The Edge of Never.
Sometimes it’s difficult to remember there are actually two edges, one on either side. And it’s virtually impossible to know what’s on that other edge until you cross the line.
Doug Coombs was arguably more familiar with both sides of that invisible, serrated line than anyone. The 48-year-old big-mountain guru made a life of hanging 10 on the boundaries of reality, pushing the limits of possibility like so much slough from a steep Alaskan peak as he skied his way through the couloirs of calculated risk. Regarded among the safest and most measured of ski mountaineers, Coombs slipped into the far side of Never last week, tumbling to his death on the snow-covered cliffs of La Grave, France, in a vain attempt to rescue his friend, Chad VanderHam.
Coombs was well aware of the hazards of his chosen profession as a big-mountain skier and guide, and perhaps more aware than anyone of the risks issued with every lift ticket sold at his adopted home hill on the exposed flanks of the 13,065-foot glaciated peak of La Meije in the southern French Alps. Coombs embraced the wild self-reliance inherent of the area, the trail map marked with three times as many “Serious Danger!” warnings as actual trails.
“La Grave is one of the rare ski areas that offer uncrowded, adventurous off-piste skiing,” Coombs wrote for his Steep Skiing Camps Worldwide website. “It’s as close to true wilderness skiing as a ski lift serviced mountain can be, governed only by nature’s laws, which must be learned and respected.”
To say that Coombs momentarily lost respect for natural law may be going a bit too far, and I’m not one to second-guess the judgment of the most experienced big-mountain skier on the planet. But not even Coombs, nor the friend he was hoping to save when he fell to his death, was immune to the perils of the games he played so masterfully. And as shocking as his tragic demise may be, ultimately there are only two possible outcomes in games of life and death.
“It is a numbers game,” said big-mountain skier Chris Davenport from Aspen, currently immersed in an attempt to climb and ski all the 14,000-foot peaks in Colorado in one year. “It’s not just with skiing. If you are a car racer, you are going to get in a crash. If you are a downhill ski racer, you are going to have a horrible crash in your career. If you are a big-mountain skier, you are going to fall at some point. I’m really amazed and impressed that more of us have not been killed doing what we do. It’s pretty amazing. The more days in your life that you spend out in the mountains, the worse your odds for coming home safely.”
There is an equally compelling argument that the more time you spend in the mountains, the greater your awareness. Experience breeds instinct, and beyond a particular point in the learning curve, every extra minute spent in the extreme terrain of the mountains could serve to build the foundation for self-preservation. The flaw in that argument, though, is so few are willing to test the hypothesis.
“I have had many, many great experiences, and I don’t feel like I need to do first descents anymore,” said Scot Schmidt, another big-mountain master whose career as an extreme skier began as a mirror image of his friend Coombs’. “I do have a goal not to perish in the mountains. That’s not how I want to go out. But at the same time, I really enjoy being in the mountains. I just want to live to tell about it.”
Coombs, who considered the mountains his religion, was thought of by many as impervious to the hazards of the big hills, his Clark Kent persona belying superhuman skills on skis. And more than one of those who knew him best has said that under normal circumstances he would have skied away from the formidable Couloir de Polichinelle – the route he deemed most dangerous on a mountain riddled with peril – without a second thought. The sight of a friend in need, they say, left the steadfast skier out of equilibrium in an unforgiving environment of exposed rocks and perilous cliffs. In his adrenaline-fueled haste, he slipped before he was on belay.
Death isn’t necessarily an inevitable outcome for those who play at the highest level, but it is an ever-present possibility. And as a man recognized as someone who saved lives, Coombs understood that reality right along with his responsibility to those he pursued his passions alongside. No one is immune, and no one is to blame. Even that masters are capable of mistakes. And they’re the ones that hurt the most.
It seems the numbers don’t play favorites, no matter how long you toe the line. And in the end, the man many considered the greatest skier in the world simply lost an edge. Right on the Edge of Never.
Staff writer Scott Willoughby can be reached at 303-820-1993 or swilloughby@denverpost.com.
