I am lying flat on my face in fresh, deep snow, gasping for breath wondering how I am ever going to stand up again. Every time try to manoeuvre my fifty-year-old lump of flesh, my hands sink deeper into the powdery snow. I look like a warped, humourless snow angel. Half buried, my skis won’t budge, and I writhe in an attempt to free them. Eventually I manage to roll onto one side and, with my body contorted, I use my poles to release the bindings and remove the skis. Thank goodness for all those hours of Pilates.
I can see Philippe and Marie in the distance, casually chatting as they patiently wait for the numpty in their ski group to get her act together. They are young, in their thirties I guess, with slim, toned bodies. They ski elegantly and effortlessly off piste, unlike me.
Our guide, Steph, is watching me with concern, probably regretting he agreed to take me on this trip. He’s a quietly confident Frenchman with a lovely smile, but for now he is tight lipped.
Free of my skis I can move my legs but every time I try to stand up I sink knee deep in the snow. I try kneeling on my skis and, with the increased surface area supporting me, I am finally able to stand up and clip one ski back on and then the other.
I am quivering like a jellyfish and I wonder what possessed me to sign up for this nonsense.
Relieved to finally see me back on two feet, Steph calls me over.
“Jana, ski further over to your right. The snow is better there. Try to follow the tracks I made in the powder rather than making new ones.”
The terrain is almost flat, and I have to pole to generate some momentum to reach Steph.
“Are you ok?” he asks.
“Yes” I say, though I am clearly not. “I caught an edge and fell. The snow under the powder is really crusty.”
“This snow is not easy to ski on. It’s spring snow, so you have this lovely powder on the surface but a hard-base underneath,” he explains.
My heart sinks. We have only been skiing ten minutes and I am not confident I have the will to get down this mountain. Tears are welling up and, for once, I don’t care if anyone notices.
I decided to ski the world-famous 20km Vallee Blanche off-piste ski run just two months ago as part of my fiftieth birthday year celebrations. Starting from the Aiguille du Midi at over 3800m and descending 2700m to the town of Chamonix, it’s not for the faint-hearted.
I spent hours scouring the net before signing up for the challenge. The consensus was that the skiing was not that difficult - if you were fairly experienced on-piste, it was no harder than a red run.
In hindsight, the articles I read were misleading. Many, if not all of them, were written by men who I believe may have been overly macho about their experiences. In reality, there is so much more to consider than on-piste skiing ability when contemplating the Vallee Blanche.
I want to share my story and, since I don’t need to prove myself, I will be perfectly honest.
How will you manage at high altitude?
It’s 0800 on a Thursday morning. I am scouring the entrance to the Aiguille du Midi cable car station for my guide when a pretty young girl approaches me.
“Are you going the Vallee Blanche?” she says introducing herself as Marie.
Her eyes are blank and her face pale. I can see she’s afraid, but surely not as much as I am.
I nod and ask her where the toilet is. It’s my third visit this morning.
When I return an attractive man is standing next to Marie with his arm around her. She introduces him as Phillipe, her husband.
Steph, our guide, arrives and we take the first cable car of the day up to the Aiguille du Midi.
Starting from the valley floor in Chamonix at 1035m, the Aiguille du Midi cable car holds the world record for the highest vertical climb. The journey takes twenty minutes and is divided into two stages with a quick change of cable car at 2317 metres at the Plan de Aiguille.
When I step out of the cable car at 3842 metres the altitude hits me like a hard slap on the face. The difference in oxygen content is palpable. Much as I try to breathe normally my lungs gaps for air and my heart is beating faster to compensate. I feel lightheaded and slightly nauseous.
Our bodies are not designed to withstand high altitudes. Most of us live at or close to sea level which is where the concentration of oxygen is 20.9% and the body performs best. Atmospheric pressure decreases with altitude and less oxygen becomes available. Unless we frequently spend time in the mountains and become acclimatised to changes in altitude, our bodies struggle to cope with a sudden, quick ascent to a higher altitude.
