I Did It Friedl's Way (cont.)

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Outside Magazine February 2004

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I Did It Friedl's Way (cont.)


	(photograph by Chris Buck)

THE FIRST THING I learned is that you don't want to piss off your guide. We had been instructed by a staff member of the heli-skiing operation to meet at the company's cabin at seven in the morning. We arrived at exactly that time and were greeted by our guide, who informed us that we were 30 minutes late and that we should join the rest of the group pronto. He didn't say "pronto," of course, since that isn't a very Canadian thing to say, but I had no trouble getting his drift. He was short and fit and spoke with a European accent (many of the elite guides in this part of Canada hail from the Alps), and I had no doubt that he had been guiding forever and that he was the Big Dog. In the interest of staying on his good side, we shut our traps about the misunderstanding.

Once we were all assembled, the Big Dog—let's call him Friedl, since that isn't his name—began his safety talk, and Deirdre and I quietly started to pull on our gear as we listened, not wanting to further delay the group. This drew a stern rebuke from Friedl, who asked pointedly if we wouldn't mind paying full attention for the few minutes it would take to get this life-and-death stuff covered. Naturally, we stopped our bad behavior immediately. I listened totally, trying to affect an appearance of respect and submission. But I also allowed one eye to roam around the room to check out the nine other clients—mostly banker and lawyer types—who were outfitted head to toe in that year's colors. I realized that Deirdre and I were greatly outdone in the style department. My gear was functional, but now seemed scruffy. Deirdre's looked downright used, for God's sake.

While mulling over our fashion faux pas, I heard Friedl asking if anybody had brought an avalanche beacon. Like an idiot, I put my hand up. He inquired if I'd used it much, and I intended to say, "No, it's new—I've only used it for a few months," but, feeling shaken from our greeting, my reply came out as a timid "No." Friedl then asked if I'd be so kind as to use the one that he was going to provide, since I didn't seem to know squat anyway. He didn't say the "squat" part, but he might as well have.

Unfortunately, Friedl wasn't finished. "Does anybody have their own shovel?" he asked. At that point, I wouldn't have raised my hand even if I'd had a shovel sticking out of my forehead. But he settled his eyes on me and said, "You bring a beacon but not a shovel? That doesn't make so much sense." This would have been tough to argue while remaining pleasant, so I simply nodded.

I was quickly becoming a good example in Friedl's lecture of what not to do, and I figured he was trying to use me to show the group who was in charge. I thought back to the many briefings I'd conducted with clients before their first climbs. Had I used this technique to establish leadership and safety in the mountains? I hoped not. Not to say that I hadn't resorted to arrogance on occasion to deal with aggressive clients, but I was baffled as to how Friedl thought I was challenging him. Instead of filling me with warm fuzzies of loyalty and trust, Friedl's bossy routine made me feel insecure. Perhaps I should have spoken up then and there about my own guiding experience, but while earlier it seemed unnecessary, now it seemed positively imprudent. The odds were good that I'd come off as a pompous jerk, trying to undermine Friedl's authority. Besides, it was almost time for the good part.

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