From The Bahnhofstrasse to The Marinelli
How a chance encounter on a Zermatt street led to an unforgettable descent of the Alps’ most legendary couloir.
From The Bahnhofstrasse to The Marinelli
How a chance encounter on a Zermatt street led to an unforgettable descent of the Alps’ most legendary couloir.
Sometimes the best adventures aren’t planned—they find you. From a casual Monday morning chat with a local guide to a helicopter ride over the Monte Rosa massif, this is the story of skiing the Marinelli Couloir, the holy grail of the Alps. A tale of perfect spring powder, the tension of high-altitude rappels, and the pure joy of dropping in with a friend when the stars align.
The Chance Encounter
It was a Monday morning. I was casually walking down the Bahnhofstrasse, the main street in Zermatt, when I bumped into Fabi Lauber. Fabi is a local mountain guide with a reputation for skiing epic lines.
We started chatting, and out of nowhere, he asked, "What are you doing tomorrow?"
"No plans," I replied.
"Want to come ride the Marinelli Couloir?"
My "Yes" was immediate. I had been wondering about this line for years. It’s the holy grail of alpine couloirs in the Alps—a mythical descent that few get to experience in good conditions.
"You can bring someone else," he said, before rushing off with a quick "Bye, I’ve got to go."
I immediately called my buddy Charlie. He agreed with excitement. Just like that, a dream trip was set in motion, not with months of planning, but with a handshake on the street.
We started chatting, and out of nowhere, he asked, "What are you doing tomorrow?"
"No plans," I replied.
"Want to come ride the Marinelli Couloir?"
My "Yes" was immediate. I had been wondering about this line for years. It’s the holy grail of alpine couloirs in the Alps—a mythical descent that few get to experience in good conditions.
"You can bring someone else," he said, before rushing off with a quick "Bye, I’ve got to go."
I immediately called my buddy Charlie. He agreed with excitement. Just like that, a dream trip was set in motion, not with months of planning, but with a handshake on the street.
The Wait & The Wings
Early the next morning, at 8:30 AM, we headed to the Klein Matterhorn and descended to Testa Grigia, where the pilot was supposed to pick us up. But he was late.
Those minutes stretched out, leaving us time to wonder if this was actually going to happen or if it was too good to be true. The guides joked that he was flying from Domodossola and must have encountered some "traffic." Thirty minutes after the meetup time, we finally heard the noise of the rotor. There it was: our gray-colored Airbus H125.
We took off from Testa at 3,315 meters and flew south, crossing the Swiss-Italian border next to the beautiful mountain chain leading to Monte Rosa. The weather conditions were perfect. We approached the south face of Monte Rosa from the south, giving us a stunning view of the couloir. It appeared to be in perfect condition.
The pilot flew us very close to the mountain, following the line of the couloir as we approached the top of the Silbersattel at around 4,200 meters. Things started feeling a bit shaky inside the cabin. I felt my stomach squeezing around the big breakfast I’d had.
As we reached the top, I felt like the heli was struggling for power—but maybe that was just my nerves more than reality. Suddenly, he landed right on top of the Silbersattel. The moment my feet touched solid ground, I was relieved.
Those minutes stretched out, leaving us time to wonder if this was actually going to happen or if it was too good to be true. The guides joked that he was flying from Domodossola and must have encountered some "traffic." Thirty minutes after the meetup time, we finally heard the noise of the rotor. There it was: our gray-colored Airbus H125.
We took off from Testa at 3,315 meters and flew south, crossing the Swiss-Italian border next to the beautiful mountain chain leading to Monte Rosa. The weather conditions were perfect. We approached the south face of Monte Rosa from the south, giving us a stunning view of the couloir. It appeared to be in perfect condition.
The pilot flew us very close to the mountain, following the line of the couloir as we approached the top of the Silbersattel at around 4,200 meters. Things started feeling a bit shaky inside the cabin. I felt my stomach squeezing around the big breakfast I’d had.
