that people had to put up with to gain their "freedom", which was officially forbidden but usually urgently necessary, were often unbearable. As a result of all this, we not only had the longest roadblocks in the 1980s but also the highest population decline of any municipality in Austria. Many young people in our valley no longer wanted to put up with these constant worries and the great effort involved. The uncertainty of when or how they could reach or leave their hometown in winter led them to, unfortunately, leave the community for good.

2.7 Mayors and Avalanches

After six years in office as deputy mayor, I was elected mayor of the municipality of Pfafflar in 1992. This made me the successor to long-term mayor Alois Köck (6.2), who had held this office for 28 years.

On the day of the municipal council elections and my election as head of the municipality, which was on March 15, 1992, it snowed so heavily that the road had to be closed in the afternoon due to the risk of avalanches. As the avalanche situation remained tense in the following weeks, the road had to remain closed until mid-April. On Tuesday in Holy Week, during my office hours at the municipal office, the avalanche commission, of which I was now chairman, unanimously decided to have the road closure lifted the next day by the district authority. We justified the proposal to the best of our knowledge after carefully observing the terrain. As a result, the connection to the Lech Valley was reopened the next morning after a four-week closure. The inns received their deliveries for Easter, the inhabitants were able to travel back and forth without having to make a fare evasion trip, and also the letter carrier was allowed to deliver the mail again. We were finally free, and I was very happy about it because the pressure from the population, especially the innkeepers, had grown stronger and stronger towards finally opening the road again. I found this pressure extremely unpleasant because on the one hand, I understood the people who wanted to leave and come in unhindered, and on the other hand, we still saw a certain danger.

Just after 7 p.m., on the same day that the closure was lifted in the morning, a huge avalanche of wet snow went down in the Kanzertal valley and blocked the road over a length of around 60 meters with a thousand cubic meters of brown snow mixed with huge amounts of soil, stones and wood. We had to have the road closed again immediately. The next morning, the district governor got on the phone and said: "Mr. Friedl, you haven't got it under control yet!" I just thought to myself: “Who has ever had the avalanches in our valley under control?” and didn't talk back.

Although heavy equipment was used to clear the path again over the next few days, the official closure was only finally lifted on May 5th. Just after the last potentially dangerous crack of sliding snow in the area, i.e. the Kanzertal avalanche had broken off but did not come down to the main road as feared.

The mayor, who is also usually the chairman of the avalanche commission – because no one else wants to – bears the main responsibility for closing and clearing the road. On the one hand, you don't want to deprive the residents of their freedom unnecessarily, but on the other hand, despite conscientious observation and assessment, you can't always fully recognize a potential avalanche danger.

It was therefore unavoidable that since the access road was built, many avalanches have fallen onto the road that was not closed yet. When asked whether it was avalanche-proof, I occasionally replied: "It's usually completely avalanche-proof on August 15th, but only if it hasn't snowed beforehand. It's never 100 percent safe during the winter!"

The official approval procedures for the construction of avalanche-protection measures to secure the settlement area and access road have cost me a lot of nerves, effort, and trouble. Some important projects initiated by my predecessors, especially Alois Köck (6.2) and Fridolin Kathrein as well as Gebhard Perl (6.3) in their constant efforts, entered the implementation phase during my function as mayor. Although all residents in the valley benefited from these protective structures, several affected landowners vehemently resisted the use of their land. This persistent behavior of non-cooperative community citizens seriously jeopardized the implementation of fully planned and fully financed projects. Time and again, there were situations in which the realization of extremely valuable buildings was on the verge of being demolished.

By initiating expropriation proceedings, diplomatic talks, and the unconditional commitment of the entire municipal council to the urgently needed safety measures, it was ultimately possible to implement them with little delay.

In hindsight, everyone who lives here is content to have these constructions and is grateful that the public sector spent so much money on them. Most of the affected properties have either been completely restored or are no longer being farmed anyway. Individual owners of land that was irretrievably lost in the course of the construction work would certainly have received a higher compensation amount through negotiation than they were awarded in the course of the expropriation.

