It's 8.30am on a cold February Sunday, and it's already been a very long day. If I had the energy, I'd groan. But after a sleepless night spent fretting about whether my unwell wife would be fit to travel, and a nightmare dash from the pharmacy in Gatwick's South Terminal to the gate - our flight number booming over the PA system - the news of the delay is nothing more than a dull blow. Life could be a lot worse. We're here. Marianne is on the mend. We will, eventually, reach our destination.
Our first experience of Monarch Airlines has not been a happy one. Free-for-all check-in process, cheerful but mostly inept staff, a two hour technical delay, seating designed for legless dwarfs... I'm fascinated by aviation, but after nearly four hours contorted into our Airbus A321 with 180 other unfortunates, I'm losing the will.
Then, through a break in the clouds, I see the snow.
We're descending into Friedrichschafen in Germany, just a few miles from the Austrian border - and all the way to the horizon, the fields and buildings are clad in winter wonderland white. I remember why we've put ourselves through this, and the tingle returns.
At lunchtime on a Sunday, we have the airport to ourselves; in minutes we're reunited with our baggage, welcomed by an efficient gang of VIP Ski reps, and whisked onto two coaches. On every seat lies a bottle of water and a miniature Mars bar: the trial is over. Now comes the pampering.
Odyssey 2015's group numbers six plus one. Our friend Cheryl's daughter is spending this ski season working for VIP Ski in St Anton; for Cheryl and her husband Simon, the choice of 2015 destination was a no-brainer. After much discussion and procrastination, Marianne and I have jumped on their bandwagon. We've brought longtime ski buddies Ben and Andy along for the ride.
Airport transfers to ski resorts are notoriously protracted - but St Anton is only 80 miles from Friedrichschafen. Even so I'm caught out when, barely 90 minutes after leaving the airport, our coach is trundling through the streets of a pretty mountain village with wood-shuttered windows and gabled roofs. There's a short delay while we're transferred into a fleet of taxis, but it's all remarkably painless: no trudging up snowy roads carrying your own bodyweight in gear.
And, suddenly, we're here, pulling up in front of the Hotel Montjola with its distinctive curved wood structure; the strain of an awful night and a morning to forget dissolving away. The hotel's main reception area doubles as the lounge; the bar area is laid with an inviting spread of cakes, tea and sandwiches. We descend like starving wolves, and life just gets better and better.
It's a pleasure to finally meet Cheryl's daughter Marianne, whom we've heard so much about over the years. She'll be skiing with us this week in her spare time. In our group of seven, there are two Andrews and two Mariannes. Go figure. After some discussion about naming conventions (my suggestion of Marianne Junior and Senior does not go down well) we settle on Marianne 1 (Cheryl's daughter) and 2 (my wife).
Our room downstairs is small but comfortable and light years ahead of anywhere we've stayed in France; I'd have liked a bath but the shower could double as a pressure washer and the hot water (once it arrives) is endless. It's all good. Meanwhile, our luggage has been delivered (!) to our room, and skis have made their way into the boot room behind reception. Magic.
The feasting continues with champagne and canapés, followed by an excellent three course dinner. VIP's literature makes much of the effort that goes into their food, and it lives up to the hype. Drinks from the bar are sensibly priced, and there's unlimited wine with dinner. Reds are better than whites but it's all drinkable. There's a decent Rosé, too.
We retire early and as always, I struggle to sleep despite my exhaustion. It's 364 days since I last set ski to snow. And St Anton comes with a reputation. Legendary off-piste, difficult and narrow runs, inconsistent piste classification, and two of the most notorious aprés-ski venues in the world. I'm not sure it's going to be my sort of place.
The snow, at least, is going to be epic. After a slow start this part of the Alps has had a metre of powder in the last few days; as I finally drift off, it's still falling outside the window.
At 8.52am on Monday morning we board the Rendlbahn gondola, just seven minutes after opening time. That's despite a breakfast that would be too easy to linger over, and the usual day one go-slow. Where the hell did I put my goggles/socks/gloves/money/brain... And despite the fact that there are six of us. Plus Marianne (1), who lives a short walk away from the hotel, is not working this morning, and will be showing us the mountain.
