Watch out for that tree...

I thought I was pretty good at skiing. Then I came to Sainte Foy.

This is a pretty, blink-and-you-miss it resort tucked in between the giants of Tignes and Les Arcs. It has just four chairlifts and around twelve beautifully groomed pistes. But it's the terrain in between - the sweeping powder fields, deep-cut gullies and thickly forested lower slopes - that have garnered it a cult following. Rumour has it that the ski instructors in the big resorts come here on their days off.

After a reasonably straightforward trip yesterday (Winchester-Heathrow-Geneva-Ste Foy), we're first in line for the chairlift - ten minutes before opening time. That could be a first, and is largely down to our trip organiser Ben. As far as Ben's concerned, if the lifts are open you should be skiing. Works for me.

It's a different vibe to the first half of Odyssey 2013 (in Val d'Isere three weeks ago), as expected. Without chalet food and freeflowing wine, rousing ourselves in the morning is a little easier; our cavernous accommodation (a detached chalet belonging to a friend of a friend) is comfortable and relaxed.

It gets off to a great start - fresh snow, sunshine - but day 1 turns into something of a baptism of fire.  Just sixteen days since I last skied, my confidence is high as we set off down our first run.

Too high, as it turns out. As we venture off-piste into a tricky mix of soft powder over hard-packed bumps, I find myself struggling to stay upright as my skis thump over hidden obstacles. Shortly afterwards, I'm flat on my face, having flown straight over the edge of a hidden, metre-high precipice.

Once I've found my lost ski, we head down between the trees - swapping pinch-yourself views of the Tarentaise valley for a postcard setting of snowy glades. Breathtakingly beautiful, but seriously challenging. By morning's end, I've fallen three times (having not toppled once in a week in Val d'Isere).

After lunch, the ante is upped further. Even Marianne is caught out, crashing hard enough to catapult her five metres clear of her skis. As we begin to explore the slopes at the opposite end of the resort, I'm pushed too far outside my comfort zone. In two feet of powder on a shit-the-bed steep, boulder-strewn slope, I freeze up. It's the first time I've been genuinely scared this year.

The trees below offer a little respite - but I'm battling to turn in the deep snow while trying to avoid a myriad of obstacles, and the fall-line is veering from manageable to insane. Eventually, we find our way back to a piste. Sighs of relief ensue.

We finish the day with a couple of fast cruises - easy, confidence-building stuff. Day one in a nutshell is too much, too soon. This place is nothing short of breathtaking - it reminds us strongly of Whistler - and like Whistler, it demands commitment and respect. Tomorrow, we'll dial it back a notch. A little less terror, a little more fun.

Day six. Ending on a whimper

It's not as bad as it could be.

Nobody is injured. Ligaments and bones are intact. But following murmurings mid-week of a couple of unwell guests in our chalet, Cheryl succumbed last night and had to leave the table in the middle of dinner. And by lunchtime today, I was forced to admit defeat and slink home to bed. As I type, I'm missing our final supper. With empty slopes on changeover day (for most people) and bluebird conditions, day six should have capped a fine first half of Odyssey 2013. I'm bitterly disappointed to have missed out, but very lucky: all being well, we'll be back in these mountains before the month is out.

Days four and five almost make up for the loss. The sun made a watery appearance on Thursday and bathed the slopes on Friday, reminding us just how spectacular the Espace Killy can be. With good visibility and light winds, Marianne and I pushed harder: faster on piste, braver off piste, seeking out new routes and fresh powder wherever we went. Run of the week is uncontested: Silenes, a breathtakingly steep, ungroomed black above Tignes Les Brevieres. Blessed with wonderful soft snow and acres of challenging, sinuous off piste on either side, it rivals the toughest terrain we've skied in Whistler.

I started the week determined to unlock the magic in these mountains. And I've partially succeeded. The snow record is among the best in the world, and we've seen nothing to dispute that. With better skills I've been able to appreciate slopes I found terrifying in 2009.

Doubtless a bout of nausea has clouded my appreciation, but overall I still find the Espace Killy frustrating. The Solaise, Laisinant and Le Fornet sections of Val d'Isere have some great terrain, but they're marred by a disjointed lift system and far too many flat or uphill linking pistes. The mountain restaurants are better than I remember, but even on a quiet week they're often overcrowded. And the on-mountain toilet facilities are completely inadequate and unremittingly disgusting.

Our tour operator YSE have continued as they started: friendly, hardworking staff, comfortable chalet, good food and free-flowing wine. It's made for a convivial atmosphere at mealtimes, and dinner in particular has been a real event.

Would I return? Jury's out. Perhaps I'll feel more positive about it when I'm back in my own bed with guts unchurned.

Onwards and upwards...

Day three. Use the force...

And still it snows.
.
Snow is the name of the game, of course, and we love it. But skiers (and snowboarders) are an ungrateful lot. Too cold, too warm, too wet, too windy, too snowy... we always find something to complain about.

It has snowed solidly since mid-morning on Tuesday, with around 25cm falling in that time. Conditions at the moment are some of the best we've ever experienced in Europe. The problem is that with snow comes cloud and often wind; up high, the weather over the last couple of days has varied from inclement to ferocious. Great snow is all well and good, but the fun is limited when you can't see it. Or each other. Or which way is up. There are a couple of names for this sort of skiing. "Using the force". Or "survival skiing". Or "I'm going home..."

Still, Marianne and I are used to this - our beloved Whistler often serves up a cocktail of fresh powder and blizzard. The others are finding it hard going though, and after a couple of warm-up runs we've gone our separate ways for the last two days.

