Ever had the feeling that a day is going to change your life in some significant way, regardless of the part you play in it? Well, that happened to me yesterday.
I'd arranged to go skiing in Courmayeur, Italy with three other girls from Chamonix. We were all feverishly excited by the prospect of a day out of the valley and a chance for me to have a proper go at off-piste skiing. Plus supposedly enough time for pizza and to soak up the sublime vistas.... also my first excursion through the Mont Blanc tunnel.
We met at the Chamonix bus stop, at a reasonable hour in the morning, loaded our skis and boards into the store and got on a thankfully quiet bus - unusual for a peak-season Saturday... however, this tranquillity swiftly evaporated as soon as we came through the tunnel and were dropped at the resort. The promise of fresh powder and a perfect blue sky couldn't distract us from the impending doom that rose as we joined a teeming crowd of predominantly Italian families at the ticket office. Just over an hour later (and a few rising degrees noted on the info board), we graced the first gondola at Courmayer. The two Finish girls were very keen to head straight to the top of the mountain and surf the virtually untracked freeride area. Annabel was impartial and I (though apprehenteous at my low-level off-piste abilities and nervous of using new skis that I hadn't practiced off-piste with yet) was keen to push myself and endure whatever was thrown at me.
The pistes looked welcoming, a pleasing array of blue and red runs that I personally would have preferred to start off with.... but time was of the essence, as we'd already lost so much due to queuing. We smugly booked a table at a Pizzeria for our return: a deserved reward for the journey ahead. 2:30pm, that potentially gave us almost three hours skiing time. Unfortunately, we still had another two gondolas to tackle, and they were as eagerly clogged as the first. As we boarded the last gondola, I let a wave of mild panic engulf me as I read notices about avalanche risks and forbidden areas to avoid at all costs. I also remembered that the Carte Neige insurance I had didn't cover off-piste accidents and that I hadn't yet completed my Carte Vitale paperwork (free health insurance cover for me as an employee on a French contract).
I hadn't realised just how extreme the terrain we would be descending was until we got off the last gondola and we were alone at the edge of a series of deserted mountains, virtually untracked and steep-looking. The Finish girls had graced this particular area only once before the previous year, but they weren't 100% sure if they could recall their route. Between them, they had a small amount of avalanche kit, Annabel and I had nothing but our mobile phones. At the time I didn't think about how dangerous your impending journey could have been, but the girls positive enthusiasm, calm confidence of our ability to do this and their insistence that most of it would be traversing and wide expanses of powder helped to put my pessimistic thoughts at bay.... for the time being.
We commenced our descent with a frightening traverse along the ledge of a steep, untracked mountain ridge. I struggled initially to keep at a pace that I felt comfortable, without picking up too much speed, but I ended up lagging far behind the others and side-stepping most of the end section. Panting and sweating, I eventually caught up with the girls, and we trekked over the other side of the ridge, looking down a steep, but expansive gully. The first bit was steep and massive moguls confronted me, there was no way I could do tight turns in such a tight spot, so again, I had to side step and slide, until I reached an area I though I was ready to start skiing properly. Unfortunately, I lost a ski... trying to retrieve it in waist-deep powder was frustrating and demeaning.... I didn't want to hold the girls up any more. As I replaced the lost ski, I heard a few whimpers coming from the girls, who were in front of me.
I gasped as I saw the beginnings of a small avalanche topple over Annabel and Jenni's heads. I looked directly above me and a small amount was falling on me too. Luckily, it wasn't anything too serious, probably a product of a freak gust of wind over the ridge, but it was enough for me to realise I was in a very dangerous situation, way out of my depth in many respects.
After a few minutes of the girls deciding the next move, I encountered possibly my most sublime snow-moment thus far. A long, glide through the powder, feeling free and beginning to understand the addict's-fix status that this mighty white stuff has for so many boarders and skiiers. I was surfing, floating just above the glistening snow, carving out fresh tracks.. not caring if I fell as it was the ultimate in soft landings.
Having caught up with the girls again, we took some time to soak up our environment and take some photos. The next section of our descent entailed a sketchy traverse to a tree-lined gully, again severely mogulled, narrow and in poor light, as we'd now dipped below the sun's reach. I was getting cold, shaky with a nervous lack of energy: I looked at my phone and realised that we were already late for our pizza booking and still had the steepest section to go. I couldn't get my turns flowing, so I ended up doing long zig-zag traverses, disappointed in my lack of confidence and annoyed that I was holding up the girls. I have to admit that by this point I was almost ready to cry and give up. I shouted at myself and soon realised this was not the right attitude to have in such a situation. The girls offered me encouraging words and stressed that we'd take things at my pace. I was so glad for their understanding, but I could tell they were probably resenting taking me all the way to the top.
After what felt like another hour or two of snail-paced traversing with the odd turn over massive moguls, we reached the bottom of the valley, where we reached a path that was well tracked and would obviously lead us back to civilisation. I realised that we'd only seen a handful of people since we set off, and for once I was actually looking forward to being amongst the hoards we had sought to avoid earlier. The time was fast approaching 3.15 when we finished an exhausting cross-country trail, and came across a restaurant and chair lift. Unsure if this was the correct way to get back to the main gondola, we took a risk and asked to jump the extensive queue to try and avoid missing our bus; the only service running that day. I was anxious, and once we jumped off this lift, we had to make a few split decisions to decide which way was the quickest route down.
Joining the hoards on a mogulled red run, we began to recognise our surroundings, we were only a few minutes away from the main gondola. It was going to be a struggle to make the bus, as we still had a few roads to walk along before we were back at the bus stop. Thinking ahead, we called the bus company to ask if they'd hold the bus for a few minutes. The representative was French, but Annabel seemed to think that he understood our predicament.
Mentally and physically drained and not relishing the idea of having to stay in Courmayeur for the night or arrange a lift back to Chamonix, we decided we had to concentrate all our efforts on getting to the bus stop as quickly as possible. Not an easy task in ski boots, and with an up-hill ascent on the horizon. Red as beetroots, we arrived just in time, the bus driver giving us a series of amused and disapproving looks as we staggered aboard. At last: rest, relaxation and repose. After a non-stop, action and adrenaline-fueled day, we relished the short journey back, deep in thought about what we'd achieved that day... finally having the time to piece together the madness.
Once back in the valley, we went on a well-deserved apres mission, followed by pizza.... not made or consumed in Italy, but fitting non-the-less. After a quick bath and repose, we reconvened at the pub and a very long day, turned into a long, long night. A celebration of life, a salute to the mountains and a well-deserved treat for surviving what could have been a treacherous or even disastrous day. I'm thankful for the girls for getting me though the toughest day's skiing I've done in my life, but I also know that if I can get through that, I can get through almost anything. Like I said before: I knew full-well it was going to be a life-changing day, a day that makes you truly appreciate life and respect the mysterious ways of the mountains. I will be much better educated in avalanche risk and such before I attempt this terrain again. I shall be playing much closer to the piste for the time being, until I'm more confident at off-piste and have built up my leg muscles to withstand the intense pressure of powder!
