The joy of six

Two thermal base layers. One long sleeved T shirt. Two fleeces. Two pairs of thermal long johns. Salopettes and ski jacket. Six layers up top and four down below. That's what I've worn on the mountain for the past two days.

It wasn't enough.

From a freakish high of 12 degrees C on our first day to a low of minus 20 on our last, Odyssey 2014 has seen an incredible temperature range. The early days, when we skied wearing just t-shirts under our jackets, seemed like a different lifetime yesterday.

Temperatures aside the weather has remained amazingly stable throughout our twelve day stay - dry and sunny bar a mildly snowy couple of days late last week. Not what we expect in Whistler, but you roll the dice with every ski trip. We've been blessed with record-breaking snow here on two of our four visits. Can't complain.

These final few days have been all about keeping our extremities unfrozen, venturing cautiously away from the groomed trails in search of anything other than rock-hard crust, and doing our best to stay upright on increasingly icy terrain. There was fun to be had, and we had it, but Mother Nature has made us work for it.

Are we glad we came? Hell, yes. It's been a huge success on many levels. Having taken a big confidence knock last year, I've made a quantum leap with my skiing in 2014. Our apartment is a haven of comfort and convenience, and came at a sensible price. Everyone we've encountered - from ski instructors to mountain staff to restaurant staff to fellow skiers - has been a pleasure to deal with. We've eaten extremely well both on the mountain and in the resort, at expensive rather than obscene prices.

On our previous two trips we skied on the day of our departure, but an earlier flight defeated us this time. I must be going soft in the twilight of my thirties, but I don't mind relaxing by a gently hissing fire, tea close by, with hours in hand before leaving for the airport. Outside, it's minus 13C here in the resort, and minus 26C at the peaks. That's cold enough to make frostbite a real concern; with no fresh snow, everyone else is welcome to our mountains today.

Sad to be leaving as always. But we're both in one piece - never a foregone conclusion on a ski trip - and there's much to look forward to. 

And although we've missed the powder this time, Whistler is still the Daddy. 

'Let's go and see Dave.' A fleeting photocall outside the Chic Pea restaurant before we take on Dave Murray, the Olympic Men's downhill run. Whistler Mountain, 3 February 2014.

'Get out of my picture!' Marianne risks frostbite for a pristine shot of Blackcomb. Camel Back, Harmony, Whistler Mountain, 3 February 2014.

Our final lunch, and a welcome break from the deep freeze. Look closely and you'll see the thousand-yard stares. Roundhouse, Whistler Mountain, 3 February 2014

Powder and ice

Wednesday, 9am. School's out... after skiing separately for three days in lessons, Marianne and I were keen to put our newfound confidence - and my promotion to level 5 - to the test.

And where better than Harmony Ridge on a perfect sunny day. The snow conditions were mixed, but we were hopeful that the steep bumps of Kaleidoscope - a regular haunt on previous visits - would be more fluffy than icy. And we were in luck.

Even after all these years, the place still scares the hell out of me. But I can get down with middling pace and a modicum of technique. And as we skidded to a stop at the new, upgraded Harmony 6 chairlift with hearts racing, I couldn't wait to get back up there and go again.

Thursday dawned cloudy and cold; for the first time this year, we donned thermals and headsocks. And as we gained altitude on the Wizard chairlift, spirits soared at the sight of whitened trees. Snow! At last!

It snowed lightly throughout the day, perhaps 5-6cm settling on the highest terrain. Hardly a powder day, but enough to freshen the groomed trails and soften the crusty snow in the bowls and between the trees. We revelled in the best snow of the week on the shady side of Blackcomb - beside the Glacier Express chair - and on the fast sweepers of Crystal Ridge.

After three days of intensive, repetitive technique work - often at speed - in ski school, my legs were suffering by lunchtime. A long-overdue pulled pork wrap did much to revive me, but a couple of missed turns at high speed and considerable pain forced me down off the mountain a little early. Better on my own two skis than in a first aid toboggan, or 'blood wagon'.

