Our hosts came up for the weekend and we were informed that an early night was needed as we would leave early in the morning; it apparently would be a long day. Champoluc was three valley’s away and about as far at the edge of the piste map as we could go. We arose to bright blue skies but bitterly cold at -14oC in the village and -20oC on the mountain which would feel chillier as wind was forecasted…gulp. We were however equipped with extra clothing such as balaclavas and the party set off well before the madding crowd have surfaced. The problem with Alagna is you have to walk to the lifts and this causes a considerable increase in your body temperature but as soon as you alight from the cable car at the top of the mountain the sweat freezes to your body; not a pleasant experience for us 'softies'.
We first of all skied over the Passe Salati and down into Orsia, just outside Gressoney. Then we climbed again to Colle Bettaforca, where the majestic Cervino, or we would know it as ‘the Matterhorn’, stood guard, sinisterly surrounded in a thin layer of swirling mist. This was when the wind hit us and my eyes watered so intently, despite the goggles, that I could hardly see and one of the contact lens ‘floated’ out; I never did find it. The sight of the Matterhorn made me take off my gloves to extract my camera, much to my host’s surprise who pleaded with me to put them back on quickly. However in those few seconds I realised the camera was still lying on my bed, so I had broken the cardinal sin of every budding photographer; never go out without your camera. Cursing at my forgetfulness, well I am an old git; I just managed to pull on my gloves before the frost bit had eaten into my fingers. Fortunately FOG had brought her mobile phone…which has a better quality lens and pixels than my camera!
Male Old Git (in foreground) attempting yet another black
The skiing down to Frachey was so beautiful I was glad our host had the habit of taking many breaks due to a broken rib. (Yes, he skies with a broken rib and I have to give him over 15 years…humbling). One sight that did warm my heart was our host gliding gracefully, seemingly effortlessly, down the piste, shadowed by his 7 year old grandson. He is a lucky man indeed especially as his daughter, who always came up the rear just in case one of the Old Gits hit a problem, made up the middle generation and is very close to her father. Real Italian life as we know it …..
We first of all skied over the Passe Salati and down into Orsia, just outside Gressoney. Then we climbed again to Colle Bettaforca, where the majestic Cervino, or we would know it as ‘the Matterhorn’, stood guard, sinisterly surrounded in a thin layer of swirling mist. This was when the wind hit us and my eyes watered so intently, despite the goggles, that I could hardly see and one of the contact lens ‘floated’ out; I never did find it. The sight of the Matterhorn made me take off my gloves to extract my camera, much to my host’s surprise who pleaded with me to put them back on quickly. However in those few seconds I realised the camera was still lying on my bed, so I had broken the cardinal sin of every budding photographer; never go out without your camera. Cursing at my forgetfulness, well I am an old git; I just managed to pull on my gloves before the frost bit had eaten into my fingers. Fortunately FOG had brought her mobile phone…which has a better quality lens and pixels than my camera!
Male Old Git (in foreground) attempting yet another blackThe skiing down to Frachey was so beautiful I was glad our host had the habit of taking many breaks due to a broken rib. (Yes, he skies with a broken rib and I have to give him over 15 years…humbling). One sight that did warm my heart was our host gliding gracefully, seemingly effortlessly, down the piste, shadowed by his 7 year old grandson. He is a lucky man indeed especially as his daughter, who always came up the rear just in case one of the Old Gits hit a problem, made up the middle generation and is very close to her father. Real Italian life as we know it …..
Our hosts accept the intrusion of an English photographer
We arrive at Champoluc, which is yet another pretty village snuggling into Monterosa’s side. After a well earned coffee we start the trek home, and although the original idea was to have lunch there, the winds were picking up and, as we had already experienced, the weather can change within minutes. Tiredness started to nag at the thighs but we skied on regardless hoping the wind would not stop our lift or it would be a three hour bus ride home! Finally descending towards Alagna we pulled into a mountain restaurant, known by our hosts…cold and hunger was now starting to take the edge off the scenery! We fell into the crowded room, but as our hosts knew them they basically helped the struggling staff and in a few minutes table was laid and Ilaria was organising drinks. As she came back towards the table with a laden tray she slipped on the tiled floor and glasses, carafes and bottles flew everywhere. Fortunately she was tough and it was her pride that had been dented, but not for long for the flooded floor saw many more nearly follow the same fate.
Glad to see Alagna again
Glad to see Alagna againOur host had enjoyed the day, that was evident, and we donned our ski wear for another tour of around 250 metres…to another bar; where I had a Grappa, with tiny strawberries. Grappa normally feels like drowning the remains of paint thinners left after you’ve cleaned the brushes, but this…well, we just had to have another! Weaving home on an icy piste stretched the skiing ability to maximum…but MOG made it with a smile on his face. Our hosts then treated us to a cold beer and after much ‘fiddling’ with mobile phones informed us we had skied over 40 kilometres that day…, there are some days you’ll never forget.
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