Fitness: Skiing on the edge

It was before dawn in Pakistan, a bleak scene on the flank of a deadly peak. A group of climbers huddled together, stamping their feet, rocking and swaying for warmth in the dark, subzero air.

They gasped for breath. They waited for light.

At sunrise, Dave Watson stood up. He adjusted his footwear -- ski boots equipped with spikes. He kicked into the snow to start a long climb, an ice gully ascending the planet's second-highest peak.

It was this past Aug. 4, and Watson, a ski guide and St. Louis Park resident, was attempting to ski K2, a 28,251-foot pyramid of ice and stone.

His team would employ ropes and ice axes on the ascent. Going down, Watson would switch disciplines. He'd clip his boots into bindings and push off, ski edges slicing ice on a pitch so steep that a single slip would equal death.

"It's essentially skiing down a climbing route," said Watson, referring to K2's infamous Bottleneck Couloir, the crux section on the mountain's freefalling southeast face.

Few people have climbed K2, a remote and statistically deadly peak in the Karakoram Range. No one had ever skied it.

"There is absolutely no margin for error," said Mike Farris, a professor at Hamline University in St. Paul and author of "The Altitude Experience," a book on survival and performance in the mountains. "One mistake and you'll fall 10,000 feet to the glacier below."

Farris, an experienced mountaineer, saw firsthand the dangers of K2's Bottleneck Couloir. In 2008, he was on the mountain when a giant ice chunk calved from a wall, killing multiple climbers in a blink.

Watson, 33, is married and has a dog. His wife works in emergency medicine in downtown Minneapolis.

"She has the extreme job," he said.

Despite the risks on K2, Watson does not have a death wish. As a ski guide and climber who has twice made it to the summit of Mount Everest, Watson knew the danger on K2. He also knew his limits and his skills.

"I had to recognize true danger from perceived danger, at that point," he said.

Few climbers would consider skiing a mountain such as K2, where crampons and ice axes are mandatory. Watson, who guides high-altitude ski trips in India's Kashmir region, is part of a small group of alpinists worldwide who tout skiing as an overlooked tool in conquering high peaks.

Some climbers see ski descents as stunts. Farris said skiing feats such as Watson's, who has skied from 24,000 feet on Mount Everest, are a step in the evolution of climbing mountains.

"These [ski descents] are a legitimate aspect of high-altitude mountaineering," Farris said.

In August on K2, as the sun rose over the Karakoram Range, Watson and his team worked upward on the face. They kicked steps and adjusted oxygen masks. Watson had a ski pole in one hand, its handle outfitted with an ice ax blade for grip.

The group climbed for hours, pushing past 27,400 feet. No one had yet made the top of K2 in 2009. By noon, Watson and his team were realizing they might not see the summit, either. Chest-deep snow made progress similar to "swimming uphill," Watson said.

At 2:30 p.m., encrusted with ice and exhausted, Watson looked down the mountain to see a climbing partner put a gloved hand to his throat, slicing it sideways in signal.

The top was less than 500 feet above. No climber in the 2009 season would stand on the summit of K2.

But Watson had his skis. He could still do something substantial.

While his team rappelled fixed ropes down the Bottleneck Couloir, Watson went over a checklist in his mind. Remove the pack. Take off the skis. Clean the ice from his boots.

"It's hard to think at that altitude," he said.

Watson stamped out a ledge on the 60-degree face. The slope below -- a near-vertical aspect of crusted snow and ice -- hung above a void.

He clicked in. Shouldered his pack. Steadied his breath.

Watson's skis sideslipped 2 feet, metal edges searching for grip.

"I thought, 'Here we go!'" Watson recalled.

He stretched to plant a pole, then jumped, his skis slicing through the thin air. Knees flexed, hands forward, Watson was airborne for an instant at 27,500 feet. His edges bit the slope and skidded forward unexpectedly, Watson holding on, literally, for his life.

He made two more jump turns. He stopped to peer over a 10,000-foot drop, a speck on a wall to those below.

Then he traversed and skied the Bottleneck Couloir without issue. An aspect considered one of the world's toughest climbing objectives had just been descended by a Minnesotan on skis.

His crew spent a cold night at the base of the couloir. The next day, Watson clicked back into his skis while the other climbers tied to ropes to descend.

He pushed off on the shoulder of K2, linking turns on a face of improbable proportion. Base camp was more than a vertical mile below.

But Watson looked at the snow ahead of him. He paused and grabbed a breath. He leaned forward again, a mountain climber gliding away, heading downhill on skis, far out of sight.

Stephen Regenold writes about the outdoors at www.gearjunkie.com.