This late 1970s photo was taken at La Chaux in Verbier while we enjoyed ourselves after skiing. From left to right are a guy named Speedy, me, Ace Kvale, Sarah Ferguson, Heidi Rendell, Gary Bigham, John Falkiner, and Gilly Evans. The photo ultimately became a family portrait for Team Clambin.
This late 1970s photo was taken at La Chaux in Verbier while we enjoyed ourselves after skiing. From left to right are a guy named Speedy, me, Ace Kvale, Sarah Ferguson, Heidi Rendell, Gary Bigham, John Falkiner, and Gilly Evans. The photo ultimately became a family portrait for Team Clambin.
riding an early wave of exotic ski-bumming that would soon grow into a tsunami. Not that this was his plan, but when opportunity knocked, he answered the door. Little did “Marko” know how the freestyle movement, subsequent telemark revolution, and the brotherhood of snow would combine with travel and off-piste exploration to place him in the forefront of an international adventure-ski world — and the acme of its photographic pantheon—a classic case of right place, right time.
Captured in 1985 while filming Willy Bogner’s movie “Fire & Ice, ” I found myself in St. Moritz for a concept shoot featuring costumes designed by students from the Munich art school. It was an exciting shoot where John Falkiner, Ace Kvale, and a group of guys from the Swiss Freestyle team skied in front of the cameras.
This early 1980s photograph of Nikki-Jane Oakeshott adorned a K2 poster, graced the cover of Åka Skidor in Sweden, and featured in a national ski campaign in New Zealand. When skiers come at you, anything can happen. Niki dipped, launched herself upward, and found herself in this position. She crashed, of course, but the smile on her face remained unforgettable.
Captured in 1985 while filming Willy Bogner’s movie “Fire & Ice, ” I found myself in St. Moritz for a concept shoot featuring costumes designed by students from the Munich art school. It was an exciting shoot where John Falkiner, Ace Kvale, and a group of guys from the Swiss Freestyle team skied in front of the cameras.
This early 1980s photograph of Nikki-Jane Oakeshott adorned a K2 poster, graced the cover of Åka Skidor in Sweden, and featured in a national ski campaign in New Zealand. When skiers come at you, anything can happen. Niki dipped, launched herself upward, and found herself in this position. She crashed, of course, but the smile on her face remained unforgettable.
This late 1970s photo of me was featured in Powder Magazine in the section titled “Shot in the Back.” After an incredible morning of skiing down to Verbier, I was going to grab a coffee when someone—I can’t remember who—stopped me and took my picture.
As is often the case in my career, this photo features Ace Kvale and John Falkiner at home in Verbier. Ace was still using The Ski (before he switched to K2 like the rest of us), but they both wore Powderhorn clothing, indicating that it was the late 1970s. I remember this shot sold well; Ace sported a big smile, and the picture was a blast.
This late 1970s photo of me was featured in Powder Magazine in the section titled “Shot in the Back.” After an incredible morning of skiing down to Verbier, I was going to grab a coffee when someone—I can’t remember who—stopped me and took my picture.
As is often the case in my career, this photo features Ace Kvale and John Falkiner at home in Verbier. Ace was still using The Ski (before he switched to K2 like the rest of us), but they both wore Powderhorn clothing, indicating that it was the late 1970s. I remember this shot sold well; Ace sported a big smile, and the picture was a blast.
The time was the 1980s and ’90s. The place: a nondescript chalet set on an ancient alpege known as Clambin on Verbier’s southern perimeter. Over the years, it would quietly be read into the canon of must-visit destinations for globe-trotting ski bums, mountaineers, journalists, pros, models, and wannabes who might drop in to say hello, pay respects, exchange stories, plan adventures or ski Verbier’s wild high-alpine. The cabin was home to Australian freestyler/adventurer John Falkiner, American ski model/photographer Ace Kvale, and a revolving door of personalities like Lebanese-Australian photographer Nolen Oayda. Of course, Shapiro became part of this cast of characters and began mentoring would-be models and shooters and documenting their exotic adventures and eclectic skiing. His work would inspire an entire generation of skiers and photographers. But that was all years away when he first landed in Verbier, which, far from the mega-resort it would become, was just another mid-sized Euro ski area where you could disappear into the Alps.
