“Really, you can call this ski mountaineering”

You can call it whatever you want, I’ll pack the ice axe and crampons, but I really hope that we’re never in the sort of situation where I need them.  Same goes for that rope I can see you stuffing into you pack.

“Ok guys, crampons on, we’ll head up to this summit”

FFS.

We’re in the Austrian alps, right on the border with Switzerland, I keep losing track of which side we’re on.

The journey here (and the day before) was a bit too stressful, the fire at Heathrow had thrown a large flaming oily spanner into our precision planning. One ski bag going missing (along with boots and crampons) had meant an early dash to the ski shop, and 6 pints of Weiss beer didn’t exactly aid a restful and restorative sleep at the hotel.

Bus to Ishgul, day ski pass purchased, then a fast crossing of the area via 6 lifts and a gondola to get out into the wilderness, nobody wanted to get to the Jamtal hut after dark (though we’d all packed head torches). My lightweight skis juddered down the hard packed piste and I was already cursing my fiddly pin bindings.

After a long and sweaty skin up to a pass at 2,960m, the weather turned ominously foggy and we bounced our way between rocks and powder down to the hut.

Massively dehydrated, but in need of Weiss beer, we dumped our kit in the foul smelling boot room, found our allocated table for the next day or so, and I worriedly listened to excited plans to summit the highest peak in the area, Piz Buin at 3,312m high.

Ropes would be needed.

Gah.

The first night is typically the most boozy, but we felt compelled to sample everything on the wine list and I started day two with the worst hangover of the week.

Straight up in the sun, of course, but amazing views, and we had a nice picnic around 3,000m.

We watched sadly as someone from another group fumbled a ski just over a steep pass, and it cruised to freedom over a pristine powder bowl, Switzerland bound.

I’m not sure if I wasn’t paying enough attention to plans, or was just wrapped up in maintaining a steady uphill pace, but when the order to don crampons and deploy our ice axes came, I quietly complied and before I really knew what was happening was slowly hauling myself up towards the top of Augstenberg, at 3,225m. My eyes kept filling up with sweat and sun cream, and I definitely had the wrong gloves on.

The guide gave me a puzzled look, my technique was generously called “unusual”, but quite why anyone would choose to stand on their hind legs instead of jamming their toes in, sticking their arse up, and clinging onto the mountain for dear life was beyond me.

“Is that a corniche?” That rounded soft snow to my left, with nothing but blue sky and distant peaks beyond.

“No”

I don’t know how he knew that, but I was giving it as wide a berth as possible. We walked the last ridge to the summit and admired the breathtaking 360 degree views.

Getting down was weirdly easy, and made me realise that it’s the feeling of being really exposed that jacks up my fear levels. I’d actually made it to a summit and was very pleased with myself, maybe Piz Buin could be tackled after all.

The next day we headed over a pass at 2,952m to the Wiesbadener hut, 90% of the time spent going uphill, as is the way with this sport, but the downhills more than make up for it.  The hut was lovely and cosy, and not full, so we spread out a bit in the dorm. It’s always nice to not have to get into bed through a curtain of other people’s stinking kit. I’d like to say you get used to the smell, but you don’t.

The guide told me that Piz Buin isn’t difficult to climb, “just a hike up a steep couloir and then walk to the summit”. We’d need to be roped together though, so I’m beginning to think our definitions of what’s hard are quite different, definitely feeling anxious about it.

The next morning was crazy cold and foggy, and Piz was off the menu. I was quietly very relieved, and hoped we’d do some other peak instead so I could get a bit more practice in. There was talk of Dreiländer and I was game.

After an unusually brief uphill stint we had a beautiful clear day and some lovely fresh snow to ourselves. Smiles all round, then back to skinning up in the sun.

The guide said that Dreiländer is actually incredibly exposed, and with the fog rolling in he didn’t feel comfortable taking us all up there. Phew!

Easy descent for lunchtime Weiss beers then.

By this stage I’d realised that getting a good night’s sleep in smelly, farty dormitories was never going to happen, so I may as well just enjoy the booze. At least it sedated me and although my watch told me off every morning, it was better than lying awake trying to ignore the snoring that was so loud I had to keep checking my ear plugs were still in.

