Skiing, January 2010 – The Novices Story
Let me tell you about my skiing “holiday”. I use the word “holiday” in its loosest sense. I was glad to get back to work last week…..
We arrived on Sunday lunchtime absolutely knackered after a 12 hour trip and about 24 hours without sleep. But the sun was shining, the snow was glistening, and everything was pretty. Our lift passes weren’t valid until the Monday, but La Tania, which is a very small village/resort, had a nursery slope with a free pommel lift, and so we collected our hire skis and had a pleasant afternoon doing circuits. For we three novices, me Taff and Bob (remember Bob – he will feature later), it was a useful reminder of our Snowdome lessons. By the end of the afternoon I was confidently snowploughing down the slope. At that stage I didn’t realise that “snowploughing” and “confident” don’t normally go together in the skiing context. Anyway, I didn’t want to leave the slope when the lift stopped at the end of the afternoon, but the prospect of tea, home made cake, eventually followed by a three course meal with endless wine tempted me back to our chalet.
Monday. Brace yourselves – this is going to be a long day. Richard, who organised the trip, decided that there was a suitably wide variety of runs over in the next valley, around Courchevel. Thus at 9.00am we novices were led out to catch the first lift of a very grey and gloomy morning. I was somewhat apprehensive, but at least the first lift was a walk-in “bubble lift”. At the top we skied down a short slope (more snowploughing) to the chair lift. How do novices without experienced mates cope with chair lifts? I had to be told how to get on, how to stay on, and how to get off. Otherwise it was easy, and I was successfully shoved into the thick fog on the ridge between the valleys.
Now you will recall that my skiing experience was limited to supervised descents of the Snowdome and the delights of the village nursery slope on a gorgeous sunny afternoon. The only routes off of the ridge were blue or red. Richard had the good sense not to shove us down a red, and so we headed off down a blue. To start with the problem wasn’t really the gradient – it was the fact that because of the fog and “flat light” I had no idea what the gradient was, even immediately in front of me. When we eventually descended out of the fog, I could at least see the gradient, and it was getting progressively steeper. I don’t know how I managed to get to the bottom of this in one piece – I was in permanent panic-and-snowplough mode. I lost count of the falls (which at least confirmed that such falls are survivable) but after about two weeks (or at least that is what it felt like) I reached the bottom all trembly and sweaty, with aching thighs from the constant snowploughing. Taff arrived just before me, but Bob was still only half way down. He’d given up, taken off his skis, and decided to walk down. Fortunately a green run crossed the blue, and Richard got Bob onto that and he managed to ski down to us via a short detour.
The next bit must either have been a green or easier blue, because I began to enjoy myself, but I was still relieved when we got down to a cafe at the top of a run that led down to the next village. We stopped for rum and coffee, which was very welcome. The bill wasn’t at all welcome – 90 euros (£75?) for 8 drinks. We didn’t patronise the place again. At least I’d had a rest, and felt a little revived. We then skied down to “1850”, the highest part of Courchevel (guess how high it is??). This descent was a lovely long green run – steepish at first, but then a long wide descent of about a mile, maybe two miles, long, initially open with mountain views, and then down through a forest. It wasn’t very busy, and so there was plenty of room to traverse and turn to practice my parallel skiing. Well actually I seemed to have developed my own technique – parallel snowploughing. The attraction between my ski tips was directly proportional to the amount of stress and panic at the time. At the bottom the group split into “accomplished skiers” who went off to try some blue or red runs, and we three novices, who were allowed out play on our own, going up on the ski lift, and descending the green. My traverses were getting less across the hill, and more down the hill – good fun at last!
We three kept together, so that if, I mean when, one of us fell over we could make sure that he got up ok. There was an awful lot of this falling over business as we got a bit over confident at times. Bob was struggling a bit because he was tired – on one occasion Taff had to haul him to his feet because he couldn’t push himself up. I turned from one traverse to see Bob on the floor again on the other side of the slope – a snow boarder had collided with him. He didn’t seem to be trying to get up, so I skied across to give him a hand, and saw a wide tear in his salopets, above the ski boot. There was obviously likely to be more damage underneath, so I told him to stay still, and rolled up his trouser leg to find blood soaked thermals and a very deep cut into the muscle. Fortunately the bleeding seemed to be brief, maybe because of the cold, or the shock, or the fact that Bob had fallen with his head down hill and leg up hill – the perfect position in such circumstances! I raised his leg more (after making sure it wasn’t actually broken) while Taff radioed the others in our party, who were using the same ski lift as us. Everything worked out really well. Richard, who speaks fluent French, was in the lift and so was able to get help to the right place when he got to the station at the top. Chris Hayes was queuing for the lift, and so was able to stay at the bottom until we knew what would happen with Bob. The others, who were with Richard, soon joined us on the slope, followed by Richard, and within a few minutes by the rescue team with a sledge-stretcher. Poor Bob had gone into shock and was trembling quite violently, despite being on and under a pile of ski jackets, but luckily he is not the fainting type, to my relief. Anyway, the rescue chappies cleaned the wound (the squirt of iodine into the wound made Bob squeak a bit), bandaged and splinted the leg, loaded him onto the stretcher with the help of the others, and skied off with him down to Courchevel, where Chris was waiting to go with him in the ambulance to hospital. I should point out that the snowboarder stayed with us throughout, and was almost as traumatised as Bob.
