Hi!
There is no debating the unparalleled, spectacular views from Pic Blanc (3,330 m). The colour of the sky is not just blue, but blue within blue; the snow capped mountains surround us 360 degrees around at varying distances, 10, 20 and even 30 km away, their peaks piercing the heavens and often caressed by wispy clouds. And the snow is not white but brilliant, bleached white, almost blinding. Notwithstanding the fierce struggles and tumult all around the world, it is eerily silent here, probably the same silence that a deaf person must experience. As though all this were insufficient, unlike anywhere else in the French Alps and for reasons unknown to man, there is most often a temperature inversion here, with the valley below our alpine village colder than above in the mountains, resulting in a blanket of clouds forming below our village, filling the valley completely. It seems as though our 240 kms of skiable slopes are on an island, suspended above a bed of clouds. Hence the name known locally, l'île de Soleil.
Now that I have diligently described to you our island of paradise, let's talk about skiing! What uniquely distinguishes this 'station de ski' is the 'hors piste' or off trail skiing. It is our guide's mission in life to steer us away from the groomed trails and into the most challenging descents accessible. We invariably start each effort by skiing under an out-of-bounds rope clearly identified with signs in several languages and various pictograms warning of the risks of falling off cliffs, skiing over rocks and getting buried in avalanches. Fair enough, but each of us is carrying a beeper in case we get caught and buried in an avalanche; and each of us wears a backpack containing a fold-up shovel and other instruments in case somebody else gets buried. Feeling safe, one by one we follow the leader, traversing along the very steep edge of a mountain, the left side rising seemingly vertically to its summit, the right side falling precipitously down to a nasty ending. Below my skis follow two narrow tracks as I concentrate on leaning very slightly left as I glide forward. Finally we arrive at a plateau. There are many at Alpe d'Huez and as we are far above the tree line, they are all barren, covered in virgin snow, interrupted by rocky outcrops which we navigate between.
This lunar landscape is most exceptional and disorienting, too, as the guide weaves his way forward and down, sometimes leading into a giant bowl 200 m long and equally wide where we can each find our own fall line to ski down fresh snow, leaving behind fresh tracks. Where he is ultimately leading us is to one of many couloirs, which are steep, narrow, snow-filled gullies, 300 or 400 m long, sometimes only as wide as the length of my skis, or so. Negotiating these narrow couloirs is as challenging as the sport can offer and I am frankly overwhelmed with pride if I manage the challenge well -- that is to say not every descent is as fluid and successful as I plan.
This station claims to have the longest black diamond run in Europe. My friends and I are good skiers but it still takes 15 minutes to get to the bottom which we normally save for the last run of the day -- the only run we make that is 'sur piste' or on the marked trails. The difficulty of skiing hors piste has its rewards: the shear pleasure of descending the mountain by way of the natural landscape, not always sure of where the next slope or turn leads. Incredulously, navigating the same vertical drop of 2,000 m as sur piste takes us over an hour. Once at the very bottom I am normally exhausted, beat up, overheated and blissfully ready to get back to Pic Blanc and do it all over again!
May all your runs take you downhill!
Pic Barry
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