The second annual Arc’Teryx Academy took place in St Anton am Arlberg on the 2nd to the 5th of February, and I was a very willing participant as the Arc’Teryx community here in St Anton has become an integral part of my life (all year round) propelling me to try new things and build a better and healthier me.
“Hello, I’m Harry, the Bergführer” said the man standing at my kitchen door as I lamented over my burnt banana bread. He had a calm demeanour, with gentle eyes which gave an impression that he had seen a lot but was phased by little.
“Why hello Harry the Bergführer! Welcome”. And so, the much anticipated Arc’teryx Freeride Academy weekend had begun.
Sure, the weekend held the promise of a variety of clinics, products to try, and giveaways, but strongly underlying Arc’Teryx is the theme of community, and they provide the platform to push your personal limits whilst in the proximity of like minded people (while of course looking classy in their gear).
Last year I enrolled in the “Ladies Freeride Day” in the academy, with the intention of making my first foray in to the tantalising world of off-piste, but things were still awry from Covid, the snow conditions were questionable, and when the day presented itself with flat light, I was forced to make a measured retreat and hold out for a year.
“Harry the Bergführer” and I sat in the kitchen to have a coffee, and it took him a good ten minutes to work out that I could not speak German properly, which flattered me as it normally takes one sentence before someone switches to English. Throughout our festival of Ginglish (a hybrid of German and English), we got to know each other a little, he had a look at the programme, and let me know that I would be doing my “Ski Touring For Beginners” the next day with Alex, with whom he would be sharing a room.
“Harry the Bergführer” and Alex’s moustache
The next morning, I woke up at 0700 in my sub-human pre-coffee state, and opened my bedroom door to head down to breakfast and alleviate the coffee situation, when I almost had a collision at the bottom of the stairs with a man I could only assume was Alex. I was immediately perplexed trying to guess this spritely individual’s age. Was he a younger man who had partied too much, or an older one with a bit of the “Peter Pan” syndrome going on? To be fair, the whispers of what I think was an attempted moustache did have a big part to play in the ambiguity of his vintage.
As we arrived in the kitchen, “Harry The Bergführer” introduced me as the “Chefin”(“boss lady” around these parts) and I articulated that this was only the case at breakfast and launched into a nervous ramble about how I was a bit special, particularly when it came to ski touring as I could not work out the bindings.
After breakfast, I took the bus and was still filled with the stomach churning that I had woken up with, a feeling I get every time I challenge myself in a new way, but it is never something that a few 80’s anthems on my EarPods can’t fix. I am not “Simply the Best” but Tina Turner makes me feel like I am.
St. Anton had a crackle about it, possibly because of the fresh powder that had been forecast a few weeks before. To an extent, the “dump of the season” had been anticlimactic, but there was enough for it to constitute powder days and have weekenders swarming to the slopes. In the epicentre of all of the weekend chaos was the Academy Village, a series of well organised tents with clear directions. Obviously the first priority was to register, and I then headed to the meeting point where Alex was standing with two very lovely ladies. Coco, who was our French Arc’teryx pro, and Lisa, a journalist from “The Pill” magazine. Both were wide eyed, gorgeous, open, and friendly, making me feel at ease.
I went off to change my boots at my locker, and the area was filled with the urgency of people wanting to get on the slope. As I sidled through, there were two people in a frenzy yelling at the staff who were renting them their equipment, and I thought to myself how lucky I was to be getting away from all of that today. After my boots, I went back to the meeting point where we resumed our relaxed banter. Alex said that we were still waiting for three more people, and as if on queue a lovely German lady (who was raised in the UK) joined us, and I was feeling that it was going to be a wonderful day. We waited another 5-10 minutes before Alex decided that the other two were not coming, so we picked up our touring skis ready to start our adventure. But the last two did rock up in a fluster, and it was none other than the ones that had been yelling at the staff in the ski hire. They immediately started complaining rather than apologising for being 20 minutes late.
Coco and Lisa managed to placate them, and it was relaxed enough as we headed to Galzig Bahn. The queue was nothing like I had seen in my 12 years of living here, and I suggested that we just get the bus (or a taxi) straight to Verwall where the tour was taking place and skip the practice run. This suggestion was met with agreement by all (almost) but it set the wild cards off again as they had purchased a day ticket, and insisted on going and waiting in the long line for a refund. It was 1030 by the time we finally arrived at Wagner Hutte in Verwall where the tour was to begin. After a check of everyone’s bindings (as all are different) and our skins were on –“skinning up” now has a whole new meaning for me – we set off gently along the road.
Touring requires a certain rhythm and a foreign skill set. Reverberating through my head were the tips I had received on the few previous occasions when I had toured up pistes, the main one being, “pretend that you are a ballerina drawing lines in the sand with your toes” and the other being “stay upright and use the legs.” As there was no incline, I found myself sampling the movements and getting into the aforementioned rhythm. We then stopped briefly in a clearing for some avalanche safety training before we started our ascent.
As we made fresh tracks, the sun was peeking through the trees like first sunlight through the curtains in the morning, and I felt moments of calmness : it was a poetic contrast to the crowds in St. Anton, and we only stopped occasionally to either slurp some water or tea, remove a layer, or take photos. Some were merrily chatting, but I was just happy to be away from the house, the crowds and my responsibilities for a few hours.
Once we had moved up through the forest, the majestic Patteriol (3056m) came into view. For some reason this mountain reminds me of Lisa Simpson’s hair, and I almost avoided verbalising this as the mercurial mountains around me in both the Verwall Gruppe and Lechtaler group garner such a level of respect that, after exploring in summer, I am now more inclined to address them formally and tip my hat.