Anyway, we decided we needed beer and chips to get over the trauma, and so headed to the bottom of the slope. Richard told me that when Taff’s radio message came through it wasn’t clear who had gone down. There was a stunned silence, followed by “S**t….who’s going to tell Chas?”
A couple of other memorable moments from the incident. A first aider is supposed to reassure the patient. “Oh Bob”, I said “its a bit of deep scratch, and could need a stitch or two, but at least its stopped bleeding” “Ah” says Bob, starting to move, “I think I’ll be all right to walk to the bottom”. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! – Just stay still!!” We wouldn’t let him see the wound. After the incident we obviously spent some time discussing how the edge of a snowboard had ridden up over the ski boot and sliced Bobs shin. The edge must have quite sharp. A couple of days later we were in a bubble lift sitting opposite a young couple with snowboards. Taff thoughtfully reached over and gently caressed the edge of the girl’s board with his finger…. Thank goodness they were English – try explaining that in very broken French.
Anyway, after beer and chips, we felt able to return to the slopes, and Taff and I had a very satisfying afternoon practicing our skills on the wide green run, previously called “Verdons” but now re-named “Bob’s Folly” , and also on an adjacent more winding and narrow green run. By the end of the day I was really knackered, which was a bit unfortunate since I wasn’t in my “home valley”. Fortunately a free ski bus was available which went through all of the ski resorts, including La Tania.
Now then, have you seen any signs of insanity in my character? Any sign of early dementia? There must be some, because instead of opting for the bus, I decided to ski home with the others, partly influenced by Taff’s decision that, although also tired, he wanted the experience of skiing back home to the chalet. And so about 20 minutes later the lift deposited us all into the even thicker fog on the ridge between the valleys, with only a blue leading down. At the top I was somewhat apprehensive because I was convinced that if we, or I, took a slightly wrong turn in the fog, we would end up on a red run back into the Courchevel valley, even though I knew that Richard was confident of the route. I was in a vicious circle of being too tired to control my skis at any speed, and so snowploughing all of the time, which made me even more exhausted, and I had to have a brief rest at the bottom of each steep slope (the route seemed to be an endless repetition of steep slopes) to give my leg muscles a chance to recover. The others were all very patient, making sure that I wasn’t the last one, and waiting until I was ready to continue. Descending out of the fog was a slight improvement, but it was still grey and gloomy. At the bottom of the blue was a green for the rest of the way, but since it was almost 3 miles long (I have checked on Google Earth), with some steep icy bends, it wasn’t a vast improvement, and seemed to go on and on. I was seriously concerned that I would cause us all to be out on the mountain after darkness fell, and so you will realise how relieved I was when I saw chalets through the trees, which meant we were at the top of the village, and even more relieved when Richard pointed out that we were at the top of the slope leading onto the nursery slope, where only a long 24 hours ago I didn’t want to leave the snow.
Back at the chalet my legs were trembling, my muscles aching, and I barely had the strength to carry the skis the last few metres and then pull my boots off. Later in the shower I remember thinking “This is going to be an awfully long week, and I’m not going to enjoy it and I want to go home now and never ski again…” Later in bed I couldn’t sleep – every time I closed my eyes I had visions of steep snowy slopes falling away from me into thick fog, combined with uncontrolled descents down the slopes. Next morning, at breakfast, Taff admitted that he had also had this problem when he tried to sleep. We were obviously both suffering from post trauma syndrome…
During the evening meal we got a call from Chris, who, bless her, had spent most of the day and evening clomping around the hospital in ski boots, with no food. Bob had to have an operation and would be in hospital for 2 to 3 days. Chris pointed out that it was a good job that Bobs French was limited – his hospital window overlooked the local funeral director showroom. Our chalet hosts were brilliant – after dinner Stephan drove to the hospital to collect Chris, and take a bag of goodies and personal belongings to Bob.