In what was now a familiar routine, we were all fed, packed, decorated with the paraphernalia of harnesses, ice screws, carabiners and of course transceivers at 8am. Most of us anyway, there’s always a straggler.

We hiked up about 800 meters to the go / no-go point for the mighty Piz, which was…. covered in cloud. 

“It might clear. If we go it’ll add 2 hours to our day, what do we think, is everyone feeling strong?”

Looking back at our spread out group, and the extra effort that would be required, we hesitated. The super fit and mountaineering types were obviously keen, but it seemed a lot on day 5, and there was no guarantee the cloud would lift.

We turned right and up onto a col, away from the peak that I’d slowly started to think was achievable. It would still be there next year.

The sun came out, and after a bit of a dodgy descent around huge rocks and drops, we had the Silvretta glacier to ourselves and stopped for lunch out of the wind.

“There is another summit here, Silvretta Egghorn, those who want to rest can wait, we won’t need crampons”

Ok great, I’ll get a bit more climbing time in after all. I’d opted out of any of it last year, so although this route was generally less technical, I was definitely feeling the extra challenge.

I wish I did have my crampons, and a rope.

Bloody hell.

Scrambling up slippery rock with a massive drop behind me was… Well, I was scared, but couldn’t allow myself to dwell on it. Total focus. I had to ask the guide to help place my feet on the way down though. Some of the rocks were actually loose and moved when I grabbed them. 

Fucks sake.

From 3,147 meters we had a spectacular view of Piz Buin, and it definitely did not look like a “walk to the summit”, it looked more like a steep icy slide.

One day.

The ski down the other side of Silvretta glacier was easily the best of the trip, maybe ever. Untouched powder, bright blue sky, effortlessly gliding through wide turns. Good for your soul.

Energy levels and patience were wearing thin as we approached the hut, though when one of us fell into a snowy hole and shouted “I can’t get out, I’m a fat tortisurtle. Tortoise. I’m too fat to get out!” we couldn’t help but laugh.

The Silvretta hut was a clean and shiny example of Swiss order. Shame it didn’t have any showers and the boot room was the ripest one yet, with the socks I’d been wearing for 4 days making a significant contribution.

We saved all our accidents for the last day, I could tell the guide was thrilled with that. I fell twice, whacked my head on a frozen lake, and left a decent chunk of my forearm on some now bloody snow.

At one point the guide said he “looked back and didn’t know what I was seeing, a pole waving from the snow, it didn’t make sense”

Somehow one of the gang had ended up in a river, even he doesn’t know how. Luckily we rescued his skis as they floated away towards a lake. His socks were probably grateful for the rinse, but I can’t imaging having wet feet for the rest of the day was that much fun.

It was all good though, the sun was out and despite a long long flat pole/skate, but we had snow all the way down to the village, and with some expected faffing from a load of tired and hungry people, ended up in an airport hotel near Munich about 4 hours later.

Oh the luxury. A shower! My own bed! My own bathroom! Clean towels! Sheets! Curtains! Pillows!

I definitely had moments when I wondered what the point of all the effort was, but the contrast between being scared on some ridge, and then skiing down a beautiful wide valley, balances out nicely. I’m not sure I’d appreciate it quite as much if I’d been dropped there by a noisy helicopter.

The feeling of contentment when you’re sitting in a hut after a long day, physically and mentally tired, but warm and cozy and laughing about tortoises in holes and floating skis, is really quite special.

It’s a bit like a multi day ultra, with less running, more laughing, and cold beers at each aid station, one even had single malt whisky, you don’t get that on the spine race!

I used to get scared on chairlifts, and the first time I did an icy traverse on skins I honestly thought I was going to die.  Something has shifted, maybe everyone is right, and the more you do these things the less you suffer from paralysing fear.  Being fit and strong makes a huge difference too, 6 months of being brutalised by the HPT team paid off.

Having the right kit, and knowing how to use it definitely helps too.

A daft activity or not, we’ve already booked the next trip…