Mild altitude sickness is called acute mountain sickness or AMS. 10% of humans experience it at 2500 metres. Symptoms include dizziness, nausea, fatigue and shortness of breath. The higher we go the greater the risks. Mountain medicine considers heights over 3500m, the zone we are skiing in, very high altitude. At this height 50% of people experience symptoms of AMS. Although the onset of symptoms is typically a few hours after being at high altitude, some people experience mild symptoms sooner - I think I may be one of them.
There is no time to worry about it though. Steph tells us to put on our safety harnesses and crampons, strap our skis onto our rucksacks and we head outside to the notorious Ice Steps.
How is your head for heights?
And there it is, the infamous ridge that every skier or climber must descend to enter the Vallee Blanche. The ridge is narrow, steep and the exposure on both sides is extreme. The locals have been kind enough to install rope barriers on either side, but it does little to stop me imagining the worst. I dare to look over the edge and for a moment I see myself tumbling down this 3000-metre cliff like Scrat in Ice Age, landing with a big splat in Chamonix high street. Imagine how that would upset the tourists leaving the souvenir shops with their tacky mugs.
Steph ropes the four of us together for safety, a common climbing technique, and we commence the walk down.
Despite the fact we are going downhill, I am completely out of breath - I suspect this is a combination of the effects of altitude and fear.
“Breathe deeply,” coaxes Steph following closely behind me.
Philippe is obviously keen to start skiing as he’s moving fast, and I can’t keep up. It’s the first time I have walked on crampons and it’s not difficult but, with the steepness of the ridge, my toes are compressed at the end of my ski boots and they are sore.
With a little teamwork and a couple of rests we make it to the start of the ski run. The views from here are outstanding. The weather forecast this morning was borderline, which likely deterred some groups, so we are practically alone in this vast, pristine glaciated valley, encircled by the highest mountains in Europe.
As we put on our skis and prepare to depart, we take the compulsory photos. I am a photographer and, some would say foolishly, I have taken my bulky Canon 5D with me. Philippe and Marie pose like movie stars for me. They have flown all the way from Canada to do the Vallee Blanche. The happy scene reminds me of the movie Vertical Limit about a climbing trip that goes sourly wrong. Is this the calm before the storm? I hope not. For now, I am feeling confident, even elated. There is wonderful serenity about the mountains at this altitude, far from the tourists in Chamonix. I feel truly blessed to be here.
Are you as fit as you think you are?
The first section of skiing is exhilarating. Any skier will agree that making your own fresh tracks through powder is heaven. For the first ten minutes I enjoy myself so much I forget how hard it is to breathe at 3800m.
Then I start to notice my legs feel tired. The terrain is fairly flat, and few turns are required. Unlike skiing on-piste, where you would alternate relaxed downhill skiing with long rests on chairlifts, instead I am having to squat and pole continuously for long distances. We do a lot of squats in Pilates but the repetitions are nothing compared to this. What’s more, I am finding it much harder to manoeuvre in the powder than on groomed snow.
Ten minutes in and I am out of breath, with my toes compressed and numb at the end of my boots and my legs severely aching, and there is another four hours to go. I need a rest but Steph says there is no time. His frustration with me is starting to show.
“You can’t keep stopping Jana. I trusted you to do this. We have a very small window to ski down before the weather turns and we need to keep going. Come on, let’s go.”
As we continue, I wonder what this is doing to my health. At 86 kilos I am an overweight fifty-year-old who is obviously not fit enough to do this challenging run. A glance at my Garmin and I see my heart rate is 177 bpm. Given my resting heart rate is 55, this is a huge jump. Maximum heart rate should, as a general rule, be 220 minus our age. It’s normal for the heart rate to increase with altitude, particularly if exercising, as the heart has to work harder with less available oxygen, but mine is well over and this cannot be good for me.
The night before we’d been chatting about fitness at altitude and the doctor staying in our chalet had explained the need to be fit before heading up any mountain, let alone one that’s almost 4000 metres high.
I remember the first time I skiied with the school when I was 14, and the enforced ski fit classes, particularly the gruelling 4-minute squats leaning against a wall. Yet, as an adult, it’s easy to become blasé about ski fitness.