This was the early 1980s at the original Chalet Bellaüvia in Clambin before it underwent two renovations. It was overcast, and we weren’t in the mood for skiing, so we decided to bring out all the gear we had been using. On the deck, Nolen Oayda is on the left, followed by Heidi Rendell, John Falkiner, another girl, and Ace Kvale on the right. As you can see, we accumulated a lot of gear during those years, including all the K2 skis.
This was the early 1980s at the original Chalet Bellaüvia in Clambin before it underwent two renovations. It was overcast, and we weren’t in the mood for skiing, so we decided to bring out all the gear we had been using. On the deck, Nolen Oayda is on the left, followed by Heidi Rendell, John Falkiner, another girl, and Ace Kvale on the right. As you can see, we accumulated a lot of gear during those years, including all the K2 skis.
Born and raised in Hamilton, Ontario — a Canadian steel town — Shapiro obtained his college diploma in tool-and-die and went to work in an office furniture factory north of Toronto. There, he befriended a Swiss-German kid who he eventually followed to Switzerland, intrigued by the prospect of Europe, and armed with a one-way ticket.
Shapiro enjoyed the freewheeling times of the era, travelling as the spirit moved him and picking grapes in the local harvest. One evening, his future was abruptly decided while eating dinner at the infamous alpinist hangout Club Vagabond in Leysin. Glancing around, he spotted a knot of famous climbers, including Dougal Haston, who were settled in and telling stories.
“So, I join,” says Shapiro in an inimitable growl. “Then some people come in and announce they’ve rented a chalet in Verbier for the winter and want to know who’s in. Well, me. So, I buy some ski gear, get a season’s pass, and find a job washing dishes — un plongeur — in a Verbier hotel.”
Truncated vignettes are typical of Shapiro’s stories, but he wasn’t new to skiing. He’d played around in his backyard and on a local golf course with old hickory skis and leather boots he found in his basement — preparation for more regular skiing with high-school buddies.
For many years, my office was a lot bigger than where I had started. I shared it with Aussie filmmaker Trevor Averdissan. The picture I’m holding here of Pascal Burri skiing slushy bumps kicked off my career in 1974. I got a pair of skis and CHF 500.
For many years, my office was a lot bigger than where I had started. I shared it with Aussie filmmaker Trevor Averdissan. The picture I’m holding here of Pascal Burri skiing slushy bumps kicked off my career in 1974. I got a pair of skis and CHF 500.
He wasn’t new to photography either, but, as with skiing, he had no plans to dedicate his life to it. “I’d been an avid photographer since I was a kid. My grandfather bought me a camera for my seventh birthday — something like a Rolleiflex — and I had a darkroom in college,” he recalls. “I had a Minolta SR1 with a 50 mm lens. I bought a light meter and 20mm and 180mm lenses to go with it, and that was the kit I took to Europe. I shot my first ski photos of a buddy in Verbier and sold one to Authier Skis for CHF 500. That seemed better than dishwashing.”
Though he spent most of his time with local skiers following the pre-FIS European freestyle circuit, Shapiro made friends with Falkiner, son of an Australian sheep farmer and later Kvale, a young, shaggy-haired American. “We were wandering around the woods when we met an old guy standing on a deck outside a place called Chalet Bellaiuva,” recalls Shapiro. After a brief conversation in French, Falkiner suddenly rented the cabin, and Clambin became an instant epi-center.
This is Mark Stevens from Australia, skiing in the rock garden at Verbier. You must go to Lac des Vaux and bootpack to access this zone. We often visited this area because it was challenging to reach, but now it’s consistently ruined.
In the mid-1970s, we met Sarah Ferguson at Henri Authier and Manfred Kastner’s summer freestyle camp in Tignes, France. A few years later, when John rented Chalet Bellaiuva in Clambin, Sarah became the first lady of the house. She skied and modeled with us for many years, and we remain best friends to this day. This photo, taken in 1980 in Puy Saint Vincent in the southern French Alps, is one of my all-time favorites.