She's elected to take us up Rendl - the other side of the valley from St Anton's main area - because it tends to be quieter early in the week. As we gain altitude on 2015's first lift, the anticipation is palpable. For Ben, this will be his first run in two years. For me, my first day in my brand new ski boots. For all of us save Ben (who visited as a child), our first time in St Anton.
Off the lift, skis and snowboards on, and away we go. The visibility is mixed - cloudy, snowing lightly - but the snow is glorious and after a tentative couple of runs, it all comes trickling back. The Rendl area is compact but perfectly formed, with four small chairlifts serving a network of beautifully groomed pistes and a variety of enticing terrain from open powder fields to steep bumps. And there are trees. Lots of them. By mid morning, I voice what Marianne's already thinking.
"It looks like Whistler..."
From us, praise doesn't come any higher than that. Stand amongst the trees on the R8 unpisted route, or look down from any of the lifts, and you could be in Blackcomb's Seventh Heaven or Crystal Ridge areas. We're loving this.
At mid morning, we ski back down into St Anton - slightly reluctantly in my case - to sample the main side of the valley. As we reach the bridge over the road, we meet a team of huskies towing a sled in the opposite direction. I practically faceplant in my excitement and completely forget to take any pictures. This really is starting to feel like (skiing) home.
Marianne is still suffering slightly from the illness which blighted our journey, and Andy and I accompany her on a short detour to the pharmacy. While Andy sweet-talks the pharmacist into dispensing antibiotics - helpful to have a doctor in the group - I loiter outside and commune with a pair of local dogs. Business as usual.
With Marianne sorted, we board the Gampen chairlift. It's busy, but the queue is fast moving; in no time we're at mid mountain, reunited with the others, in what will become a familiar part of the world in the days to come. One more lift (Kapall) to the top, before Marianne (1) leads us down a fast, sweeping red run - one of several options - to the base of the lift, then on towards our lunch stop just above the village - KK's.
Not until we arrive do I twig that this is the Krazy Kangaruh, one of the aforementioned notorious aprés bars. Just before midday it's quiet; a friendly, wood-clad place with plenty of space for discarded helmets, gloves and jackets, and enticing smells emanating from the kitchen. We slide in ahead of a 12.30 booking, wolf bowls of steaming goulash, and exit. Marianne (1) leaves us for work, with instructions to ski down and take the main Galzig gondola to the top.
Visibility has been fading in and out all day, but up here the balance is tipped into full whiteout. It's windy, too; having considered skiing over the other side and exploring the runs towards St Christoph, we elect to stay put. After a few more runs at much reduced pace - strictly on piste in these conditions - Ben finds an alternative route that leads us down a black run in zero visibility. There's potential for disaster but it's not too steep and far less busy than the blue runs nearby.
With 4pm approaching and the high lifts closing, it's time to head home; we join the 'Happy Valley' zombie run with thousands of others, and pick our way down to the village. This is one of the 'narrow, over-crowded' pistes of yore. It's a scary place for a beginner, but nowhere near as terrifying - nor dangerous - as the Santons rat-run in Val d'Isére.
Back in the village, the VIP van is waiting to whisk us back to the hotel. The company operates two vans which shuttle back and forth at peak times, and on demand all day - one of many aspects of their service which enable us to focus on the important bits. Much appreciated.
With day one consigned to history, spirits are high. As I salve my new aches with a Kir Royale - topped up for free by Marianne (1) - the UK and its attendant worries are a million miles away. And many of the anxieties surrounding this trip - Marianne (2)'s illness, whether people who had never met before would get on - are falling away too. Dinner is wonderful again; both Ben and Cheryl have special dietary requirements, and the kitchen is doing a great job of catering for all.
The days that follow are, in essence, more of the same. Only better. Tuesday takes us over the mountain to St Christoph, a pretty hamlet and home to one of the best restaurants in the area - Hospiz Alm. Lunch for us is normally no more than a pitstop, but Hospiz Alm merits a leisurely meal. The fourteenth century building is a study in rustic charm, the spiral staircase to the (spotless) toilets has a slide for those in a hurry, and the wine list is legendary. We don't sample the wine (though it's fun picking out Bordeaux with four-figure prices) but the food is superb and the prices not ridiculous.