2.8 Tragic Finale to a Special Ski-touring Winter

The winter of 2017/18, ending very quickly with summery temperatures even in the mountains, was exceptionally long and snowy compared to recent years. It, therefore, offered many opportunities for beautiful ski tours.

We were able to complete almost all of the activities we planned at the beginning of October and were able to gain unforgettable impressions.

In addition to many off-piste tours in the local area and on the slopes in the evening, the day tours to the Wöster and Weißseespitze as well as the three-day ski-touring weekend at the Amberger Hütte, the five-day Venter-Runde with Hauslabkogel, Similaun, Fineilspitze, Weißkugel, Fluchtkogel and Wildspitze and especially the second part of the seven-day Haute Route from Bourg-Saint-Pierre via Zermatt to Saas Fee with detours to Mont Velan (3,726 m), Grand Combin Grafeneire (4,314 m), Gran Combin Valsorey (4,184 m), Tête Valpelline (3,799 m), Strahlhorn (4,190 m) and Alphubel (4,206 m) are among the absolute tour highlights!

After building up our fitness and acclimatizing as best as possible, the Gran Paradiso and Mont Blanc were part of our ambitious, well-filled wish list at the end of this fantastic ski-touring season: Despite a dubious weather forecast, we – Fredi and Maria Kerber, Emanuel Lang, Sabrina Hammerle and I – set off from the Lech Valley on Friday, April 27 at around 2 a.m., driving over the Flexen Pass, Chur, San Bernardino, Lugano, Milan, Valle d'Aosta to Pont (1,995 m) in Valsavarenche.

From there, the route leads up to the Rifugio Vittorio Emanuele II (2,732 m) in about two and a half hours, with friendly, warm weather and an abundance of snow still remaining. Many huge avalanche cones with boulders, tree trunks and plenty of debris as well as newly carved or extended avalanche gullies bear witness to a lot of snow and intensive avalanche activity in this valley last winter.

The next day, having good conditions, we climbed the Gran Paradiso, Italy's highest peak at 4,061 meters, with its base entirely on Italian soil. On the ascent and descent, we followed the skiing route, which was perfectly marked with countless flags, already set up for the ski-touring race to the widely known ski summit taking place the next day. On that day, we climbed 1,600 meters in altitude and covered a distance of over 21 kilometers.

Satisfied with our very successful Gran Paradiso ascent, we drove to Courmayeur and then through the Tunnel du Mont-Blanc to Chamonix. After a leisurely stroll and dinner in this town dedicated to the highest mountain in the Alps, we arrived at our accommodation in Argentière.

On Sunday morning, we decided to take the cable car to the Aiguille du Plan middle station and from there climbed to the Grands Mulets hut. We met three other touring groups about a good half hour ahead of us on the way to the same destination. The fog from the summit region was descending and the vision was deteriorating. Occasionally, a few showers of rain or sleet fell, interrupted by strong gusts of wind. During the long crossings below the high rock faces, which rise almost vertically up to the Aiguille du Midi, the vacuum skins came off Sabrina's and my skis and we had to stow them in our backpacks immediately to protect them from the threat of being blown away by the strong gusts of wind. We needed to follow the flat and partly downhill ski track in this area without skins.

Only about 50 meters before the roping-up point on the glacier, still on a steep slope, we were suddenly surprised by the loud shouts of a mountain guide standing next to a group of tourists and being urged to stop or return through expressive hand signals! Apparently, there was an injured person who was being looked after by several people. The helicopter was already on its way. For this reason, we had to wait, which we didn’t want to do at this uncomfortable location. However, to avoid a heated emotional discussion with the French mountain guide, we followed his instructions. We didn’t see any alternative route and under no circumstances were we allowed to enter the crevasse-rich glacier without rope protection.