As we reached the top, I felt like the heli was struggling for power—but maybe that was just my nerves more than reality. Suddenly, he landed right on top of the Silbersattel. The moment my feet touched solid ground, I was relieved.
The Protest & The Rappel
As soon as we landed, we were greeted by members of Mountain Wilderness, an environmental group. They were protesting heli-skiing in the area and, needless to say, weren’t impressed with our arrival. It was a tense moment, but we followed the lead of our guides and headed down toward the couloir, leaving the protesters behind.
The guides lost no time setting up the rappel to cross the top icy section. As seen in the photos, the southeast side is pretty blue ice. Even though there was a good amount of powder on top, you don’t know what’s underneath until you reach the narrow section.
I was sent down first. Once I reached Fabi, he lowered me down past the narrow part of the couloir and asked me to prepare a platform in the snow—a safe spot for everyone to stand and step into their skis.
The guides lost no time setting up the rappel to cross the top icy section. As seen in the photos, the southeast side is pretty blue ice. Even though there was a good amount of powder on top, you don’t know what’s underneath until you reach the narrow section.
I was sent down first. Once I reached Fabi, he lowered me down past the narrow part of the couloir and asked me to prepare a platform in the snow—a safe spot for everyone to stand and step into their skis.
"Every now and then, I’d take a look at the beautiful line below us—I had spent hours looking at images and videos of this line, and now, the pieces were coming together in my head."
Building The Platform
Once there, I got to work with my shovel. Every now and then, I’d take a look at the beautiful line below us—I had spent hours looking at images and videos of this line, and now, the pieces were coming together in my head.
During the wait for everyone to arrive, I started visualizing the descent. Where do I turn? How’s the snow holding? Soon, the guides arrived with their client and Charlie.
From the platform, right after the narrow passage, the snow looked perfect. Turbo, one of the guides, asked me to be lowered with the rope another 50 meters lower.
After around 10 meters of being abseiled, feeling no ice underneath the powder snow, I started saying, "It’s enough, I can ride from here."
He answered, "Keep going until the end of the rope."
It was stronger than me. I knew I could ride this. The grip was perfect, and the line was beautiful. Being attached to a rope and sliding down on my toe edge felt like a waste of perfect turns. So, I grabbed the carabiner on my harness, unclipped the rope, and started putting in some turns.
During the wait for everyone to arrive, I started visualizing the descent. Where do I turn? How’s the snow holding? Soon, the guides arrived with their client and Charlie.
From the platform, right after the narrow passage, the snow looked perfect. Turbo, one of the guides, asked me to be lowered with the rope another 50 meters lower.
After around 10 meters of being abseiled, feeling no ice underneath the powder snow, I started saying, "It’s enough, I can ride from here."
He answered, "Keep going until the end of the rope."
It was stronger than me. I knew I could ride this. The grip was perfect, and the line was beautiful. Being attached to a rope and sliding down on my toe edge felt like a waste of perfect turns. So, I grabbed the carabiner on my harness, unclipped the rope, and started putting in some turns.
The Best Conditions
The snow was 30-40 cm of perfectly compact spring powder. This meant no sluff (loose snow sliding) at all, but still soft enough to give you plenty of confidence in your turns. It was probably the best condition I’ve ever ridden at such high altitude.
Once I reached the bifurcation—where you need to cut across the skier's left to reach the next section of the couloir—I waited. And waited. And kept waiting. To the point that my calves started screaming at me: Let’s move on!
Charlie was next to arrive, as the guides were lowering their client and retrieving the ropes. Once they arrived, I could see the client was slightly out of breath and maybe a bit overwhelmed by the exposure. After all, Charlie and I had a great advantage: living in Zermatt, we often ride long tours between 2,000 and 4,000 meters. We were acclimatized; he was visiting.