This is Mark Stevens from Australia, skiing in the rock garden at Verbier. You must go to Lac des Vaux and bootpack to access this zone. We often visited this area because it was challenging to reach, but now it’s consistently ruined.
In the mid-1970s, we met Sarah Ferguson at Henri Authier and Manfred Kastner’s summer freestyle camp in Tignes, France. A few years later, when John rented Chalet Bellaiuva in Clambin, Sarah became the first lady of the house. She skied and modeled with us for many years, and we remain best friends to this day. This photo, taken in 1980 in Puy Saint Vincent in the southern French Alps, is one of my all-time favorites.
Dan Hurby launched a backscratcher on Tyndall Glacier in New Zealand on the same remarkable day as the Scott Brooksbank photo above. This photo attracted considerable attention, likely due to the stunning blue ice. It was truly a perfect day in the Southern Alps of New Zealand.
In 1996, while filming Greg Stump’s A Fistful of Moguls, cameraman Bruce Benedict travelled to Verbier with Glen Plake. We spent time at Mont Fort, and as usual, Glen had everyone laughing heartily.
Dan Hurby launched a backscratcher on Tyndall Glacier in New Zealand on the same remarkable day as the Scott Brooksbank photo above. This photo attracted considerable attention, likely due to the stunning blue ice. It was truly a perfect day in the Southern Alps of New Zealand.
In 1996, while filming Greg Stump’s A Fistful of Moguls, cameraman Bruce Benedict travelled to Verbier with Glen Plake. We spent time at Mont Fort, and as usual, Glen had everyone laughing heartily.
“It was pretty rustic, and the rooms were cold, but it was headquarters for almost 20 years,” recalls Shapiro with no slight hint of pride about a storied place where visitors were always welcome and through which, it seemed, the entire ski world passed. Though the chalet became a hub of activity, Shapiro continued to live in town. “Someone had to take care of business; my office was just a fax machine, a light table and piles of gear.”
As always in such stories, not only was being in the right place at the right time the key to what happened, but also a catalyst.
MARK SHAPIRO
The US magazine Snow Country featured Verbier in a story, creating an iconic cover shot for that issue. The photo includes Niki-Jane Oakshot, Heidi Rendell, Ace Kvale, and John Falkiner in Creblet, with the town below. It’s a classic setup from that era, but you rarely see multi-skier photos like this anymore.
I have countless epic photos of Dominique Perret. He is a fantastic skier but somewhat arrogant. I had an incredible run with him, travelling to Everest and other locations. This photo is from an Oakley shoot in La Grave with Mike Hattrup and Trevor Petersen. The next day, I dropped Trevor off in Chamonix, and tragically, he passed away the following day in an avalanche while skiing the Couloir des Cosmiques.
Shapiro sent some slides to then Powder editor Neil Stebbins, along with a typewritten letter constellated with spelling mistakes — an inauspicious introduction, but somehow it worked. “Stebbins replied with something like ‘These are amazing — keep them coming,’” recalls Shapiro. “So, my photos started appearing, and the cheques started arriving. John hooked us up with K2, and we were off and running.”
The trio, now known as Team Clambin, began shopping their photo work at the annual ISPO ski show in Munich, and their reputation grew. They were already selling to magazines in a dozen countries when the fashion shoots started, with Bogner becoming prominent in their lives and Falkiner doing stunts and guide work for films — most memorably, three Bond movies. With more work than he could handle, Shapiro leaned on Kvale, who’d shown a sharpshooter’s eye on a trip to Africa, buying him a camera and birthing another legendary photographer.
Film legend Dick Barrymore enjoyed the powder in Tignes, France, during the early 1980s. He used this shot as the cover of his book. We were also joined by Yves Bessas, the spiritual leader of the La Nuit de la Glisse films. Collaborating with Bessas, Barrymore, and their team, which included several highly skilled monoskiers from Chamonix, was deeply gratifying.
Film legend Dick Barrymore enjoyed the powder in Tignes, France, during the early 1980s. He used this shot as the cover of his book. We were also joined by Yves Bessas, the spiritual leader of the La Nuit de la Glisse films. Collaborating with Bessas, Barrymore, and their team, which included several highly skilled monoskiers from Chamonix, was deeply gratifying.
