The word Couloir entered the English language in the 19th century from the French where it meant passage. The term was originally applied specifically to steep gorges in the European alps and later to similar gorges elsewhere including ones now transited by downhill skiers. It is simply a narrow gully with a steep gradient in mountainous terrain.

It is one thing to successfully ski down a steep often iced over high altitude couloir. This especially if it is a double black diamond flagged and thus experts only run. It is quite another thing to stop skiing and watch in abject horror as a friend takes a bad fall immediately on entry to the run. This especially if the slope’s initial pitch is a steep forty-nine degrees on a known potentially dangerous run and the friend loses both skis and both poles crashing out at the get go seconds after launching so to speak. 

With one ski gone there is still a slight chance that an element of control just might be regained. This particularly if it is the uphill ski that has been shed. With the second ski also gone, there is little to no chance of arresting the fall. It might be possible to use a ski pole in the same way a mountaineer would use an ice act driving it deep into the snow and hanging on. With both poles also gone the fall was inevitable.

Skiing the Saudan couloir* on Blackcomb, the mountain’s summit of 2436 metres being the higher by 255 metres of the two mountains at Canada’s Whistler Blackcomb BC resort, about ten of us were skiing as we often did as a group. One of our own at the run’s entry elevation of 2240 metres immediately on entering the couloir did loose both skis and both poles. The worst case scenario.

On Blackcomb the average slope angle is a challenging 42 degrees. If entered at the top of the Saudan run, albeit some distance below the mountain’s out of bounds summit which we did, the angle is an even greater challenging 49 degrees. The vertical descent to the chair below is 762 metres. Given essentially no chance of immediately arresting it, a more dangerous place to fall would be hard to find.

About halfway down the run the couloir has significant rock outcroppings on both sides of the gully. Straying off the optimum central skiing line at that point and potentially crashing on to the rocks at speed as has happened to skiers on the Saudan on a number of occasions, can and periodically does result in a helicopter medevac and serious potentially life threatening or changing injuries. Just beyond that rocky section of the descent is usually an extensive mogul field.** Without skis and falling at speed totally out of control into the uneven mogul field is an added danger. 

The Saudan couloir is positioned in the middle of a large cirque*** or bowl. By traversing the cirque, any number of routes down can be taken and explored hence skiers typically are scattered throughout the cirque not just on the Saudan couloir run. With the gradual realisation that someone was having a long and thus potentially extremely dangerous free-fall, one by one almost all the skiers from all over the bowl stopped to watch as did our party. A ‘rag doll’ was how many people later described what they saw as the downed skier descended essentially in free-fall.**** No doubt many of them started to think helicopter medevac. I myself once witnessed close up a helicopter evacuation on a Whistler run whilst, uncharacteristically for me, skiing alone. It gave me pause.

The ‘rag doll’ was traveling at some considerable speed approaching the area of rocks. By great good fortune and totally out of control, the tumbling figure flew past them without it seemed any contact with the rock faces on either side of the narrowing chute. Not so the moguls. The by then hushed and stilled crowd witnessed the speeding figure becoming airborne mogul after mogul. At least the moguls slowed the rate of descent, the more so as the slope angle decreased. The figure slowed but continued on still out of control for some considerable distance past the mogul field.

Once well clear of the moguls and with the slope leveling out in the lead up to the chairlift the skier finally came to a halt. Not knowing if or how badly injured the person was, the silent and stunned onlookers throughout the bowl for sure held their collective breaths. Realising that would likely be the case, the male victim quickly came to his feet and thrust his arms up above his head in a large ‘V’ configuration to show he was OK.

From every corner of the entire cirque the resulting sounds of joy and relief were unbelievably loud. The initial roar changed to cheers as the skier started to move seemingly with no injuries of any great consequence. He had indeed it turned out escaped any injuries and quite possibly death. He was fine.