The helicopter soon arrived and, despite strong winds, precisely dropped an emergency doctor and two air rescuers a little below the group of people and immediately disappeared again. It took a long time to treat the injured man. As he was repositioned and the leg splint was applied, we often heard his cries of pain, distorted by the wind and piercing through his bones!

We only found out later that the injured man was the mountain rescuer from Hall near Innsbruck, whom we met with his two colleagues over a glass of wine at the Rifugio Vittorio Emanuele II. While roping up, he was hit by a stone on the foot, which resulted in a huge flesh wound on his calf and broken bones in the knee area. The French mountain guide passing by with his group came to his aid and arranged the rescue operation.

The unintentional stop, the long wait, the annoying wind, the worsening visibility, the increasingly soft snow cover, and our sympathy for the casualty made our inability to act seem alarming and scary.

While calmly surveying our position and looking up at the rocks towering high above us, I noticed that Emanuel was standing about 6 meters in front of us in a very unfavorable gully and that the four of us, standing quite close together, should move a few meters backwards to be a little safer from any further falling stones, chunks of ice or avalanches. At about the same time, Sabrina, standing about 1 meter above me on a step that, was stuck in the soft snow with her skis, heard a strange noise that was initially attributed to the wind.

Immediately after this, we saw fine snow or ice crystals crumbling down from the rocks above us and only a moment later, we realized with horror that numerous chunks of ice and snow were falling directly down onto us from the misty grey sky! Laying down flat immediately and protecting our heads as best we could with both hands was the only thing we could do! As I ducked down in a flash, I saw Emanuel fleeing out of the gully. At least he would reach the safe shore.

With my face huddled close to the snow and my eyes closed, my hands folded protectively over my head and holding Sabrina's foot with my left elbow bent at an angle, I hoped and prayed with unprecedented fear and tension that we wouldn't be hit by the chunks of ice! I heard a few heavy impacts on the backpack. In addition to the crackling of the ice and snow nodules, an eerie, loud hissing began, I felt a slight vibration and snow dust swirling past the right side of my face with increasing intensity. I realized that we were very close to the edge of a falling avalanche and that if the avalanche spilled even slightly out of the shallow channel, we would be swept away. As the snow haze made me breathless, I got even more scared and turned my head slightly in the other direction. I tried to fight the feeling of being pushed downhill by bracing myself with my feet against the snow. As my goggles were filled with snow and I kept my eyes tightly closed, I couldn't see anything of that event, but I could feel it clearly, hear it loudly, and thus, experience it extremely intensely!

The deathly frightening spectacle probably only lasted two or three minutes, but the horror seemed endless to me! Only after it had gone completely quiet did I dare to look up and see how Sabrina, Maria and Fredi had survived this inferno. Miraculously, we all got off lightly, thank God, because we also saw Emanuel standing on the other side of the avalanche track with the people around the injured.

Out of breath, with shaky voices, shocked and on buckling knees, we localized what had happened to us. We were quite astonished when we saw the height and width of the avalanche cone below us on the flat glacier and couldn’t believe or explain how these huge masses of snow and ice had slipped past our bodies on the narrow and steep path without sweeping us along. Presumably, the small, inconspicuous rocky outcrop about 25 meters above us channeled and deflected the avalanche a little, and thus, spared us from its main flow!

Finally, the helicopter arrived as it had to abort the first attempt to approach due to the strong wind. On the second attempt, it navigated from far below through a glacier hollow, flying very low with its nose nearly touching the ground, to reach the accident site.

After the injured man had been taken away by helicopter, Emanuel climbed up to us on the fresh, slippery avalanche track. We were shocked to see his red, blood-covered face and head bandage. He hadn't managed to escape the avalanche track in time and had to fight even harder against being swept away than we did. A stone or a chunk of ice on his head caused a bleeding wound. The French mountain guide and the emergency doctor bandaged him up and offered to bring him to the hospital by helicopter. Emanuel still felt fit for the time being and preferred to join us on the way back to the cable car on skis.

