Survival techniques
This was a four-day break that promised self-propelled expeditions to cosy mountain huts warmed by pot-belly stoves, insights into winter-survival techniques, lots of cheese and hearty mountain meals. Throughout the week, Valérie would be my host, ski instructor and snowshoeing guide. A beaming enthusiast for all things outdoors and jurassien, she started the first lesson with some local wisdom: “Ski alpin, ski pam-pam, ski Parisien.” I was not entirely sure of the French but the logic was clear. Downhill skiing was for softies, and Parisians were the softest of them all.
There was also an implication that I was not in for an easy ride, but the reward, ventured Valérie, would be a form of skiing entirely in tune with the mountains and the forests: silent and unobtrusive. It would, she assured me, be a Zen-like experience. Certainly the skiers, athletic-looking in their skin-tight Lycra suits, seemed to move effortlessly across the snow in a graceful skating motion. By comparison, I felt clumsy and overwrapped in my usual ski jacket and salopettes. The generous padding, however, would come in handy later.
The skating technique would be beyond me, for the time being. As a beginner, explained Valérie, I would first master the technique known as ‘classique’. This meant my skis had a small textured area under the midsole which, allegedly, made it easier to remain upright. Also, my skis would be mostly confined to two continuous channels pressed into the snow each night by a piste basher. To the side of the channels, there was a wide strip of beautifully groomed snow for the more accomplished skiers.
Just like with downhill skiing, these cross-country pistes were graded green (easiest), blue, red, and black (hardest and longest). The pistes linked villages, snowbound restaurants and mountain huts, making skiing the most reliable and efficient way of getting around.
Moving forward in the channels was much easier than standing still. My soft, comfortable boots were attached to the skis only at the toes; to move forward, all I had to do was lift each heel and push through the knee, with arms and ski poles “swinging rhythmically. On the gentle downhills, where I could straighten up and slide, I experienced a giggle-inducing exhilaration way out of proportion to the speed.
If the uphills and downhills were not too steep, I could remain in the channels. Otherwise, I had to step out on to the piste and either ‘herringbone’ uphill or snowplough downhill, pushing hard into the skis with knees that were almost locked together.
When the first lesson was over, Valérie directed me towards Les Molunes – an easy route of around seven kilometres. I would be there in time for lunch. At first, I was certain I had it sussed: although being stuck in the channels made me feel like a kid on a bike with stabilisers, I was sure I looked convincing.
