The night before these expeditions is always exciting and slightly nerve wracking, a bit like Christmas Eve, when you leave mince pies and carrots out for Father Christmas and his reindeers.
Except for we (Eliott) neatly packs ice axes, crampons, harnesses and helmets in our backpacks and I make the all-important sandwiches.
We started off at the crack of dawn driving to the little village of Ovronnaz in order to catch the ski lift up to the top of the resort. All this to shave off some of the (in my opinion) more tedious skinning.
Skinning is basically skiing the wrong way round, walking up with velcro-like strips on the bottom of you skis so you can huff and puff up the mountain rather than whoop and holler down it.
Unfortunately, it sometimes has to be done in order to find some whoop-and-holler worthy snow to ski down on the other side of the hill.
Anyway, the way up was relativement sans drama apart from the last 100 metres which where practically vertical and covered in ice. Eliott strapped me up into the harness and tied all sorts of knots I was never going to be able to undo and casually said, as he often does, ici il faut pas tomber. Meaning “Daisy, this is a no fall zone so concentrate and don’t make any mistakes”. I find these instructions tend to do the exact opposite of what they intend. When has anyone ever calmed down on command?
However, by now I’ve heard this phrase quite often and the yogic breathing techniques I’ve practiced over the years actually come in very handy! That and channelling my inner Violeta (our donkey).
I always imagine her dainty little hooves, gracefully walking on a tight rope without making a sound. I think, if she can do it, so can I!
Eventually we summit and, I have to say, the view is always worth it. The view and the sandwiches. Because that’s what I look forward to the most.