Tuesday. Not surprisingly Taff and I decided to have an easy day. We practiced on the nursery slope for an hour or so, and then went up the lift to the top of the green run that led back into the village. I reckon that the previous evening this run had taken me over an hour to descend. This time it took less than 15 minutes and was fun! I loved this run, because it had quite a few bends and short steep slopes (including a very icy one where the green crossed a red), but lots of straight runs of varying gradients to allow some faster (although not necessarily “fast”) skiing. These runs mostly followed a forest track, winding through the trees, but open enough to have some nice views, and ended in the village, convenient for snacks and hot wine. We spent most of the day practicing on the green run.
It was an early finish for all of us – it was the chalet host’s night off, and so we booked a taxi to go and spend an hour visiting Bob in hospital, and then returned to the village for a meal in a local restaurant.
Wednesday. Possibly the best day. It was sunny, with a cloudless sky. As a result even the steepish blues had a greenish tinge. Chris Hayes, Richards’s wife, had had enough if trying to keep up with the others, and so decided to join the “Green Team” (the others headed off to find longer faster steeper runs). After a brief play on the nursery slope in La Tania (we decided this was the fun way to warm up the skiing muscles) we went over the ridge into the next valley again. What a difference! We skied down the first blue run that had been so challenging on Monday, with very few problems. I have to admit that I was still more zigzag than straight down, in fact not straight down at all, but it was controlled. Also we headed off onto a green before the steepest bit of the blue, the one where Bob had decided to walk. Throughout all the planning/lessons before the trip, Taff had kept saying that he really wanted to go as high as possible and see a panoramic mountain top view. As a regular visitor to Switzerland, I had taken all the views for granted – I was more concerned about what was happening below my knees. We found a huge cable car, more like a suspended bus, that took us up to the highest point that our ski passes would allow (and, more importantly, took us back down again). We spent about half an hour, maybe more, admiring the view, taking photos, and sitting in a deck chair in the sun, enjoying a hot wine. Now THIS was my idea of skiing.
We watched folk set off down a black run – a narrow ridge with steep drop either side that led to a long and very steep drop down a slope full of “moguls”. Some of those setting off down the ridge were clearly having second thoughts, but there was no turning back. We had a much better option, and descended back down in the cable car, and skied via blues and the occasional green, into Courchevel for the traditional beer and chips. Some of the blues had quite steep slopes, but I coped OK, and was gradually getting faster, getting the hang of parallel skiing and mostly-parallel turns. Of course as I got I bit faster, the turns got a bit easier, which gave me more confidence that I could turn when I needed to, and so took less zigzags to get to the bottom.
At the end of the day we went back over the top, and onto the blue that took us into our valley. What a difference from Monday night. I couldn’t believe it when we were suddenly at the top of the green run leading into the village after only a few minutes. And I also couldn’t believe it when I opted for blue run all the way down! Well, I had been confident on all the previous blues that day, and this blue was a shorter, although steeper, route back into La Tania than the green. Also I had spent all the previous day on the green run and was ready for something different. Later the chalet host told me that this run was on the red end of blue, but I managed ok, stopping only briefly to get my breath back after a couple of the steeper more panicky slopes. I was at the confident but not competent stage – moderately quick, but still using most of the width of the slope. My confidence was boosted even more when I realised that there were actually less competent skiers than me on the slope! I was very elated when we skied into the village, past all the mere beginners teetering off the bottom of the green run… After yet another hot wine (naturally) we did a couple of more runs – it may have been the blue, but I think that it was the green. The steep icy bends were still a bit of a challenge. Got back to the chalet to find Bob and his trusty crutches back from hospital
Thursday. A mixed day. Back to grey with fog on the top. We all stayed together for most of the day, going over into Courchevel. I felt a bit sick in the morning and so had little breakfast, and then on the chairlift I developed a sharp headache. We all skied for most of the day, covering a different part of the valley, including one of Richards’s favourite blue runs, where he learned to ski when he was 15. It was a nice run – a brief steep descent then a winding downhill run. I left my mark – my nauseousness got worse until I was actually sick, but then I felt instantly better – even the headache had gone. Over lunch later, Duncan Hill told me that these were the typical symptoms of a migraine. I’ve never had one of those before. I didn’t enjoy skiing so much with everyone there, although the others complemented me on my improved skiing since Monday. Well, it couldn’t have got any worse, and I had been trying to use the advice given to me by the more experienced members of our party earlier on the week.
Back over the top into “our” valley, and again I chose the blue runs all the way, instead of the long green for the last bit. By the end of the day I was very tired and aching, but nothing like I had been on Monday.
Back at the chalet Bob reported that the nurse had visited to change his dressings. Apparently she was young, slim, blonde and gorgeous, and was visiting him every morning. Under peer pressure Bob was persuaded to take a photograph, just for the record. One or two of the party felt that they really had pushed themselves a bit too much that day and felt a groin strain coming on….
