The adventure to Lac De Gers.

One morning, before the roaring rush of tourists descended on our playground, in a golden time,  it came to be that three young adventurers went snowboarding into the Grand massif mountains. The air was mixed with the smell of freshly baked croissants and a crisp dryness that one comes to love on cold January mornings.

Paul Navin, B-Boy Bunty and Will G were amped up to go ride together, no waiting for anyone, even each other.

The day looked average, snow mediocre and most would turn their noses up at the prospect of having an adventure on such a day. Gee-whizz, the sun wasn’t even out. I guess this is a story to prove that there is so much more to snowboarding and skiing than just riding like a creature on a conveyor belt, barely different from the city grindstone that we all wanted keep at bay. It’s easy to get into a rut in whatever you do, sometimes you have to step outside your normal routine to wake up!

Recently I had been feeling like I was just doing the same runs day in and out, slipping into a kind of routine where I went onto the mountain and started to switch on auto pilot. In hindsight I still feel this sometimes now, but at least I can identify when it happens now.

 Anyway, off we went on just an average morning telling stories of the weeks events in each of our little spheres of existence on the lifts which took us onward. When our feet were on the snow we just opened up the throttle and headed for Flaine, where the snow promised to be fresher and colder. I talked away to myself as we blasted down the open runs, occasionally weaving through the odd snowplough laden Ski tourist, who scowled at our boarding essence and free spirit.

‘This is going to be one of those dodgy days because I have to do short turns first thing to get warmed up.’ I grumbled to myself as the lads let gravity suck them down the corduroy trail. Pointing the boards pretty straight, we let rip.

There’s something about going fast, when it’s safe, that’s an important thing to do for a person. It’s all about pushing your own comfort zone and discovering your line that you walk, when you live on the edge. No matter what your ability if your are interested in progressing and keeping motivated to ride in the true spirit of a real boarder or skier I believe that you have to discover the line. The only way to find it is to push yourself reasonably towards it, yes, occasionally we overstep the mark, but only a little. It’s the big steps without thought beyond the line that one should avoid perhaps.

Feeling the zing of cold air that’s been working your face on the way down against warming skin, as the blood starts to flow is a special feeling to me. That whole buzz of being amongst the mountains and their splendour.

As we ascended the peaks cloud cover began to look ominous, descending over us steadily throughout the morning. Light waned and it became difficult to make out all the lumps and bumps, occasionally bucking the board uncomfortably to a juddering halt. Although the snow was good on the trails it was hard going off-piste, real heavy sludge in places that had been exposed to the sun. A nice piping cuppa and good feed started to seem like a warming prospect. From the top its only a sweet fourteen kilometre run of twists and turns, no people and stunning tree riding if you venture of the beaten track, back to the chalet door. It beats a long slog for an hour and a half on lifts as well as crappy motorway skiing the other way.

I persuaded the lads to this option and B-Boy came up with a genius plan to check out a little secret route down through a hidden valley into the Gers bowl. So, excited at the prospect of this potential score of fresh tracks we descended to our first check point. It was great until we hit some thick fog and cloud which brought us down to a tentative pace. It was nigh on impossible to see the traverse that we needed to keep to across the steep sides of the cliff face that formed the top of a mid-bowl. Looking ahead to a point to which we had to get to, across the ridge, became pure guess work. Visibility closed in and was down to about five metres, we lost B-Boy and were resigned to follow a track underneath our noses. With such heavy snow the face could have slipped away easily into an avalanche. After calling out we located B-Boy who was waiting at the point on a ridge where we descended into the next valley. Much to my suspicions we had indeed headed to a point too low to access our planned route. The actual valley we were in ended in sheer cliffs, but the trouble was we could not see how far away they loomed.

‘Bugger!’ I thought that meant we have got to hike up the valley wall to a higher point to get the hell out of here and to a safe point from which to descend. There were no tracks to follow now, just instinct and the three of us resigned ourselves to a long vertical march up the face of a valley side we could not see the top of. As we sank into the drifted snow up to our hips, we threw our boards out in front as platforms to pull ourselves up with. It became pretty hard going and after shedding a layer from the heat of the work out, longing for water, we made out a power pylon looming on the crest of the ridge.

As we made it to the man-made, metallic beast that towered over us B-Boy remembered the lay of the land and located the descent line, a sigh of relief was breathed by us all and we took a break from our ordeal, gathering excitement for the ride down, that no others had done for weeks, fresh tracks!

After starting the initial cruiser run down, frankly, it got really sludgy and sticky, but I didn’t care. To be released from the arduous climb and have a direction we trusted felt so good. No one was with us as we ploughed through the trees and tore down the trails of the forest like a pack of marauding wolves.

 

 Eventually we flew out, joining the trail to a little mountain hamlet that was serene and peacefully calling to us, beside a vast frozen lake. The owner came out as he saw us approach and greeted us all warmly. A cold beer was consumed on the terrace and boy it hit the spot.

 

We all got a tow from the owner’s Ski-doo, doubling as wake-boarders on a leash, down to the point where the piste would take us into the valley where Chalet L’Oreade is nestled. The sandwich feast we made on arrival back at the ranch was fantastic and the several mugs of tea finished our adventure off perfectly.

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