The clouds have lifted, finally showing us the Arlberg in all its magnificence: needle crags towering over tree-clad lower slopes, every branch heavy with snow. We board the chairlift to the top with plans to ski down into Stuben, an even tinier hamlet on the edge of the skiable area.
Then we hit the Wall.
I've written of the Wall before. It usually pops up on day two or three; the point when the combination of altitude and a new regime of strenuous exercise exhausts the body's reserves. It strikes everyone to some extent, but Cheryl and I are hardest hit: she elects to head home early with Marianne (1). Simon, Marianne (2) and I continue. Ben and Andy are elsewhere today; after a plan to join an off-piste guided group fell through, they're amusing themselves on a cliff face somewhere.
My lunch of bratwurst and sauerkraut was high in protein but low in carbohydrate - a mistake. By the time we reach Stuben, with its postcard-pretty church and single chairlift, I'm really suffering. I manage a couple of runs higher up before succumbing, with apologies to the others. We end a little early, just before 4pm. I resolve to pack in the carbs at breakfast the following morning.
Day three takes us all to Lech, Austria's swankiest resort, renowned for its designer shops and perfectly groomed cruising slopes. Chairlifts emblazoned with the logo of a local jeweller sum it up perfectly. Our impression is of an attractive village (though no prettier than St Anton) and pleasingly quiet slopes; we spend most of the day in the newly opened Warth area - a gondola ride away.
The slopes are certainly well-groomed and the weather is perfect; we spend the day racking up some serious mileage either on piste or seeking out the powder nearby. It's not all easy cruising though: I go sweaty-palmed as a straightforward black run turns into one of the steepest fall lines I've ever seen on a groomed piste.
The group splits into three sections in the afternoon, as we lose each other doing laps of a six-man chair with an infinite variety of routes - on-piste and off - from top to bottom. There are trees and rocks and gullies and crevices and powder fields and fast cruises - something for everyone. I'm strongly reminded of Harmony on Whistler.
It's a near-perfect skiing day and we're sad to see it end; with the shadows lengthening and a 4.15pm taxi booked, Marianne and I reluctantly turn for home. Our brief taste of Lech has been tantalising, and I'm keen to return.
On Wednesday afternoon we make a foray into town to watch the weekly ski show - teams of instructors from around the area showing their skill with the sort of close-quarters formation skiing (in the dark) that would have most of us in a tangle of limbs in seconds. The lighting is spectacular - the slopes used like a drive-in movie screen - and the ski displays are interspersed with aerial tricks over a jump at the base of the slope. Great stuff - and there are fireworks to finish.
Day four gets off to an inauspicious start with poor visibility and two uncomfortable cable car rides to the top, followed by a tearing wind on the run down into Stuben. We abandon our plans to revisit the slopes above Stuben, and head back over into St Anton proper. The main area above the resort is an appealing mix of fast red and blue runs with a couple of interesting red and black 'skiroutes' - patrolled off-piste routes. After a couple of laps of the Kapall chair, and one blast all the way to the bottom and back up on Gampen, we rendezvous in the Krazy Kangaruh for lunch.
I'd noticed the burgers on our first visit; there's a whole page of the menu devoted to them. In Europe, burgers are very hit and miss, but KK's goes straight into my personal hall of fame. Continuing the Whistler references, both burger and venue are reminiscent of Dusty's in Creekside. Bawdy aprés venue or not, the Krazy Kangaruh is fast becoming one of my favourite mountain restaurants.
Post-lunch carbohydrate slump finds us on the Rendlbahn, heading up the other side of the valley. Ben, Marianne (2) and I revisit R8, the Seventh Heaven-esque area we discovered on day one, and spend the afternoon exploring the other off-piste routes on this side of the mountain. It's cloudy and the light is flat, but there's just enough contrast from the trees and terrain to see what we're doing.
We cap the day off with one of my highlights of the week: R5, It's an off piste route that forks off the black run just below the Gampberg chair, and winds through glorious terrain away from the pistes before rejoining the main R1 run to the village lower down. It's tricky but manageable, the options are endless, and I love every second. As usual, I pick my way down cautiously while Marianne (2) exhibits more speed and panache. Ben tries to vault over a half-buried river and ends up embedded in the bank. Once we've made sure he's unscathed, we point and laugh. It takes him a quarter of an hour to chip the ice from his skis.
