My Journey Into PowderIt all started in 1956 when my ‘Great-Uncle Lance’, for reasons lost to history, offered to pay for my Dad, his brother and his parents to go on holiday. An incredibly generous offer at any time, but particularly spectacular for a family living a modest existence in Britain’s post-war era of austerity. Imagine then, how mind-blowing it must have been for my father — a 13-year-old boy at the time — to be given the responsibility of choosing the type of holiday and researching the ideal destination. He chose a “skiing holiday” over Christmas and New Year in Lenk, located in the Bernese Oberland of Switzerland. My Dad and his family arrived after a recent heavy snowfall and were greeted at the bottom of the resort village by a horse-drawn sleigh, on which they glided to their hotel, accompanied only by the dull clomp of the horses’ hooves in the snow and the magical jangling of small bells from its bridle.
Neither my father, his brother nor their parents had ever been skiing and it’s not clear why this was the holiday that my father chose. Nevertheless, his experiences over the following ten days ignited a passion in him that shaped his life, my life and the lives of my children.
As a result of this trip, my Dad became a dedicated skier and devoted his energies to earning enough money — by almost any means necessary — to find his way back to the mountains. The following year, for example, he made a ridiculously low-budget trip to Bad Gastein in the Salzburg province of Austria; this was with the Anglo-Austrian Society, at an all-in cost of £30.
From his early 20’s through to his 60’s he barely missed a year. This was most definitely to the benefit of me and my elder brother as we were introduced to skiing aged five & six respectively. This was all the more special, as by this stage our parents’ marriage was over and Dad was for the most part living in the Middle East — therefore a week away skiing was guaranteed time together. We loved those trips and with varying quality of tuition we grew into passable one-week-a-year “Brit style” piste skiers.
During these trips my brother and I would occasionally spot off-piste or mogul skiers from the comfort of a gondola or chairlift and ask each other, “Why would anyone want to do that?” I guess we must have tried it and found that our piste technique didn’t easily translate, so our arrogant, lazy teenage brains dismissed it as, “rubbish”. I don’t recall my Dad ever correcting this ridiculously blinkered view. It was therefore, all the more surprising to find out that back in 1956 FreeRiding was the only game in town. There were marked runs but these weren’t groomed and the invention / adoption of piste bashers was still some way off. It was therefore FreeRiding that hooked him in the first place; incredible considering the equipment available at the time — the stuff you now only see on the walls of mountain restaurants. You know the ones; ludicrously long skinny bare wood skis, paired with leather boots – held in place by a massive spring that looked more like a bear-trap than a ski binding.
For my first 20 years of skiing I was really happy with an annual trip to various European resorts. Embarrassingly, on reflection, I realise that I did take these trips pretty much for granted….. Despite this, I really enjoyed skiing as fast as I could on groomed pistes, banter with my brother and Dad, mountain lunches and family dinners.
It was around the millennium that for reasons none of us can remember, that we first ventured further afield, in this case to Whistler in the Canadian province of British Columbia. Four things happened on this trip that changed my perspective and riding path forever.
Firstly, we met an incredible local instructor Brian. He opened our eyes to fat skis and some basic technique required to move beyond the groomed trails and enjoy skiing bumps.
Secondly, I bought my first pair of ski boots and had them properly fitted. This was a game changer — no more foot pain and way more control.
Thirdly, I started to understand the North American philosophy of riding anything “in bounds”.
Finally and most importantly, I felt it for the first time. The feeling of proper, free-flowing powder skiing. It was only fleeting, as my skill level was pretty low, but it felt incredible. The sensation was one of almost weightless flotation, a physical and mental freedom unlike almost anything else. Even now, 20 years on, I can vividly recall the conditions, the surroundings and the physical sensation. I started each turn by pushing the shovel of my skis deep down into the fresh BC powder, feeling a gradual soft rebound as my skis porpoised back up towards the surface. I managed to repeat this motion several times, linking bouncing, flowing turns through the deep snow. It was a truly amazing feeling, something I don’t ever think I’ll be able to adequately describe in words; however, the result — aside from an ear-to-ear grin — has been a quest to rediscover this feeling as often as possible.
Unsurprisingly, it was from this point forward that I stopped taking skiing for granted; in fact I absolutely fell in love with it. I also recognised the freedoms and inclusivity of the North American ski scene were very different to the traditions and exclusivity of what I had experienced in The Alps, Dolomites and Pyrenees. I imagine the three of us all felt this to some extent, as a result we returned to Canada for 7 out of the next 10 years. Each time sharing our newfound freedoms with an ever-expanding group of friends.
It wasn’t until my next European trip that these differences fully hit home. The mantra of never venturing off-piste without a guide and the woeful lack of FreeRide rental kit was stark. I knew that FreeRiding wasn’t out of the question in Europe, but without hiring a mountain guide every day I didn’t know how to access it. I started looking around for possibilities and eventually happened upon The Warren Smith Ski Academy in Switzerland. This sounded perfect: a ready-made FreeRide community, combined with FreeRide tuition. I booked onto the next course, packed my kit and headed to Verbier. It turned out the Academy ethos was broader than I had realised. The course was physically and mentally demanding, working hard from first lift to last plus evening analysis sessions. Students stayed in shared accommodation, which built a sense of community and camaraderie that not only helped to get the most out of the course, but led to years of other shared mountain adventures. The coaches instilled an athlete mindset, looked at biomechanics, equipment choice and set-up, they brought the mountain alive by teaching us to use all the available terrain, all the while adding FreeRide-specific technique. On top of the “thigh steering” that Brian had taught me in Whistler, I dramatically improved the weight distribution between my skis, built a proper two-footed stance, learned to keep my shoulders and hips on the fall line and dedicated time every day to the perplexing braquage turn. My time at the academy was truly transformational — it made FreeRide in Europe feel like a real possibility. I had the basis of FreeRide ski technique, I had a peer group of like-minded skiers as well as a new pair of FreeRide skis (K2 Seths). I was all set; well almost. There was one fundamental piece missing from the jigsaw: this was avalanche safety and rescue skills. Next stop Chamonix, for a mountain safety and rescue course with Icicle Mountaineering. Several days of training on the Aiguille du Midi gave me a basic understanding of risk analysis, mitigation and rescue techniques, as well as the info I needed to purchase a decent Transceiver, Shovel, Probe and Backpack.
What had been awakened on that first trip to Canada was now building into a fully-fledged obsession. I’d found an activity I felt truly passionate about and much like my Dad in 1956, I started planning and saving every penny to maximise my ski time. Over the next several years, I spent time searching for the best powder and FreeRide terrain I could find. This took me across North America from British Columbia to Utah, Colorado to Wyoming and onto Andorra, Austria, France, Italy, Japan, Spain and Switzerland. It wasn’t long before my partner and I started to share our love of snow-covered mountains with our kids and it seemed that they loved it too. It was on the journey home from one trip to France, with five small kids asleep in the back of our van that my partner did some mental arithmetic. Surely, she said, it would be cheaper to buy our own mountain hideaway, than paying through the nose for high-season chalets or hotels. She was of course absolutely right; I was thrilled by the idea, but I still took some persuading that we could really make it happen. Happen it did and the following year we found a quirky house in a French Alpine Hamlet and set about making it fit for a family of seven. In all honesty it’s one of the best decisions we’ve ever made —our kids have progressed from tentative one-week-a-year novices to skilled, confident, risk-aware FreeRiders. To top it all, a few years ago we were three generations together out on the mountain; my Dad, my brother and all our kids sharing banter, mountain lunches and family dinners. Thanks Dad
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