The continuing adventures of a girl trying
to achieve forty things before she hits the grand old age of forty, although
not necessarily in the right order...
It’s almost exactly three years since I started
blogging. I haven’t got anywhere near exhausting the list of forty things, but
it’s been a lot of fun trying!
This month an inexhaustible friend and I
tried a multi-activity holiday in the French Pyrenees. Strictly speaking, I
didn’t quite tick off number 27, ski in
at least three new countries/regions, as I’ve been to the Pyrenees before
and road closures blocked our plans to reach Andorra. However, we did do a of
day ski touring. It’s safe to say that pushed me into a brave new world of
exploring mountains on planks. Oh and we did do a little bit of number 15, learn to climb properly as well.
We flew in from Edinburgh to Toulouse via
Amsterdam. The journey wasn’t as dramatic as some, although I did nearly get
caught in the middle of a heated altercation on the plane. The moral of the
story being don’t sit too near the person who started drinking at 9am.
A short drive from Toulouse brought us to
the beautiful Ariege region where we were staying. The Pyrenees are less busy
than the Alps and many visitors are French or Spanish. This meant it wasn’t an ‘open-all-hours’
resort and we did some off-piste cooking with whatever the little shop had
available. Macaroni camembert isn’t to be sniffed at. (Although after two days,
the camembert was rather to be sniffed at and had to be ejected for overwhelming
our tiny apartment.)
Our first three days of piste skiing
covered all weathers; drizzle with slush, soft snow with zero visibility in the
mist and one last stunning day of blue skies. It wasn’t a huge area, but had
enough to keep us busy including an un-pisted black, some pleasing reds and
blues and some moguls that made us earn our cake.
The fourth day there was a well timed dump
of snow which we enjoyed from the thermal baths; the ideal relaxation ahead of
(drum roll) a day of epic ski touring.
We picked up our equipment early in the
morning. It included crampons, skins, probes, avalanche transceivers and a
shovel. I began to wonder whether Sir Ranulph Fiennes would be involved. The
beginner’s session had been cancelled, but the lady had reassured us our group
were also fairly new to touring. As the van drove up towards the untouched
slopes everything started to look like a Christmas card. Then I saw the angle
of ascent and secretly prayed the other three French men in our group were
tremendously unfit so I wouldn’t be at the back. No such luck! Together with ‘friend
with boundless energy’ they were way ahead.
Skins are like long hairy fly papers. You
stick them to the bottom of your skis so you can go uphill. Yes, uphill. I
know. That’s why the chairlift was invented right?
It is, once you get the hang of it, quite
fun. It did, however, take me a while to get the hang of it. The issue was
starting on a 35% slope. I had to undo twenty years of learning how to ski, not
least because I was going uphill! Kick turns are something I can do with some
skill on a normal piste. Add a huge incline and you get Einstein’s equation.
Kick turns + hinged boots + big slope = lots of falling over.
Turn. Fall. Turn. Fall. Slide. It was like
snakes and ladders. There was a point, when I’d nearly slid all the way back to
the start again, when I considered going back to the van, which was tantalisingly
near. But no, this is the girl who did the Mighty Deerstalker twice, despite
hating the dark. I can do this, I thought.
First slope over and things got easier. I
focused on shuffling forwards step by step. There are several photos of me
looking at my feet with an absolutely stunning view behind. Note to self: look
up next time. It’s a good job there weren’t any bears.
Lunch was well earned and I was able to
cool down a bit. The wind was quite strong at this height, making for stunning
cloudless skies but also nearly resulting in my friend’s lost glove. She ran
bravely after it then had to do a knee deep tramp back again. You forget when
you’re sliding over the top of it that the snow is so deep.
After lunch we weren’t far from the summit.
Crampons were clipped into place as in many areas the snow had been scoured down
to ice. Our guide was super reassuring. We were just half a metre from the top and
he stayed with us for the hardest bit, making sure we stamped our crampons in and
didn’t slide. This was the point were looking at your feet was better than
looking down. Luckily I’d eaten some of my emergency Kendle Mint Cake. I needed
that last burst of steam.
What an amazing view from the top! Sadly I ruined
my hardy feminist explorer ethic with a few tears. ‘It’s so beautiful!’
(sniff). Four hours of effort were more than worth it for the mountain
landscape spread out around us. Blue skies above. Fluffy snow all around. We
had worked hard and this was our reward.
Ever practical, my friend spoke to the
guide. “You know that really steep bit just there? Are we skiing down that? I
mean; we could possibly traverse a little right?” Ah yes. I had forgotten we
had to get back down again.
Once our skis were transformed into
downhill mode I felt more comfortable. Two metres into the skiing, I
remembered. Oh yes, downhill, off-piste skiing. Cue: lots of comedy falling
over. Again, you forget almost everything you’ve learned. Your weight isn’t on
the downhill ski otherwise your downhill ski sinks and you fall over. Don’t
lean too far forward or both skis will sink and you’ll fall over. This leads
to, in my case, feeling a bit unnaturally balanced and, yes, falling over.
Turn, fall. Turn, fall. It was fun and at least soft to land in.
We approached our original slope again. By
now the sunshine had melted a fair bit of snow and I became aware of the trees,
rivers and rocks that had emerged. I developed a mantra: straight, straight,
straight, turn!! (Phew.) Straight, straight, straight (eek, wobble) turn!
I did finish on my bum, but that was out of
choice. I felt like a used battery. Even my emergency Kendle Mint Cake had run
out. Sliding onto the road below, I was greeted with applause. I considered
kissing the ground, Pope style.
Despite the falling, despite the hard work,
I definitely want to try it again. The feeling of achievement was immense.
Sure, I wish I done it with a little more style and a little less falling over,
but to look back and see your tracks in untouched snow is just wonderful, as
was the well-earned beer in the sunshine afterwards.
Funnily enough it made our last day rock
climbing seem like a walk in the park in comparison. We were sport climbing
which means you don’t have to put gear in the rock, just clip onto existing
links. (Apologies if this isn’t the correct lingo.) We were even in vest tops
(in March!) the weather was so good. There’s something incredible about hanging
off the side of a rock face with the sunny valley far below.
On the last day we sat, looking out over the
valley, blue sky ahead, butterflies and lizards fluttering and scurrying past,
fluffy summits in the distance, we wondered how we could get paid to stay
somewhere as beautiful as this. They need fundraisers in France, right?
Ariege: I’ll be back. And next time I’m
going to kick some ski touring arse!