We've been coming to Whistler since 2007, and have long coveted a meal at one of its best restaurants, Araxi. Last week, before we left, we finally bit the bullet and booked a table for Thursday night. We've never heard a bad word about the place, and anticipation was sky-high. It delivered in spades. Comfortably the best meal we've ever had in Whistler - or any ski resort - and in my top ten of all time.

What with my burning thighs and the volume of wine sunk the previous night, Friday morning was a slow one. But 11am found us in Symphony on Whistler, alternating hold-your-breath blasts down Rhapsody Bowl with exploratory runs between the trees and close encounters with the local Whiskeyjacks - half-tame birds which will land on a ski pole and eat out of your hand (whether you offer food or not).

As we began our final run before lunch, the clatter of a helicopter sounded an ominous note and sure enough, just below the top of the Symphony Express lift we found the trail blocked by paramedics; the red medical helicopter had landed a hundred metres further down, beside the entrance to Rhapsody Bowl. Several snowboarders had collided on the trail; no more details were forthcoming, but the sight of the helicopter is never good news.

It's been a particularly bad week for accidents. The variable snow conditions have made for some very challenging skiing; sheet ice covered by a wafer-thin, shifting layer of powdery snow is about as dangerous as it gets, with grip levels varying dramatically from turn to turn and a rock-hard landing if you fall. We are taking extra care not to do anything stupid. I wish everyone else would do the same.

That's eight down and three to go. Not much snow in the forecast, but it's turning even colder. Time to bring out the face masks...

This is more like it... cloudy, -6 degrees C, and snowing. Glacier Creek, Blackcomb, 30 January 2014

We might need to remortgage, but it'll be worth it. Marianne gets a fabulous meal off to a celebratory start with an ice wine cocktail. Araxi, Whistler Village, 30 January 2014.

Yes, we DO own the place... whiskeyjacks perch on our ski poles and eye up my granola bar. Symphony base, Whistler Mountain, 31 January 2014.

(fake) Snow at last! Springboard, Blackcomb, 31 January 2014

Lifts shut, temperatures dropping, snow guns blasting... it's time to get the kettle on. Marianne leads the home run to finish an epic day eight. Upper Mainline, Blackcomb, 31 January 2014 

Back to school...

After a fairly strenuous first day on Blackcomb, on Friday evening I feared we'd overdone it. A hundred new twinges, some back pain for Marianne, my usual sledgehammered toes... and a hefty dose of jetlag to boot.

But Saturday morning found us miraculously unscathed - even my toes had recovered overnight - and by 9am we were boarding the Peak2Peak cable car for Whistler Mountain. It's a memorable eleven minutes on any day. But on a cloudless morning with the sun peeking over the mountains, turning the snow white-gold and etching every tree, rock and lift line in pin-sharp detail, it defies description.

Even on a bad snow day, this is one of my favourite places on Earth. And if you know where to look - in shaded areas which never see the sun - there's good snow to be found even after so many dry, mild days. The Saddle - a warp-speed, arrow-straight plunge from Whistler Peak and surely one of the steepest blue runs in the world - was a revelation, with wonderful soft snow. And as the sun began to soften the crust, Symphony's thousand-acre playground transformed from intimidating to intoxicating.

With two days down and nine to go, we faced day three with a touch of trepidation. Ski School. Our first lessons since 2011 and in my case, long overdue. As usual, Marianne joined the top Level 6 class, while I picked up where I left off, in Level 4.

I ended the day with improved confidence and new technique - extremely useful, but ever so slightly boring. My instructor was very good indeed, but both of my classmates were tentative and slow; I found myself yearning for steeper, more challenging terrain and more mileage.

Be careful what you wish for... this morning, on our second of three days of lessons, I found myself promoted for the first time since 2007. Level 5, playing with the big kids... as I set off with my new instructor and classmates - a deceptively mild-mannered couple from Seattle - I tried to ban the butterflies and prepare for the huge moguls and breath-jamming steeps which surely lay ahead.