Once I reached the bifurcation—where you need to cut across the skier's left to reach the next section of the couloir—I waited. And waited. And kept waiting. To the point that my calves started screaming at me: Let’s move on!
Charlie was next to arrive, as the guides were lowering their client and retrieving the ropes. Once they arrived, I could see the client was slightly out of breath and maybe a bit overwhelmed by the exposure. After all, Charlie and I had a great advantage: living in Zermatt, we often ride long tours between 2,000 and 4,000 meters. We were acclimatized; he was visiting.
The Decision
The only thing I wanted was to rip down this line. But I knew if we followed the rhythm of the client, it would take away the flow for us. With a 50/50 probability, I threw it out casually to the guide: "Fabi, my calves are killing me from waiting. Can we ride down and wait for you guys at the bottom?"
To my surprise, he replied, "Yes, but wait before the seracs."
"Sure," I replied.
Charlie and I looked at each other like kids at a Christmas tree full of gifts. We dropped in for some of the best minutes of freeriding of our lives.
To my surprise, he replied, "Yes, but wait before the seracs."
"Sure," I replied.
Charlie and I looked at each other like kids at a Christmas tree full of gifts. We dropped in for some of the best minutes of freeriding of our lives.
"We approached a small restaurant in the middle of nowhere for a nice plate of pasta. It felt like a reward from the gods."
The Descent
We rode down the 1,500-meter drop, swapping leads on the go, slashing powder turns, and screaming with joy now and then. We stopped at the bottom, almost in disbelief at the conditions we just had: a consistent 2,000-meter drop of powder, basically from top to bottom.
Once the guides joined us with their client, we navigated out of the glacier end in nice, slushy conditions. We approached a small restaurant in the middle of nowhere for a nice plate of pasta. It felt like a reward from the gods.
Once the guides joined us with their client, we navigated out of the glacier end in nice, slushy conditions. We approached a small restaurant in the middle of nowhere for a nice plate of pasta. It felt like a reward from the gods.
The Helicopter Encore
Our initial plan was to get down to Macugnaga, take the lift to the top, go down to the Mattmark Lake in the Saas Valley, and then taxi over to Zermatt. This would take us probably another 2-3 hours, and we’d be home late at night.
Maybe coincidentally, or maybe not, our pilot was having lunch in the same restaurant. He offered an unrefutable deal: a ride up to Torre Castellframco, which would allow us to drop right back down to Zermatt instead of going around to the Saas Valley.
So after lunch, we jumped in the heli, feeling like we were in a movie. From Cima di Jazzi, it was a cruise down to the valley.
Maybe coincidentally, or maybe not, our pilot was having lunch in the same restaurant. He offered an unrefutable deal: a ride up to Torre Castellframco, which would allow us to drop right back down to Zermatt instead of going around to the Saas Valley.
So after lunch, we jumped in the heli, feeling like we were in a movie. From Cima di Jazzi, it was a cruise down to the valley.
When The Mountain Calls
I dreamed about this couloir for many years. But it’s very hard to know how the conditions really are, it takes forever to get up there on foot, and the access is far from risk-free. So I never took the chance to skin up the 2,400 vertical meters just to check the snow on the other side.
I really believe that, sometimes in life, the best things come to you when you least expect them. Without any planning, one of the best days of snowboarding of our lives was handed to us casually on the street.
To me, it felt like a reminder that you don’t always have to search so hard. If you’re in the zone, if you’re ready, and if you’re connected to the community, things come to you. The mountain provides, but only if you’re willing to say "Yes" when the opportunity knocks.
I really believe that, sometimes in life, the best things come to you when you least expect them. Without any planning, one of the best days of snowboarding of our lives was handed to us casually on the street.
To me, it felt like a reminder that you don’t always have to search so hard. If you’re in the zone, if you’re ready, and if you’re connected to the community, things come to you. The mountain provides, but only if you’re willing to say "Yes" when the opportunity knocks.