Led by Shapiro, shots emanating from Clambin diverged from the usual European and North American fare in style and content, featuring significant in-your-face action and, unlike today, no helmets or goggles, with hair flying everywhere. There were also bold lines, wild air, exploding powder, jaw-dropping vistas and the cultural exotica of alpine adventure in places like Russia, New Zealand and Kashmir. In the mid-1990s, Shapiro spent 76 days on the north side of Mount Everest during extreme skier Dominique Perret’s attempt to ski from the summit. It all translated into an entirely new dimension when many skiers were still squinting past the sunset of the freestyle era to determine skiing’s next horizon.
That next big thing turned out to be telemarking, a new commodity successfully marketed by the unwitting fun hogs of Team Clambin. Inspired by Pat Morrow and his crew cruising through Verbier with the Karhu “Freedom of the Heels Tour,” Falkiner, Kvale, and Shapiro took to the nascent sport with a vengeance. In no time, they’d dragged tele gear to the four corners of the Earth, photographing knee-dropping turns in every conceivable terrain.
Swedish skier Stefan Anderson navigates a gully bump run beneath Verbier’s Les Ruinettes mid-station. We skied this run every afternoon after enjoying the morning powder. Typically, by the time we reached these bumps, they were slushy and pleasant; however, sometimes, there was powder, as was the case on this day. A T-bar ran alongside the gully, allowing us to cycle through it. All the freestylers who visited Verbier loved this run, and you could ski down to Clambin from the bottom.
Swedish skier Stefan Anderson navigates a gully bump run beneath Verbier’s Les Ruinettes mid-station. We skied this run every afternoon after enjoying the morning powder. Typically, by the time we reached these bumps, they were slushy and pleasant; however, sometimes, there was powder, as was the case on this day. A T-bar ran alongside the gully, allowing us to cycle through it. All the freestylers who visited Verbier loved this run, and you could ski down to Clambin from the bottom.
Although the travel, adventure and freeskiing renaissance that Team Clambin kicked off began with Shapiro’s groundbreaking action photos, its ethos spilled into the industry at large, breaking new ground by paying ski models, hiring assistants, obtaining clothing samples, organizing photographic retainers, and just generally treating ski photography and adventuring like a business. A 1988 Powder story by Lito Tejada-Flores entitled The Clambin Kids of Verbier showed how getting paid to ski and work in a hypnotically beautiful and distant place was possible. This revelation had profound effects on skiing in North America.
The revelation that skiing could take someone to distant lands changed many lives—including mine. Though a Clambin documentary currently in the works might tell a better story, Shapiro’s impressive body of work is already quite the story.
MARK SHAPIRO Born in 1947 in Toronto, Canada, Mark Shapiro discovered his passion for photography after his grandfather gifted him his first camera at the age of seven.
Ultimately, he became a skier and traveled to Verbier, Switzerland, in the early 1970s to experience life as a ski bum for a winter. He never left, and a few years later, his hobby transformed into a profession. Shapiro is often referred to as the “Godfather of Freeski photography,” as he was one of the first to document the freeskiing movement from the 1970s onward.
His most notable work was frequently featured in Powder Magazine, where he served as a senior photographer for many years. One of the most famous photos appears in the center spread of the 1984 Powder Photo Annual, which was labeled, “Best photo, period.”
Shapiro, now 78, continues to ski and enjoys life in Verbier.
MARK SHAPIRO Born in 1947 in Toronto, Canada, Mark Shapiro discovered his passion for photography after his grandfather gifted him his first camera at the age of seven.
Ultimately, he became a skier and traveled to Verbier, Switzerland, in the early 1970s to experience life as a ski bum for a winter. He never left, and a few years later, his hobby transformed into a profession. Shapiro is often referred to as the “Godfather of Freeski photography,” as he was one of the first to document the freeskiing movement from the 1970s onward.
His most notable work was frequently featured in Powder Magazine, where he served as a senior photographer for many years. One of the most famous photos appears in the center spread of the 1984 Powder Photo Annual, which was labeled, “Best photo, period.”
Shapiro, now 78, continues to ski and enjoys life in Verbier.
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