Friday. The groups separated again, but Chris Taff and I were joined by another Bob (the one that used to repair our cars) – he also was fed up of trying to keep up with the extra-keen skiers. Taff wanted to see an international downhill slalom in the Courchevel valley (possibly because it was a women’s slalom), and from the map of the pistes he realised that there was a red run parallel to the slalom. We decided that we could walk down this to get a good view. However when we actually got there, Taff and Bob decided that we could ski a few tens of metres down to a good viewing spot. I wasn’t happy, but got persuaded. I got there without too much trouble, but an awful lot of complaining. The run gradually got closer to the slalom the further down you went. So we went down a bit further. More complaining from me, but I made it, making the most of long wide traverses across the slope. After a while we decided to move further down. From this point the slope steepened considerably – in fact I seemed to be looking down vertically onto the roofs of the village below. I set off, did a couple of traverses, lost my nerve, turned too slowly so that my skis pointed down hill for just a little bit too long, and my skis promptly headed for the roofs below at a significant speed. I panicked, waved my arms around an awful lot, fell over, and slid down about 300m on my back in a plume of snow powder, leaving one ski behind. I managed to stop, although I’m not sure how. Chris, who obviously knew the potential disaster that awaited a new novice using a red run for the first time, had stayed at the back, and so kindly retrieved my ski and brought it to me. I managed to get my ski back on after a few attempts (my skis wanted to continue their downward journey, with or without me), and I made it to the bottom without further incident.
After lunch, the others wanted to try another red run. I didn’t. By this time of the week I could see that there was a distinct possibility that I could actually be travelling to Australia in three weeks time with two working legs, and I wanted to keep it that way. Conveniently we were at the bottom of the Verdons run (“Bob’s Folly”) and so I was quite content to have a couple of descents of this on my own, before meeting the others to see the afternoon session of the slalom event – this time from the bottom of the course. I think that the rest of the day was spent on a variety of runs before going back “over the top” to our valley. Foggy blue runs down into our valley? No problem, even though I was tired and aching again.
Bob had failed in his mission to photograph the nurse.
Saturday. Heavy snow! No rush to leave the chalet. I’d made it quite clear that I was perfectly happy to stay in “our” valley. The “green team” of novices seemed quite content to do the same, and the “experienced group” had no option. We all went up in the bubble lift, and found that the chair lift over to the Courchevel valley was closed. And so we all did the same thing – circuits of the blue run into La Tania through the heavy snow, some doing the circuits much more quickly than others.
I loved it – several centimetres of fresh powder snow acted as a brake, and so I could ski at my comfortable pace without effort, while the others struggled for some reason – for once I was fresh and happy to keep skiing when the others were getting tired. Revenge at last. After two or three runs, Chris had had enough, and she and I stopped for a break (more hot wine). Taff was going to join us, but as the others were queuing for the lift, he decided to do one more circuit before a rest. Bad move – they got to the top, the chair lift was open, and he was persuaded to join the others skiing around Courchevel. Chris and I had a remarkably relaxed day. A couple of more blue runs, a long lunch back with Bob in the Chalet (the lunch break was too long for me – I was itching to get skiing again, as it was our last day!), followed by more skiing, maybe green and blue runs, maybe just blue, I can’t remember. Afterwards the whole group got back together at 4.00pm (Chris and I fetched Bob) for a pre-arranged meeting under the La Tania webcam. Chas was waiting at the PC at home, and saved a couple of images of us all waving madly. I phoned her to confirm that she could see us, and all I heard was the Mother-in-Law in the background laughing at my hat!! Then there was time for one more run down the blue, significantly faster than earlier in the week, before we returned our skis to the ski hire place. And guess what? I didn’t really want to give them back! Although I was quite relieved to have survived the week, and was actually ready to go home.
Back at the ranch, I mean chalet, Bob had plucked up courage and taken a photograph of the nurse. She was as he had described – very attractive in a French chic sort of way, and even appeared to be either pouting or blowing Bob a kiss! There was some disappointment that it was just a head and shoulders shot, but maybe this was jealousy. Well, at least Bob had had some consolation after being housebound for most of a week. It was only after we had finished off the port and cheese course at the end of a superb “last supper” that someone was idling flicking through the previous week’s Sunday Times magazine and spotted a photograph of the nurse. Same pose, same pout, same background. In fact the same photo. There is a wicked side to Bob of which we were all unaware. Or was he led astray? We may never know.
Sunday. Breakfast 0430, bus 0500, airport 0730, plane 0930, home 1330 in time for a very green and flat dog walk.
Technically we live in Oaktree House, but sadly the tree had to go.
We now have a thriving Oakstump at the front of the house.