A number of skiers, all members of our group, then immediately went down to where he stood bringing various and sundry paraphernalia consisting of his shed loose items they had collected off the mountain during their descents. Along with his skis, goggles, both gloves and the poles came his toque – Canadian for a warm knitted cap. This was long before the advent of skiing specific helmets. Once they became available most all skiers including myself took to wearing them. His sunglasses, which had swung freely and wildly on a lanyard around his neck all the way down amazingly were unbroken. Luckily so was he with not so much as a scratch! He skied the short distance to the chair, rode it back up and with members of our group, skied various other less challenging runs for the rest of the day counting his lucky stars.

I was that gravity driven free-falling skier. It was my first time on the Saudan run. By no means an expert, as a half decent intermediate skier best case, I stuck to intermediate runs for the rest of the day. Subsequently if perhaps a little foolishly, on another day I did attempt the Saudan again and from the same challenging entry location choosing a day with fresh powder. I had no problems with it. 

Since I had barreled past some of them quite closely, I was quite aware as I was plummeting down that many people had stopped skiing and were watching my free-fall, the latter defined as a downward movement under the force of gravity only. I remember noting during the fall that assuming I was OK, when I came to a halt I should let everybody know immediately. I can still readily bring to my mind’s eye these many years later the loud and prolonged roar that went up as I raised my arms high above my head in a ‘V’ configuration to acknowledge the sentiment.

I was never able to pinpoint the elapsed time duration of the fall with any accuracy. It was likely only two or three minutes but certainly it seemed much longer. With no means of control, I was of course very anxious that with luck I would miss the worst danger areas. I vividly remember having great concern that I just might slide clean on to and over the rocks which on both sides of me I could see were fast upcoming. I might well have sustained a serious head injury and lost consciousness. I didn’t want to wake up to the ‘whomp whomp whomp’ sound of a helicopter! I narrowly missed them on both sides.

The moguls also were a potential serious injury issue. As I flew quite literally from one to the next I gained speed and height with each one. I would involuntarily ‘launch’ off one and hope to land on the far and thus downhill side of the next rather than slamming into the near as in uphill side. The ‘air time’ between moguls was surprisingly long with each increasingly longer ‘flight’ very worrying as were the ‘touch and go’ landings.

Literally from my youth spent climbing and summiting, among many other peaks England’s highest mountain Scafell Pike in the Lake District close to where I grew up, Scotland’s highest Ben Nevis, Wale’s highest  Snowdon**** (twice) and subsequently a number of BC mountains including Mount Frosty in Manning park at 2426 metres (7959 feet) the highest point in the park, I have always believed and continue to maintain that nobody gets to ‘conquer’ a mountain. I despise the expression whether applied to the peak of Everest or to any hills, mountains and cliffs. 

If safe and unscathed after having reached and safely returned from a summit or, as in the case extant, having engaged in a ski run, I feel that nature has granted one the privilege of a tie or a draw if you will. My ‘V’ signal was not a V for victory far from it. It was a thankful celebration of a reprieve from a potentially life threatening situation having been granted to me by the mountain and by providence. There are no ‘winners’ per se in humans v.s. mountains or other natural entities. A tied result best case yes and perhaps also, a deeply spiritual and mutual communion with the mountain and with nature period. Ask any passing First Nations person or should you be in Tibet, a passing Sherpa. 

* The Saudan couloir is the steepest sustained fall line ski run on either Whistler or Blackcomb and if you enter via the ‘False Face’ (we didn’t) you will have skied one of the steepest skiable faces at any ski resort in North America. The run is named after Sylvain Sudan a well known Swiss ‘extreme skier’.

* * Moguls: They arise gradually as skiers move along a run and kick up snow behind them as they make their turns. The snow they kick-up gradually forms into piles, which over time intrinsically  become ‘carved’ into moguls.

