When a snow slope becomes a party zone: At the Lauberhorn races, sport becomes an event. 38,000 fans celebrate the stars and a little themselves.
In Wengen there is a church service every other week, but the Holy Mass for Swiss skiing is celebrated here only once a year. Tens of thousands then make a pilgrimage to the Lauberhorn, with cowbells ringing instead of church bells. And long before dawn.
The fans will be carted up to the mountain village from 4:40 a.m. on the day of departure. In Lauterbrunnen they squeeze into the cog railway, wheels squeak and the tops of beer cans crack. There is exuberant anticipation. A drum set sits on top of the open baggage car that is placed in front of the locomotive. A few hours later it will be standing in the snow at almost 2000 meters above sea level and will be worked on frenetically.
Drivers and fans meet on the train
The railway line to Wengen and on to Kleine Scheidegg is the lifeline of the Lauberhorn races. You can’t get to the village by car, even the athletes have to take the train if they want to get to the start. There are carriages reserved for them, but they often find themselves in the middle of the fans. They are watched, but they are left alone.
The races are a mix of national pride, sportsmanship and folk festival.
Florian Spring
Only top Swiss experts receive the privilege of a helicopter flight. This of course applies to Marco Odermatt, who doesn’t get caught up in the Odi mania during his preparation. However, the best skier of today is also omnipresent: on advertising posters, on fan banners, in the Odi song that plays from the loudspeakers.
The jury travels to the mountain at 8 a.m. before the athletes. She checks whether the piste is ready for racing and, if necessary, arranges for small touch-ups with the shovel. Jury members and trainers can be recognized by the fact that they do not wear helmets and are without sticks. In ski racing, the helmet requirement only applies to athletes. And sticks would only get in the way when working on the mountain.
When race director Markus Waldner arrives at the start, a group of soldiers with shovels are gliding through the starting curve in neat formation. The men in camouflage suits will lend a hand later when the piste general Waldner orders it. Lively Schwyzerörgeli are playing from the speakers at the Start Bar, the first fans are already there, it smells like coffee Luz.
Schwyzerörgeli are playing from the loudspeakers and it smells like Luz coffee.
Florian Spring
Not all fans are professionals. One points to the starting house and asks: “Excuse me. . . Are the athletes going out there later?” Yes, but it will still take over three hours to get there. Helicopters clatter through the air, hauling in material. Volunteers have arrived at the top and ask: “Hello zäme, cheerful Büez for üs?”
Martin Rufener is also one of the people who traveled here specifically to help. He was once a head coach in Switzerland and later in Canada. He now works as a helicopter pilot and put out forest fires in Canada in the summer. Now the Canadian team has placed him in the Brüggli-S, and he’s annoyed that his athletes simply can’t get this double curve under control.
Odermatt goes through it with ease – but it’s impossible to copy his line. For Rufener, the temporary coaching job only lasts until the end of the race. Next week he’ll be piloting clients heli-skiing in Canada.
A snow slope becomes a party zone
It takes over a thousand helpers to carry out this descent. But the spectators are also working hard. Hosts drove up to Girmschbiel early, a slope opposite the Hundschopf. They have built small snow bars here, set up chairs, even dragged up tables and installed gas burners.
Every few meters a raclette sizzles and people stir a fondue. Luckily they didn’t have to lug the fridge up, the beer stays nice and fresh if you put the cans in the snow. A group of former college friends are here for the fourth or fifth time. Now there is coffee and croissants, later various forms of melted cheese.
They build snow bars, set up chairs and tables, install gas burners: spectators make themselves comfortable.
Florian Spring
A few boys drag up a life-sized cardboard cutout of Wendy Holdener. When asked that they were probably in the wrong race, they replied: “Wendy is injured, so she can now watch with us.” Understood.
A little further up, the necks of champagne bottles stick out of the snow. It won’t just be uncorked if Odermatt wins, says one. Either way, people celebrate here. The members of the Guggenmusik, who have positioned themselves in the middle of the crowd, also see it that way. One of them is working on the drums that were loaded onto the train in the morning.
“Now comes our national pride”
Back to the next ski lift, up to the start. Thousands stand there and stare at the sky. No, they are not waiting for an apparition of Saint Marco, but for the Patrouille Suisse. A woman says she actually only came because of the air show and that she wasn’t particularly interested in the ski race. The Start-Bar has now switched from Hudigääggeler to pop and rock.
Thousands stare into the sky: appearance of the Patrouille Suisse.
Florian Spring
Just before the jets roar in, the national anthem plays over the loudspeakers. Some fans sing along with their hands on their hearts. When the last note has faded away, someone calls out: “Odi!” People clap. Then a father says to his son: “Now comes our national pride.” And the jet fighters are already thundering in.
The Lauberhorn races are a colorful mix of national pride, sportsmanship and folk festival. You wear an Edelweiss shirt and wave Swiss flags, you eat cheese and drink Fendant. But this seems more like posturing than patriotic fervor. The audience is also younger than you would expect at such an event. You celebrate an event, like you do at the wrestling festival or at the open-air festival.
It fits that there is also a VIP zone on Girmschbiel next to the hill conquered by the infantry. 750 people are treated to fine food and drinks and enjoy the view of the Hundschopf and the Cüpli. A ticket cost 950 francs and the 750 seats were quickly sold out. The seats in the people are not cheap either; You paid 95 francs for the Lauberhorn ticket.
But the money is secondary when the big show finally begins. Bells ring out from the pits at Girmschbiel, and when the last chime fades away, the crowd cheers – the first driver is on his way. A speaker also heats up the mood. «To the devices! To the bells! To the flags!” he crowed. And then: “Here he comes!”
He is the Frenchman Adrien Théaux. As he races over the dog’s head, it looks like he’s jumping down from the third floor. Then it whizzes through the Canadian Corner – and the rest can only be seen on the big screen. A little later you hear a loud noise coming down from the Girmschbiel: “Odi! Ody!” At every split time you hear an “Oh!”, an “Ah!” Best time – raise your glasses, raise your beer cans!
But then Aleksander Kilde falls in the finish S and it looks like someone has pulled the plug. The organizers immediately turned off the music, the speaker was silent, and a few young men were silently stirring their fondue. It takes a long time until Kilde is rescued by helicopter, and for that long there is peace. The party only continues when a rider finally stands in the starting house again.
As he races towards the finish line, there is cheering and hustle and bustle again. Canadian James Crawford is welcomed as if he had won the race. He is 4.4 seconds behind. The stands become a sea of flags, and the shouting probably also releases the tension that had built up while Kilde was lying in the snow not far from the spectators.
And then it is clear that Odermatt won the race. The Odi mania begins in the finish area, later at the award ceremony in the village, which becomes the festival hut. Many people celebrate until they drop. There are night trains down to Lauterbrunnen. And instead of the Sunday bells, the cowbells ring again.