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  In Free Fall: Is Alpine Skiing Getting too Dangerous?

In Free Fall Is Alpine Skiing Getting too Dangerous?

By Gerhard Pfeil

Part 2: The Prestige of Danger

Downhill courses provide the most spectacular images in the skiing World Cup -- images of men racing down icy slopes or flying through the air during jumps. The more notorious a course, the more it appeals to audiences. If many athletes have problems during their practice runs, anticipation on race day is only heightened. Büchel, one of the most experienced Alpine skiers in the World Cup, believes that there is even a competition for the title of "the world's most difficult downhill course."

In December 2007 some athletes claimed the World Cup races held in Bormio, Italy, were the most dangerous of all time. Three weeks later, though, a downhill race in Kitzbühel proved even more demanding. Skiers there had to navigate the Hausberg, a slope near the finish line with a 69 percent gradient, which skiers must pass on a diagonal. The slope was filled with ridges and holes at the time, and many skiers almost lost control. But for the spectators and cameras it was a spectacle.

Obernauer blames the large volume of snow in 2007 for making it impossible to ideally prepare the Hausberg. But one racer, who placed among the top 20 on the hellish course, believes otherwise. "They left the bumps in," he says. "They wanted to preserve their reputation as the world's most difficult downhill course. It was a matter of prestige."

Much Talking, Little Listening

At the time, while Bode Miller sharply criticized the organizers as being unscrupulous, his fellow team member Macartney was lying in the hospital in an induced coma, having suffered a traumatic brain injury.

Today, Hujara says Miller overreacted. "Bode says a lot of stupid things," Hujara said. "But there is always something behind them. When he complains that it's too extreme, it's a call for help. He is trying to say: 'Slow me down. I'm getting too fast.' He wants to be reined in, otherwise he'll take it too far." Perhaps Hujara is a good psychologist. "Or perhaps," as Büchel puts it, "someone is interpreting the world to suit his own purposes."

In 2008, Büchel won the Super G event in Kitzbühel. He loves the Hahnenkamm because, as he says, it "separates the wheat from the chaff." Büchel also trusts the race's managers. What he believes is missing is a better form of cooperation. "We all want the same thing," Büchel says. "Exciting races. Maximum safety. But it often seems like they just want us to keep our mouths shut and race."

The first meeting between top racers and Hujara took place in December. It was dubbed a "safety summit." Swiss skier Didier Cuche, the reigning World Cup champion in Alpine skiing, attended the meeting and described it as a "lively affair." But why was it such a long time coming?

Cuche is a high-speed racer who specializes in jumps. Last year, during a training race in the Norwegian resort of Kvitfjell, he suggested one of the jumps should be reduced. The race managers sent a radio message to the starting gate instructing the racers to exercise more caution when going over that jump. German skier Stephan Keppler wasn't careful enough: He landed hard and injured his knee.

Hujara asks: "Why didn't he listen to us?" But Cuche asks: "Why didn't they listen to me? Then it wouldn't have happened in the first place."

A Time of Change

Matthias Lanzinger, 28, sits at a table, looking uncomfortable. The Austrian was once a talented racer, but now his lower left leg is a prosthesis. His injury led him to sue the FIS.

His accident in Kvitfjell in March 2008 was dramatic. He spoke to Hujara before starting the race. They cracked jokes together. That's the last thing Lanzinger remembers.

Lanzinger doesn't claim that the icy slope caused his crash. Instead, he blames his own error: He collided with a gate, at which point he probably broke his left tibia. Because there was no longer any resistance, his ski binding failed to open. Lanzinger's leg twisted so badly that it had to be amputated below the knee.

It took a long time for the emergency team to get Lanzinger to a hospital. He believes that errors were made in his transport and care, so he's suing for damages. He also sees himself as the victim of a gap in the emergency response plan, and he wants the FIS to address the problem. "What's important to me is that mistakes are corrected for the future," says Lanzinger.

Lanzinger is a brave man; he bears no grudges. He plans to watch the next Hahnenkamm race on Jan. 24. Now he writes a column for an Austrian newspaper. And as last year's Streif casualty, Macartney will get an especially warm welcome at the race.

But otherwise, says manager Obernauer, everything will be the same. "It has to be a challenge," he insists. "Otherwise the Streif would be dead."

Translated from the German by Christopher Sultan