We’re advised to start training at least six weeks before the trip and incorporate cardio and strength training. A combination of power walking with squats, lunges and planks works well for me, but before this trip I’d experienced a bout of plantar fasciitis and had been unable to do the walking. As a result, I was clearly not aerobically fit enough to do the Vallee Blanche. Add to this the fact I am carrying equivalent of 14 bags of sugar in excess weight, and it’s no surprise I am struggling.
How much off-piste skiing experience do you have?
“Ok guys, we are arriving at the tricky part,” say Steph.” The terrain is steeper and it may be icy.”
By now we have finished navigating the crusty power at the top of the valley. I’ve fallen over more than once, my feet are killing me, my legs are tired and I am finding it hard to maintain my technique and style. Despite having skied regularly for 35 years, I feel like a newbie.
The Ski Club of Great Britain has graded me Advanced “purple” on-piste, which means I can ski all day down any slope, including steep blacks, in varying conditions. There are separate grades for off-piste and mine is Aspiring “Red.”
The truth is, before taking on the Vallee Blanche I had only skied a few hours off-piste. I completed a four hour off-piste clinic with Steph earlier in the week, but my experience was limited. Yet I still thought I could go from a beautifully groomed slope onto crusty, lumpy snow and ski to the same standard.
Off-piste is defined as skiing on ungroomed and unmarked terrains outside the confines of a ski resort. It is more technically challenging and more physically demanding than skiing on-piste. Posture is more important, keeping the weight firmly forward, as even a slight imbalance can cause a fall. Turns are gentler and longer rather than the abrupt short turns used on-piste. Being able to adapt quickly to changing terrain and snow conditions is also important.
The steeper terrain Steph mentioned is now before us. It’s a narrow funnel with some moguls on it but, being the only way down, it’s well travelled. In fact, it looks no different to a bumpy red run on-piste. I am used to skiing runs like this and for the first time all day I am able to keep up with the others.
“Looking good Jana.” Says Steph when we stop for a rest. For the first time all morning, he is smiling and I notice deep laughter lines around his eyes. I imagine he’s a beer drinker and enjoys his après-ski. It much be a relief for him to see me keeping up with the group. His assesment about my ability to do this trip has proved to be correct after all.
With renewed confidence I am ready to meet the next challenge.
Are you mentally tough enough?
“Now we will be skiing through the seracs,” says Steph. “You must keep going or it is very dangerous.”
As we ski down, I catch my first glimpse of them, giant pinnacles of ice cascading down the glacier. I feel like I have crawled inside the television and entered a scene in a David Attenborough documentary. They are pale blue and exquisitely beautiful. I can’t leave without taking some photos. I take my camera out of rucksack and lean into the mountain, making a cosy, hollow in the snow. Catching my breath I snap away, feeling relaxed and at peace for the first time today, not quite believing what I am seeing through the lens.
Then I hear Steph shouting from further down the slope.
“Jana don’t stop there. It’s very dangerous. The seracs can fall and kill you.”
After the seracs come the notorious ice crevasses.
“In this next section you must follow my tracks exactly,” Steph says. “It’s narrow and there are crevasses on either side that you can fall down.”
Oh great, no pressure then.
Seracs and ice crevasses are not the only dangers associated with off-piste skiing in a high-altitude glacier such as the Vallee Blanche. There is the ever-present risk of being caught in an avalanche. Facing these very real dangers and accepting the consequences if something was to go wrong requires a mental toughness. Unlike skiing in a resort where a rescue team is ready and waiting to come to your aid, and normally arrives within minutes, off-piste you are on your own.
Skiing the Vallee Blanche with a guide is the best way to mitigate risk although not everyone heeds this advice. Yesterday I met an American who was contemplating doing the Valle Blanche with a friend that she said was a good skier. I told her she was crazy to do the run without a guide. Being a good skier is not going to stop you skiing into a crevasse or being crushed by a giant serac. The recommendation is to always go with a guide who knows the mountain and its dangers intimately.