With the weather like this, trees are your friends. They provide shelter from the worst and help with visibility. Val has more trees than I remember, and we've had a whale of a time off piste above La Daille, dodging low branches and trying not to hit anything solid. This area is crisscrossed with lovely sweeping red and blue runs; when we've scared ourselves in the forest, we pop back into the piste and rack up some mileage.

Today saw our first forays onto black runs this year. First up was the glorious Rhone Alpes on Solaise, then the short, steep Combe Vallon - which, incongruously, leads onto the nursery slope at village level. And finally, we conquered - well, survived - a Val d'Isere landmark: the Olympic downhill run, Face de Bellevarde. It's our biggest challenge yet: steep and bumpy, demanding of muscles and technique. But the sense of achievement makes it all worthwhile.

After three entertaining evenings in the chalet, our hardworking staff have a deserved night off, so we're out on the town tonight. God help our wallets...

Day one. In search of the sun

"No, I'm not all right! What the hell is he doing up there, practising for the Marathon?"

It's 6.45am in a Gatwick Airport Premier Inn, and Marianne is Not Amused. Bigfoot in the room above has been stomping back and forth for half an hour; hell hath no fury like my wife roused prematurely from an already fitful sleep. It's not the most auspicious of starts.

Five hours later, life is considerably more rosy. Thomson Airways has delivered us to a blissfully empty Grenoble Airport. Our package operator YSE has, as promised, loaded us swiftly onto a convoy of coaches. Next stop Val d'Isere.

As we climb the precipitous mountain road, the trees turn powder white, the peaks reaching impossibly high above; late afternoon sunshine completes the picture postcard. We've seen winter wonderland before, but this view quickens the pulse like few I can remember.

By late afternoon, we're trundling up the familiar High Street with its wood-clad buildings, glitzy boutiques and hotels jostling for attention. Our chalet is a former hotel right in the centre, set back from the main drag. It's simple and comfortable and the young staff greet us like old friends. There's tea and cake waiting. Chalets aren't usually our thing - we've self-catered for the last five seasons after a bad experience - but by the end of an excellent (and boozy) dinner I'm won over.

Monday morning, 9am. Time at last to set skis to snow, and the mountains are toying with us. There's fresh snow on the ground and more falling, but as we gain altitude on Odyssey 2013's first chairlift, the visibility fades to white. We've chosen the Solaise area to start: an open playground of sweeping, undulating runs, it's perfect for finding your ski legs. The snow is glorious - as light and fluffy as Whistler's finest - and after the first tentative turns it all begins to flood back despite the visibility.

Cheryl, Simon, Marianne and I are joined by Cheryl's brother Carwyn, who hasn't skied in seven years. The rust takes its time to flake away, but he's hanging on gamely and copes well when we venture onto steeper, bumpier terrain by mid morning. It's still fairly tame compared with some of our antics in Whistler last year, but the week is young.

The sun intermittently makes an appearance, but the cloud is fickle; we quickly stop trying to second-guess it. But a late afternoon decision to head for the Glacier de Pissaillas lands us the jackpot: it's bathed in sunshine. The wind is howling, blowing snow in sugar-fine waves across the ground; with wind chill the temperature is twenty below freezing. The last drag lift tops out at over 3,400 metres above sea level, and the semicircle of jagged peaks encircling us defies description.

We sweep down the fast blue runs, occasionally foraying off into the powder fields on either side, revelling in the snow and being able to see it. Wonderful stuff, and a great way to sign off a fine opening day. On our previous visit we didn't often venture up into this part of the Espace Killy, and now I remember why: geography makes it disjointed and difficult to get around. It's far too easy to end up a bus ride from home, too.

But there's some fun terrain up there, and when the sun shines, the setting is magical. Day two beckons...

Odyssey 2013. Storm before the calm

It's been quite a week for family Duff. At the Hampshire end, challenging times at work exacerbated by car trouble, utility trouble and the runup to a holiday. At the Buckinghamshire end, a brave new world: my brother Jonathan and sister-in-law Beth welcomed their firstborn. We travel up on Saturday to meet baby Gabriel, and - I don't say this lightly - I'm just as excited about that as I am about skiing.

And all being well, after the whirlwind that was January, Sunday 3 February will bring the calm. Us and the mountains and the tingle of adrenalin.

Val d'Isére.

Say the name in company, and reactions vary. Overpriced playground for Russian billionaires and the Made in Chelsea set? Chocolate-box village in winter wonderland setting? Or world-class snowsport Mecca?

The reality is a bit of all three. But my reaction is always the same. I go a little cold, unable to repel a shiver of apprehension.

I have unfinished business in this part of the French Alps. Having arrived full of anticipation at the start of our two week visit in 2009, I left battered and exhausted. The resort is pretty and surprisingly friendly, but in my head the mountains are forbidding and unforgiving - quick to punish, slow to reward.

But I'm certain that thousands of enthusiasts can't all be wrong. Val d'Isére is renowned as one of the great ski resorts - blessed with high altitude, breathtaking scenery and some of the finest lift-served off piste skiing in the world. Four years ago I didn't get the best out of myself or the resort; in 2013, I'm far better equipped to unlock the magic in these mountains.

We're very lucky to be getting two bites of the skiing apple in 2013. Bite one in Val sees us reunited with Simon and Cheryl, who joined us for a week in Whistler in 2011; bite two, in the last week of February, takes us to Sainte Foy with long-time ski buddies Ben and Andy.

As I type, I can hear the click-snap of Marianne's ski boot buckles as she readies them for travel. We're at that jumpy stage - the pressures of work falling away, excitement building - but as ever with a ski trip, praying that nothing goes wrong.

But before that, there's the matter of making first acquaintance with my nephew. I've already pencilled him in for ski school circa 2017...