They may yet come, but today was all about timing, high-speed turns and adapting to varying conditions. I've never travelled faster on snow. I can, occasionally, pull off a carved turn. And this afternoon, just as overconfidence was starting to get the better of me, I hooked an edge at the thick end of 40mph. No harm done other than a momentary loosening of bowels - but it was a timely reminder. Don't get cocky.

Which brings us up to date aside from an entertaining couple of hours to finish the day. Several times over the years, we've been approached in mountain restaurants by Club Intrawest representatives and invited to a 'presentation' - essentially a sales pitch for their timeshare scheme. We've always politely refused, but on Saturday we caved, suckered in by the offer of a C$150 gift card just for turning up.

There is, of course, absolutely no chance of Marianne and I dropping £15k on a timeshare. Having battened down the mental hatches for a serious hard sell, we were pleasantly surprised. Friendly people, tea on tap, and a very mild attempt to sell. I suspect that they realised early on that we don't fit the timeshare demographic. We escaped with our shirts and our gift card - which will cover lunch on the mountain for the rest of the week. Result.

Final day of lessons tomorrow, and - whisper it - there's even talk of some fresh snow. Fingers crossed.

Where's Andrew? Rhapsody Bowl, Whistler Mountain, 25 January 2014

Bluebird perfection. Backcountry area from Symphony, Whistler Mountain, 25 January 2014.

We're all going on a... summer holiday

Eleven degrees. Two thousand metres up a Canadian mountain. In January.

According to the locals it's not unprecedented, but it's certainly unusual, and a stark contrast in this fierce North American winter of polar vortexes and ice storms. The temperature is a full twenty degrees warmer than it should be, and to add a touch of weird to the bizarre, we have another Whistler peculiarity - a temperature inversion. It's colder at the bottom than at the top.

Obviously none of this is conducive to good snow. Having watched the weather forecasts with growing dismay in the week leading up to our departure, it was with a mix of trepidation and homecoming that we boarded the Wizard chairlift at the base of Blackcomb on Friday morning.

By midday, spirits were lifted. We were beginning to get our skiing legs back - a relief for me, as I seem to forget everything I ever learned from year to year - and the snow is better than we feared. Worst affected is the sun-drenched Seventh Heaven area; the trails themselves are fine, but thinner-than-usual snow cover means more exposed rocks and trees in between.

So while we'd love a metre of fresh powder, there's really no cause for complaint. The sun is shining in a resort which has, more often than not, served us inclement, snowbound days. The views are jawdropping. We're here, and after a difficult second half of 2013, that in itself is a bonus. Thank the improved exchange rate and Air Transat for that.

Why Air Transat? Because the return airfare was so cheap (around £300 each less than the equivalent airfare on BA) that I half-expected it to be a scam. And I fully expected the trip itself to be a nightmare. 

Wrong on both counts. Aside from a three-hour delay which we knew about a day in advance - so no wasted time at the airport - they were impeccable. Our skis were carried free of charge, the aircraft was an old but tidy Airbus A330, the seats were almost comfortable (with decent legroom even for me) the food was perfectly acceptable, drinks were plentiful and the crew were a revelation: the friendliest, most hardworking I can remember in decades of economy long-haul flying. I'll reserve final judgement until the return flight but so far, so impressed.

Coming up to 6.30am on Saturday (ain't jetlag wonderful) I can hear the resort coming to life. Today we'll sample Whistler Mountain itself and carry on as we started - seeking out the shaded trails where the snow is at its best. And like everyone else we'll watch the forecasts, do our daily snow dance.

Day Two (of eleven) beckons...

Never fear, the snow's still here... all smiles as Marianne prepares to get Odyssey 2014 rolling. (Blackcomb Base, Friday 24 January 2014)

It's a bluebird day and the mountain awaits... (Blackcomb Base, Friday 24 January 2014)