AV-A Ski Course in Silvretta

by Michael Weindling

England, August 2014. You know how it is. You're 66 years old and 'Torschlusspanik' sets in. You've wanted to go ski touring for as long as you could remember but the opportunity never arose. You're a keen and fairly competent downhill skier - been doing it since you were six years old - but you've never been ski touring. Your dad did it. So did your two brothers and some of your mates. And when you were skiing last year in the Canadian Rockies, searching for powder, you heard about a lodge where they flew you in by helicopter and you toured from it. It sounded wonderful. But Canada is a long way and it gets jolly cold. I've had parts of my face going white, and a repeat experience is not attractive.

So, in late Summer, my thoughts turn from beaches, walks in the country and leisurely picnics, to the mountains, snow and blue skies. The internet search isn't entirely straightforward. There's an outfit that caters for couples only; another for under 30s. There's a tour in the Mont Blanc region, but previous experience required. And then I come across the Austrian Alpine Club (AAC). They are advertising an introductory course based at the Heidelberger Hütte, in the Silvretta just above Ischgl. I've previous experience of skiing in the Lech-Zürs region of Vorarlberg, and this is pretty close, just 20 km away or so. I can prepare in familiar surroundings, and get there by bus. My main concern is that the other members of my group might be young and at the peak of fitness. The blurb says you have to be fit enough to climb for several hours and then ski down. Not a problem: I cycled to work most days (admittedly not recently as I am now retired) and I walk on Hampstead Heath. Knees a bit creaky these days but, hey-ho, I can always wear supports. So I get in touch, secure a place, and relax. Gabi at the Innsbruck office is fantastically helpful and writes to tell me that Sektion Britannia of the AAC may give me a grant. I apply. I'm successful. Now I can get better kit than I might otherwise have done. Fast forward to Innsbruck on Sunday, 15 February 2015. Had a nice Wiener schnitzel last night at an inexpensive Gasthaus, and realised I'd forgotten my inner ski gloves. And nothing's open in Innsbruck on a Sunday, except the tourist office, and they only sell funny Tyrolean hats.

Our leader

I head to AAC HQ to meet my companions for the week. They all look extraordinarily fit. There's Spyke and Jude, both in their early forties. Spyke holds the record for bagging all the Munros in the shortest time, using just a cycle and canoe to get between them. His partner, Jude, does competitive fell running. Kypros, in his early twenties, runs an outdoor sports outfit in Cyprus and his ambition is to be a mountain guide. Nick has just got back from mountaineering in the Atlas Mountains, has been living at 4000m for the last four weeks and looks appropriately tanned and honed. Pat and Hugh are slightly nearer my age, but still a good few years short of drawing their pensions. They live in the Brecons and clearly spend a lotof time outdoors. Everyone's equipment is in a pile. It all looks well used. In contrast to mine, which is obviously and painfully unused. Then Manfred, our guide and leader, appears and loads our kit in a van to take us to Ischgl. He's friendly and, most importantly, clearly knows what he's doing. He even knows where to buy inner ski gloves in the Tirol on a Sunday.

Ischgl. We find our transport to our home for the next six days. It's a snow cat, painted bright orange and looking like two sardine cans joined together. We clamber in and set off. The track runs up through the Fimbatal, which, confusingly, changes its name south of the Austrian-Swiss border to the Val Fenga. I've never sat in a washing machine, but it can't be much different. Shaken but not stirred, we arrive at the hut as dusk closes in. 'Hut' is a bit of a misnomer. The Heidelberger Hütte is a three storey building with around 90 beds, and the setting is stunningly beautiful. It was built in the late 1880s by the Heidelberg division of the German Alpine Club at 2264 metres above sea level.

A tricky turn

The Heidelberger Hütte is very European: in the Swiss canton of Graubünden, owned by the German Alpenverein, and supplied from Austria and run by an Austrian team, led by Alois, who has a friendly word for everyone and who keeps the hut impeccably. We are shown to our accommodation. Nick and I are sharing a room for two; the others are either in a dormitory or a four-person room. We also have a sink with hot water. Nick generously offers to take the top bunk, for which I'm grateful. Then a fulsome three course dinner and a couple of rounds of Schnapps before bed.

The next day starts with a great breakfast in the large dining room, the Stube which, with its Kachelofen, defines theword 'gemütlich'. Then the first of our daily seminars, the watchword being safety in the mountains. Manfred uses the Internet and videos on his laptop, and the sessions are informative and interesting. We learn to 'Stop or Go'. Our lives, and those of others, may depend on our being able to judge the terrain and to use our avalanche safety equipment effectively. Over the next days we learn about reading snow reports, recognising danger spots, and how to use our transceiver, probe and shovel. We even learn the different feel of probing a rock, rucksack or person because Manfred finds an overhanging corniche and Kristo sportingly climbs into it while we stick in our probes through about two metres of snow and hope we're not poking any tender bits.

The way down
Photos by Michael Weindling

We learn how to put on and remov the skins, and use the touring binding effectively. I thought I knew how to do kick turns, but when you're wearing a touring binding with the heel clip undone, the back of the ski dangles and can catch in the snow: jolly tricky when you're on a 45 degree slope. But like everything in skiing there's a technique, which Manfred shows us - it's all about the knees. We start walking steadily, getting higher. I am alarmed by an increasing tightness in my chest and thoughts of being helicoptered to the local coronary care unit buzz through my head; fortunately it disappears when I adjust the straps of my rucksack. I feel a bit like Scott of Antarctica - headdown, in a rhythm, eyes fixed on the tracks of the person in front. And then I remember to look up and see the most breathtakingly beautiful scenery. Even the weather's perfect.

Over the next days we climb several peaks: Breite Krone (3079m), Piz Larain (3009m) and the strangely named Jamjoch, which forms the peak of a mountain pass with signs showing the border between Switzerland and Austria. Such a thrill to stand on an international border some 3000m above sea level. After a day high in the mountains with just a snack lunch, dinner is a fulsome three courses: the trout is particularly good. And then there's the bliss of a hot shower: two euros for three minutes of piping hot water: best couple of euros I've ever spent.

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