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No matter what Mother Nature has to throw at them, they stand grinning against the storm, their sage heads bared to the snow gods above and their tips pointed towards the valley below. If any category of skiers can be instantly classified as legends, surely it's these guys. Among this rare breed, there is perhaps no one more famous than Snowflake—the face of Engelberg's new winter PR campaign, The Way to Happiness. What makes Snowflake special, besides the lack of hat and goggles? Well, for starters, the year-old logs more ski days in Engelberg than anyone—an average of days per season. Last winter he got days. For frequent visitors to Engelberg, his all-white suit and free-flowing locks are a regular and cherished sight on the slopes. I myself have witnessed the sight: A major freeride descent, thousands of vertical meters, butt-puckering terrain, where people strapped up with helmets, beacons, shovels, probes, backpacks, UV-filtering goggles and expensive outerwear are struck speechless by the sight of Snowflake drifting gently down the slope past them, his hair blowing in the breeze. Imagine getting pumped up for one of the most epic powder runs of your life when you see this guy fly by you. Only in Engelberg. Photo: Falk. In fact, Snowflake has become such a legend that Engelberg has now made him the star of his own PR campaign. The campaign invites you to get to know Snowflake and his way of life better with five episodes that will be released throughout the winter. The first two episodes are already online on the Way to Happiness page. In the first episode you can learn why Snowflakes dresses all in white; the answer might surprise you! And you can sign up to win a ski holiday in Engelberg, complete with a ski day with the man himself. Not all of us can be legends like Snowflake—but we all can worry less and ski more. And anyone who manages to do that these days is surely a legend in the making. People Engelberg Heinrich Giesker Switzerland. Stories Highlight. By: Ethan Stone October 17, Heinrich Giesker, aka Snowflake. Photo: Adam Falk.

A Tale of Two Switzerlands

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Follow friends and authors, share adventures, and get outside. Heading out the door? From the top of the Rotair cable car, follow the signs, head right over here, bear left over there. Just stay on the groomed pistes. Well, I missed it. Boy, did I miss it. Toni seemed to think that was totally doable. He gave me instructions and left to meet up with another client. The shadowy, bumped-up slope ahead of me wends to the right, then drops out of sight. All I wanted was one last run. What have I gotten myself into? He skis with his legs pressed together, looking graceful and from another era, which I guess he is. In the weeks before my trip, I drooled over terrain descriptions and videos online. The Steinberg Glacier, which skiers can access right from the Rotair cable car, drops 3, feet over crevasses, outcroppings, and cliffs. You need a guide, of course. But not my guide. I get it. No freeride without a guide. Engelberg comprises 50 miles of runs accessed by 14 lifts, most high-speed and efficient. The slopes teem with instructors in tidy red jackets with white Engelberg-Titlis Skischule patches. But we should. More than the better-known Swiss Alps resorts, it has a little bit of everything: a ton of terrain, traditional mountain huts, amazing scenery, off-piste skiing, serious history people have been skiing here since the s , and an authentic, fun-loving town at its base. Oh, and cheese. Because, well, when in Switzerland…. The Odermatt family took over cheesemaking operations from the monks about 15 years ago. Before that, the monks had been doing it for the past several hundred years. About 30 monks still live and work here. After tasting it, it makes sense that the Swiss people population: eight million eat 47 pounds of cheese a year per person. The average American goes through 31 pounds a year. I settle into a cushy seat in the panorama car, with nearly degree windows overhead, and gawk at the high peaks, tiny trackside villages, and quaint train stations. Shortly before we glide into St. Moritz we cross over the Landwasser Viaduct, a single-track limestone bridge with six dramatic curved arches leading to a tunnel through the side of a mountain. At the St. Toto, we are not in Engelberg anymore. Stowe to its Mad River Glen. This really is where the beautiful people ski. And dine, shop, stroll, and party into the wee hours at its myriad nightclubs. The first visitors came from Great Britain in the mids for the wildflower-filled summers. Johannes Badrutt, the original owner of the Kulm, is credited with bringing winter tourism to town when he convinced some of his summer guests to return in the snowy months. Those early British guests left an indelible mark, with customs—such as curling, cricket, and tobogganing—that would become St. Moritz traditions. And the skiing? Oh yeah, that happens too sometimes. Ah, the irony. Christine is a true mountain guide. Antique snowshoes and skis hang on the wood-plank walls. The resorts around St. Moritz have some of the best snow in Switzerland thanks to their high elevation. The gondola we rode here at Corvatsch is the highest in the Engadin, and the summit-to-valley runs are among the longest. She takes clients into the freeride zones and even on backcountry excursions, but today is not suitable for such endeavors. Too much snow. Go figure. Moritz Bad. In every direction, knife-tipped peaks jut into the sky. Corviglia is the closest ski area to downtown St. Moritz, with twisty-turny runs that descend all the way into St. Moritz dorf village. The area is pretty mellow, with plenty of red pistes that look like veins spreading across the trail map. Christine shares her Pizza al Tonn o, topped with chunks of tuna. Surprisingly tasty. On our way down into town, I marvel at how different the skiing—well, everything, really—is here in St. From the ambience of the mountain restaurants to the type of terrain to the layout of the mountain, the experiences are disparate. And this is in a country only half the size of Massachusetts. Moritz, on the Italian border, has a romantic feel. Red wine, pastas, and pizzas dominate the menus here. Fondue and schnitzel? Not so much. Especially when White Turf, its annual horse-racing spectacle, comes to town. So the fact that the total winnings paid out at White Turf equal about half a million Swiss francs blows my frugal mind. The event is held on three consecutive Saturdays in February on frozen Lake St. Moritz, and it attracts quite the crowd of international high rollers. I attend on my last day in town. A metropolis of white tents sprawls behind the grandstand. Inside the tents, caviar and bubbly runneth over as fur-swathed spectators strut and mingle. Dogs in sweaters prance beside their owners. The slopes must be glorious today. And vacant. I need to decide what to do. Shivering violently now, I click out of my bindings, shoulder my skis, and start climbing back up to the groomed trail, jamming my toes into the steep mountain with each step. And never more relieved to see groomed pistes in my entire life. Fans Speculate After Instagram Teaser.

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