Day five is one of those days where things don't quite click. At least not for me. We decide to go to Zurs, which involves the two cable cars to the top (and a big queue for the first one), a run down into Stuben, and a bus ride. Altogether too much hanging around and public transport; it's 10.30am before we get any proper skiing in. At least the weather is clearer here, as forecast.
Zurs has an attractive area of slopes including an epic red run from the top of the Muggengrat chair between towering peaks and along an off-piste trail back to the village. My lunch is the week's most alarming-looking plate of food (think frankfurter in the shape of meatloaf) but is surprisingly tasty.
Overall, though, I'm not feeling it; so big is the queue for the bus that we plump for a taxi back to Stuben which costs us a pittance and saves us a lot of elbow-bashing. The others enjoyed their day but after two all-time greats in a row, I never got in the groove. On our return we discover that leaving St Anton was the right call - our home run blighted by high winds on the Stuben side and poor visibility all the way down to the resort.
No matter. I neck a G&T, enjoy another fantastic meal courtesy of the Montjola, watch a bit of rugby with the others, and reset for our final day.
Which dawns clear, steel-grey sky turning blue as the sun rises. We split into three groups after the first run, and Marianne and I set out to make our last ski day in 2015 count. We flit back and forth between the Kapall and Galzig peaks, seeking out the quietest pistes, the off-piste routes and any nuggets of off-piste powder we can find.
Lunch is another KK's rendezvous and another fabulous burger; the highlight of our last afternoon - and one of the runs of the week - is R33. Yet another off-piste black, it runs from the top of the Kapall chair across the Mattun face before descending to follow the edge of a valley which winds back to the Happy Valley run. It's scary high-alpine stuff for me, with an initial traverse which leaves me dry-throated and white-knuckled - but the weather is perfect and the setting sublime. We join the Zombie run with hearts racing, take the Mattun Chair to mid-mountain, and board Kapall - Odyssey 2015's last lift.
It's already 4pm, the setting sun beginning to turn the slopes gold; as we exit the chairlift, 99% of me wants to turn left, towards the entrance to R33. One more shot of adrenalin. But we've pushed hard today: fatigue and off-piste moguls do not mix well. We turn right and keep to the pistes, sweeping down the fast reds and the 22 black to our aprés-ski rendezvous at Taps, next door to the Krazy Kangaruh.
We shoehorn ourselves onto a bench with the others and swap stories of bravado to a soundtrack of 80s Eurotrash. It's not my scene at all, but the Gluhwein is warming and the company good.
One final short run down - stopping to check on a winded skier on the way - and we're unclipping for the last time. But Odyssey 2015 isn't quite over: we've one more decadent night of canapés, champagne and fabulous food from the cheery staff of the Montjola.
VIP Ski have done a brilliant job for us this week. Marianne (1) in particular has gone well beyond the call of duty. It's been great to have her with us on the mountain, and she's taken great care of us at mealtimes.
St Anton is a wonderful resort, with something for everyone except perhaps complete beginners and very tentative intermediates. I had read and heard tell of an intimidating, beer-swilling monster of a resort. Instead I found a friendly, attractive village with a relaxed vibe and some truly spectacular terrain. It runs our beloved Whistler mighty, mighty close - and isn't a ten hour flight away.
Dank und auf Wiedersehen Österreich!
 |
| Marianne (2) rocks a new metallic lime and mushy-pea green helmet for 2015. Lech, 3 February |
 |
| All smiles as Ben and Marianne (1) gear up for a morning in epic Warth. Auenfeldjet gondola, 3 February 2015 |
 |
| 5/7 of the group less yours truly (camera) and Marianne 1 (searching for lost ski somewhere down the mountain). From left: Cheryl, Andy, Simon, Marianne (2) and Ben. Saloberkopf, Warth, 3 February 2015 |
 |
| One of Odyssey 2015's defining moments. Marianne stops on the home run to Lech, and we try and take in the scale and beauty of where we are. Lech, 3 February |
 |
| Yup, that's a mountain stream. And yes, that's a Ben-shaped impression in the bank. R5, Rendl, 4 February 2015 |
 |
| Deep breath, switch brain off, follow Marianne into the abyss... our unforgettable final run of a short but very sweet Odyssey 2015. R33, St Anton, 6 February |
