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)

Ending on a high note

I'll say this first: for me, this hasn't been an easy week. A fairly big crash early on day one shook me badly. It left me with minor aches, but the real damage was to my confidence, which I reckon was set back two years.

Suddenly, terrain which I'd previously have lapped up looked daunting; my technique regressed from confident and fluid to tentative and awkward. Even on easy pistes I felt disconnected; the more nervous I became, the more I caught edges, struggled to make turns and generally scared the crap out of myself.

After twice muddling through a tricky off-piste itinerary on days two and three, my mood reached a low point on our first 'away' trip on day four. Sainte Foy is small, beautiful and gloriously quiet, even in a busy holiday week - but its snow seems more vulnerable than the bigger resorts nearby, and you can ski the best of it in three days.

Sunny skies and warming temperatures made Tignes our choice of destination. Lugging skis down the hill from chalet to car and driving to another resort seemed a bit too much like hard work to me, but everything worked smoothly and we were on the slopes by 9.30am.

We know Tignes well, having skied there in 2009 and again just a few weeks ago, and I hoped that familiarity would restore my ailing confidence. But it was not to be: a sunny French school holiday week meant a perfect storm of all the things that wind me up about skiing in France: overcrowded slopes, needlessly long and disorganised lift queues, crowded restaurants, mediocre overpriced food, third-world sanitation. I worked on my technique and made some headway, but had thoroughly lost the love. By 3pm I was dragging myself from turn to turn, lagging well behind the others, willing the day to end.

I seriously considered sitting out day five, but pulled myself together for the trip to La Plagne. It wouldn't have been my choice - I didn't much like it when we crossed the valley from Les Arcs on our 2010 trip - but resolved to ski better. Andy, our resident snowboarder, had rejoined us following a ski lesson the previous day; on skis he's a relative beginner, so there'd be no gnarly off-pisteing. Probably a good thing.

I still don't like the place - samey and overcrowded - but my technique and confidence was starting to return, and the others really enjoyed their day. An overdue trip to the big supermarket at Bourg Saint Maurice lowered the tone somewhat, but we were buoyed by the thought of skiing on quiet slopes on Saturday while everyone else was stuck in traffic jams.

And so to day six, today. A third day trip, this time to Villaroger, which is directly across the valley, clearly visible from our chalet in Sainte Foy. It's a tiny outpost with just a single chairlift and - this morning - four cars in the car park. But that chairlift and the one that follows sweep you over the ridge and into Les Arcs - still my favourite of the big French resorts.

And at last, this morning, the flow was back. I didn't attempt anything particularly challenging - days of warm sunshine and no fresh snow has hurt conditions, particularly off-piste - but the awful disconnected feeling had evaporated. Even more importantly, I was enjoying it again. Even the culinary low point of the week (cold beef, oozing blood, smothered in sauce strongly reminiscent of dishwater) failed to dent my rediscovered good mood. And not a moment too soon.

And that's it. Odyssey 2013 is done. It's fair to say that it hasn't all been rosy, but it's had its moments. I make no secret of the fact that I consider France inferior to Canada in all things skiing, and nothing in 2013 has changed that opinion. We enjoyed our week in Val d'Isere, but the only reason for us to return is YSE, the excellent tour operator/chalet company.

Even I won't blame France for my struggles this week; of all the resorts we've stayed in, small, perfectly-formed Sainte Foy is easily the most beguiling. It's like a mini-Whistler in many ways, and I'd certainly return. We've been very lucky to have the use of a superbly-located and equipped chalet which has made life off the slopes a pleasure.

I wasn't wholly sold on the idea of driving to other resorts for day trips, but although lugging our gear up and down the hill was a bit of a chore, by and large it's been straightforward and has added real variety.

So. Time to head home and put away the skis for another year. I'm not entirely sad at the prospect. We've seen a lot of snow. I'm ready for longer days and (hopefully) a touch of summer sun.

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...