With our trusty guide, Steph, we pass through the ice crevasses seamlessly and arrive in a wide valley surrounded by a stunning amphitheatre of mountains — the Mer de Glace or Sea of Ice. The valley is almost completely flat, so we try to gain some momentum on the way down to keep up our speed up and avoid stopping. This is of course no problem for the others, but I am back into the agonising squatting zone and I can’t maintain the position for long, so I stop for a break. Big mistake. When I start again, I have a long stretch of punishing poling ahead of me.
When I finally catch up, the others are having lunch, laughing and chatting on some exposed rocks in the middle of the valley. The weather has been kind to us, and the sun is baking so we strip down to t-shirts and sunbathe. Steph tells us we are now at 2500m. The difference in altitude is obvious. It’s similar to most ski resorts and I chill out and enjoy the scenery.
A flock of yellow beaked Alpine crows appear as if magicked out of thin air. They surround us coveting our sandwiches squawking, no doubt wondering what we are doing in this remote valley.
Every now and now we hear an eerie crackling sound which Steph tells us are rocks falling as the snow melts. It is April after all.
I want to ask how much further we have to go but fear I won’t like the answer. Steph seems to read my mind.
“The worst is over. Do you see the valley narrows over there where the clouds start? That’s where we are heading, then we only have a few hundred metres to go.”
I try to hide my relief as my heart sings, but in the Valle Blanche nothing is ever quite what it seems.
You may be fit but are you fit enough?
We have skied the remaining few hundred metres from snow to slush and then to rocks, creating an enforced end to our skiing.
What Steph had failed to mention was what happens afterwards and now he is now pointing at a rather large mountain.
“You see that mountain, we have to climb it to get out of the valley.”
The mountain is huge. Is he serious? There was no mention of climbing. I thought we were skiing. We are still wearing our safety harnesses and now I understand why. The problem is I have zero climbing experience. How am I ever going to scale that peak?
“The steps start over that ridge” Steph clarifies. “I will carry your skis for you Jana.”
Did he say steps? Thank goodness for that, and he’s going to be a gentleman and carry my skis. What a star.
It seems strange to me that there could be steps out of this solitary valley. It would be quite an engineering feat to build steps the height of a mountain, and costly too, not a good return on investment to satisfy a few adrenalin-fuelled off-piste skiers. Then I stumble across a pair of Japanese tourists with selfie sticks walking down the steps and realise it’s a tourist attraction. The steps lead down to the glacier we just skied, the 7km Mer de Glace, and there are a shocking 430 of them.
As I start the clamber up in my ski boots at an altitude of almost 2000 metres, I am convinced I am going to have a heart attack. For the duration of the torturous half hour climb my heart rate is consistently at 165 bpm and I can’t seem to get it down despite regular rests every 10 steps. Even when I am cycling my heart rate rarely goes above 150 bpm. This can’t be normal.
“Courage Jana,” shouts Steph from the top, having already arrived carrying not one but two pairs of skis. Show off.
I start counting the steps, a trick I learnt when hiking up mountains, as it focuses the mind and distracts you from the physical pain.
When I take the final step and reach the train station that will take us back to Chamonix, I have never felt so spent, but the relief is profound. I am smiling. I have done it.
Marie and Phillipe are there waiting.
“How are you feeling Jana”, Phillipe asks.
“Better now, how about you? How did you find the steps?”.
“Really hard” replies Marie, “it’s definitely the toughest part.”
This makes me feel infinitely better. Even this young, fit couple struggled with the steps.
As the Montenvers rack and pinion railway snakes down the mountain through some of the most impressive scenery in Europe, if not the world, I am glad I decided to do the Valle Blanche as part of my 50th birthday year celebrations. This is a huge achievement by any standards.
Yet the moment is tinged with the knowledge that all may not have ended well because I simply wasn’t prepared for it. I had researched doing the Vallee Blanche online and had been influenced by the bravado of others who were likely fitter and younger than me. They had made it sound easy and I should have considered more carefully how I would cope personally. I had assumed my skiing experience and moderate level of fitness would be enough, but it wasn’t. I now know that skiing the Vallee Blanche is not a decision to be taken lightly. This is challenge that requires physical and mental preparation, so I have decided to do it again in two years. Next time I’ll be fully prepared.