* * * Cirque: A half-open steep-sided hollow at the head of a valley or on a mountainside, formed by glacial erosion. The huge and spectacular natural Cirque de Gavarnie in the French Pyrenees is a world heritage site. I was fortunate to visit and hike there once.

* * * *  Free fall: downward movement under the force of gravity alone. 

* * * * * See my story SAS Wannabe. November 7, 2020

* * * * * * See my story Austin 1100. April 19, 2019. www.barrydevonald.com

Story Footnotes:

So why did I loose both skis immediately on entering the couloir? I was at first puzzled but I think I know. Some of us myself included, had stopped short of the run’s very steep entry, taken our skis off and headed for a nearby washroom. I had just recently had new bindings installed on my existing and well loved skis. Along with a marginal familiarity with the new bindings I suspect also that I was unwittingly careless stepping back into them. I likely trapped some snow between one or both of the bindings and the skis, a well established recipe for creating a premature release and fall. I was always extremely careful afterwards to scrape virtually every last snowflake off the soles of my boots and off the bindings before locking them down. 

The entry to the Saudan couloir run was so steep (see photo above) we had to jump down into it airborne for several vertical feet before making a landing and turning immediately to gain control. I remember landing rather heavily and awkwardly. Couple this with the snow under my boots issue and bingo the skis were gone, the poles were gone and so my long scary fall began. I was extremely fortunate to ‘get away with one’. As noted above, the mountain granted me a tie and I believe, a communion with nature. 

The photo below was taken at Whistler not in a regular slalom race but in a private, single run competition with my wife who was a much better skier than I. We paid $2 each Canadian for the privilege not including photos. Somehow I beat her by about a millionth of a second however I nearly killed both of us after crossing the line. I turned the wrong way putting us on course for a head on collision at the maximum speed we had attained. A last second slight course correction I made enabled us to squeak by unscathed. A very close call indeed.

Footnotes re Whistler:

My skiing at Whistler goes back to 1968 long before there was skiing on Blackcomb and one year after I arrived in Canada as an emigrant from the UK. A few Whistler related things in particular have stuck in my mind from those halcyon or salad ski days if you will. 

1. The first time I saw multiple bears close up was at the garbage dump. The site of those GPS co-ordinates (not that there was any GPS in those days) is now called Whistler village.

2. Whistler Creekside at the time was the only ‘side’. All the runs led to Creekside. The parking was copious and we were directed and guided to our assigned locations by a guy on horseback. (I am not making this up). A horse lover and rider myself I envied the rider his job. The horse was about 15 hands (one hand is 4 inches) with a very long and of course wooly winter coat.

3. The paved road ended at Squamish about fifty five kilometres north from Vancouver. After that it was about sixty unpaved and very rough kilometres of gravel to Whistler Creekside. We had an Austin 1100 (one up from a Mini) we had brought with us from the UK by passenger liner (pre cruise ships). The car had hydraulic suspension. Unbeknownst to me, on the drive up to Squamish one day, gravel must have hit one of the hydraulic fluid lines en-route and ruptured it. At the end of skiing, I discovered the car listing about twenty degrees to port. (left facing forward). The hydraulic fluid had leaked out on the left side only. I drove it back to Vancouver with me also listing twenty degrees to port. 

4. I took six once a week group skiing lessons via the Youth Hostels Association and stayed in their Whistler hostel. Our first lesson was given by the well loved and respected Canadian ‘extreme skier’ Jim McConkey. For some reason (I must have done something right) he pulled me out of a line he had us in and facing him and announced to the group that “this man is going to become a skier”. I did albeit only a half decent intermediate skier. No worries it was my winter ticket deep into mountains with which, along with the sea, I fell in love as a child. 

5. Jim McConkey was once described by the legendary Austrian skier Ernst Hinterseer, as the “Best all-round skier in the world”. There is no doubt that he was one of the first of the “extreme skiers” honing his considerable skills in the 1960s. A great guy and as a skiing instructor he was an inspiration.