While the avalanche was still in progress, the emergency doctor made an emergency call to rescue us because the nearby observers thought we had been buried. It was only when the snow haze cleared that it became clear that we were all still there – like a phoenix rising from the ashes! The alarm that had already been sounded could be called off. We all realized that we had narrowly escaped an unimaginable catastrophe!

We were quite worried about going back on the steep slopes to the gondola because the snow was getting softer and softer and there was a high risk of avalanches in several places. With maximum concentration, keeping large distances and constantly looking up, we crossed all the supposed danger spots as quickly as possible. After several failed attempts to attach the skins to the skis, Sabrina and I had to traverse the long snow fields as horizontally as possible, without any climbing aids. We repeatedly had to climb blown-off, safer ridges with our skis on our shoulders to regain height for the next slopes. The other three did not struggle with the skins and were able to follow the usual track at a comfortable gradient.

Relieved and happy, we arrived at the middle station of the Aiguille di Midi cable car and drove down to Chamonix to take Emanuel straight to the hospital. Unfortunately, the emergency room was closed in the off-season, so we had to drive to the hospital in Sallanches, about 25 kilometers away. His head wound was cleaned and stitched up there.

While the friendly doctor was tending to Emanuel's wound, we learned that the mountain rescuer from Hall was currently undergoing surgery. He had suffered open fractures just below his fortunately undamaged knee.

As it was getting late, we decided to stay in our tried-and-tested accommodation in Argentière for another night and return home the next day. We all felt the need to visit the church in Chamonix in the evening to thank the good Lord! Afterward, we strolled through the pedestrian zone and found a nice place to eat.

The shock we felt was still deeply with us, and our conversations couldn’t stray from the events of the day – a topic that will undoubtedly stay with us on all future tours for the rest of our lives! On Monday, April 30, we returned home and were satisfied, happy, and grateful to be able to continue living in our familiar world!

When, after returning home, I read the reports in the Tyrolean daily newspaper about the unimaginable tragedies of the last few days in the Western Alps, with several deaths on the Pigne d'Arolla and the Mönch, I was even more grateful to have been spared greater misfortune! With these occurrences in mind, not reaching our tour destination was nothing worth mentioning.

It makes me very contemplative and sad when the euphoria and love of the mountains repeatedly need to be paid for with your health or even your life! It is, therefore, absolutely essential to always approach challenges in the mountains with great care, humility, and caution!

Only if you tackle the tours without fear, but always with respect and the best possible caution, and if you are prepared to turn back in good time in case of doubt, can you hope for the help of guardian angels and trust in the assistance of God!

It is something really beautiful, great, and certainly nothing to be taken for granted that we had been able to experience countless wonderful mountain adventures, in smaller and larger groups – but always with the "hard core" of our group together – and were always able to come home safe and sound with lasting impressions. The intense ski-touring winter of 2017/18 with more than sixty ski tours will go down in our history and remain a very special memory for all of us!

2.9 A Heavenly Feeling

Towards the middle of May 2018, less than three weeks after our dramatic contact with the ice avalanche on Mont Blanc and still in shock from the near-disaster, I was crossing the Habart ridge from Ahörnle via Habart and Hochpleisspitze to Sågejoch. The mountain meadows, which had still been mowed right up to the ridge in my childhood, were slowly turning green, and the first spring flowers such as ice bells, gentian and snow anemones were blooming in sheltered spots. There was still summer-hard snow in some hollows and on the edges of the terrain, which however, was easy to walk on. The weather was beautiful, the sun was shining, and above me was an all-blue sky, a few harmless clouds, no wind and a pleasant temperature.

My gaze fell on the opposite side of the valley, on the rocky northern slopes of the Muttekopf and the hollows lying underneath, the Hahntenn and Steinkar cirques. There was still a lot of snow there. On the steep gravel flanks leading up to the rocks of the Muttekopf massif, the descent of a fresh avalanche of wet snow was still visible.

Very often, at least forty to fifty times, I had climbed from the Hahntennjoch through the cirque – where the avalanche could now be seen – to the Muttekopf (2,774 m), the highest elevation in the municipality of Pfafflar, when no other ski tour was possible, and descended directly through the very steep gullies. In good conditions, the southeast-facing descent to the Muttekopfhütte and the return via the Scharnitzsattel was a very beautiful and rewarding option. On that day, however, I found myself on our “Heuberg”, the mountain I have known since early childhood, where I used to make hay with my parents as a little boy. I enjoyed residing with all my senses.

No avalanches endangered my route, I was not exposed to falling rocks in the steep couloir, no Sérac above me threatening to break off, no hidden crevasse under the snow cover to worry about, no view into devouring abysses to endure, no risk of falling into bottomless depths, no need for balancing on dizzying ridges, no change in the weather to be expected, no worries about finding the route in the fog, no freezing fingers and toes affecting my well-being, no icy wind blowing in my face, no heavy backpack on my shoulders and no worries about getting to the next hut safely with my group!

After an active winter of ski-touring and before the planned mountain and alpine tours of summer, it felt truly refreshing to unwind and release the tension. It was balm for the soul – a delight, a pleasure, and a blessing in equal measures, truly "a heavenly feeling!"

2.10 The Wrong Decision at Tschachaun

The evening tour after work on Friday, February 1, 2019, to the Füssener Jöchl was very good. A great, not-too-steep piste, beautiful snow, mild weather, only a little wind on the Gamskopf, and a cozy restaurant to stop by – all the ingredients that make a piste tour a success. Many people from near and far appreciate the advantages of this touring evening ski area, as they flock here in droves. From the number of active ski tourers, it can be concluded that this is probably the most popular piste tour in Außerfern. It was my first time up there and I really enjoyed it. During our break, Sabrina, Emanuel and I agreed to climb the Tschachaun together with the Kerbers the next day.

Due to the cloudy weather on St. Mary's Candlemas Day on Saturday morning, we didn't set off from Namlos until around half past nine. The rain had stopped, but the weather remained very damp and diffuse so after overtaking a few tour groups, we could hardly find our way through the thick fog. During the last hairpin bends from the Chromsattel to the summit cross, visibility improved. At the summit, it was bright and even slightly sunny at times. From there, I observed three ski tourers making slow progress in the deep snow climbing up to the Hinterbergjoch on the opposite side of the valley, also known as the "Black Earth" by the Imsters. I literally expected these three extremely daring people to trigger an avalanche on this steep slope and never couldn’t take my eyes off them. Contrary to my expectations, the steep slope held. "Obviously, it's not as dangerous for avalanches today as they say," I thought superficially while resting at the summit cross.

Suddenly, a suggestion was put forward within our tour group to change the route: instead of heading out through the fog-covered valley to Namlos, we should take the path via the Anhalter Hütte and the Steinjöchl to the Hahntennjoch, and then continue to Boden. In this direction, the conditions seemed to be friendly, and visibility was good.

The fact that I didn't immediately object to this suggestion and was prepared to be part of the implementation, turned out to be one of the worst decisions of my eventful mountaineering life. I still can't understand why my thinking wasn't clear enough and why I failed to recognize the danger to the group. I blame myself a lot! We disregarded all the stop signs, ran over red lights and I did nothing about it. I will never be able to forgive myself for this huge mistake. You are not allowed to take this route at avalanche warning level 3. I should have known, but I didn't think about what we were getting ourselves into: rocky terrain, a slope inclination of at least 40 degrees, facing north, fresh snow that had been transported to the north-facing slopes by the strong southerly winds of the last few days, and terrain that had been completely untouched throughout the winter!

While more than twenty ski tourers struggled to reach the summit on the trail we had previously created, we skied down to the Chromsattel and past the Anhalter Hütte to the Chromsee. We put on our skins in the deep, loose powder which, in the shadow of the mighty Heiterwand, never sees a ray of sunshine for months. If only one or two of us had voiced their concerns at this point, we would have immediately changed our plan and would have taken the safer route down through the Brennhüttental valley.