As we headed up “Wild Ebene”, the terrain got steep enough that scissor turns –– official name “kick turns!”–– were required and the weather concurrently moved in. The snow was no longer twinkling but morphing into an ominous flat grey. My legs were starting to burn, and the rhythm I had established became more of a trudge with my skis leaving the ground a little too often and I felt more like an awkward giraffe than a ballerina. The lady in our “wildcard pair” started to get somewhat stressed, and at one point became completely overwhelmed by those kicking scissor things. She could not get her ski around with confidence, and lay floundering in the snow whilst having a conniption for what seemed like five minutes. I asked if I could help and she grunted, yelled, and may as well have put her hand dramatically to her brow and said, “Leave me and save the others”. Coco and Lisa gently talked to her, as the four of us were behind the others, and we resumed. Alex was understanding and waited patiently up the top.
We then had a break, and I imagine on a clear day, this would be the moment of exhilaration, achievement and a chance to absorb the surroundings. After changing our boots and bindings to “ski” mode, Alex asked Coco to lead the way down, and she did so with the most elegant turns. As the slope was exposed, the cold weather had taken an immediate effect on the quality of the snow rendering it crusty and heavy. They say that when you ski tour, you “earn your turns”, but I feel that I had been overcharged for these ones as the 5km tour relegated me to a snowplough on the descent. There was also a slight snow shortage when we came back through the forest meaning I had a run in with a few rocks.
We eventually arrived back at Wagner Hütte, where I wolfed down some Knödels (Austrian dumplings) and a coffee before the bus back to St. Anton, which of course our wild cards almost missed from faffing.
Following some downtime, I got ready for the “Arc’Teryx Film Tour”. Even though I was weary, I was determined to make the most of the social aspect of the weekend also. The Arlbergsaal was full of eager people in beanies ready to see 5-7 short films, and each one delivered. The films had a common thread of pushing personal limits in wild adventures of soul searching. The last one struck a chord as it questioned the source of creativity, and this is a question I have often pondered. For me, creativity can be found in the most obscure and surprising places, but I am yet to discover a finite recipe, nor am I sure I ever will, but one base ingredient is a dance outside one’s comfort zone . I transitioned into my slumber that evening with these thoughts in my mind.
The next day I was due to partake in the “Atomic” clinic, where you try the equipment starting with piste skis and eventually moving onto “fat skis' ' for powder. I came down to breakfast where “Harry the Bergführer '' was donning glasses and studiously eating his breakfast. I went to the balcony and saw that it had been raining, prompting me to almost lose my nerve about powder skiing. Inching dangerously close to pulling out of my clinic, a plethora of well worn excuses came trippingly out of my mouth, starting with how the flat light caused stress on the screws in my ankle, but “Harry the Bergführer” was having none of it, and he patiently waited for the bullsheisse to finish tumbling out. Then, possibly for my benefit, he opened the balcony door, got down on his hands and knees and did a snow analysis. I would not have been surprised if he had pulled out a stethoscope, provided a diagnosis, and a prescription of “harden up” tablets. He did deduce that it had, indeed, been raining and that I should indeed, logically go out.
The procedure was the same as the morning before, checking in and then heading to the group at the Atomic Tent. Two lovely brothers were sorting the skis, and as I was partaking in the official clinic, I was given priority for skis. The initial idea was that we start with piste skis and then slowly transition step by step to fat skis. However, given the snow conditions and the fact that we had a pro Arc’Teryx skier with us, Matthew, our genuinely enthusiastic guide made an executive decision to go straight to the core of the day with fat skis.
Mathew,’s smile rarely left his face
With our Arc’Teryx athlete, Craig
We started with a run underneath the Galzigbahn, then we went up again and turned left coming down Maienwasen. I was slowly starting to get the feel of the skis, which were a confronting contrast to the heavy racing skis designed for piste skiing that I normally wore: these were more malleable, and my confidence steadily increased. We then did another run down to the right, and after we had come down to the lifts again we saw three helicopters flying up to the mountains, including a police helicopter that had all the skiers (not just in our group) speculating. Again I was reminded of the seriousness of the adventure I was partaking in.
Off piste skiing has a very different feeling to it than “poodling” around on piste. There seems to be a network of communication akin to Formula One racing where information on conditions and incidents is constantly coming in via teammates and the pit crew. By the end of the next gondola up Nasserein, it had been determined that there had been an avalanche in the gully, and the details were starting to come through.
My “fat skis”
On days like this there was no stopping for lunch. Matt’s full-tilt attitude had not dissipated, so we stopped briefly –more like a fat ski drive by– for a panini at Hex cafe, and anyone who wanted to try different skis could, then it was straight up Rendl. I had never ventured to the off-piste area of Rendl before, but during this run, the sun was lowering behind the mountain, and we were getting the very last of its light. It was here that I had my moment, or the moment that I had only heard about. My confidence and rhythm came together and I felt like I was floating. Even though it was brief, the exhilaration and the taste of the “soul crack” will forever be etched in my mind.
After the open magical slope, we once again came down through the trees and again the snow conditions were scratchy, but, having grown up in Australia, this was a medium I was confident with.
When we got to the bottom of Rendl, I was starting to feel lethargic, and was mentally toeing the lines of my limits. Was it a sensible time to call it a day, or should I push through one more run? We then took the chairlift up again, and on the way, one of our group received some devastating news regarding a friend in an avalanche. in a different Austrian ski resort. This made everything a little too real for me, I was rattled and excused myself: I had pushed it hard enough, and was calling it a day.
I went back to the Arc’Teryx village, where people were sipping on delicious warm beverages, and then went home to reflect on the weekend. Would I do it again? I can say yes, without flinching. What’s next? Hopefully a ski tour to a summit that I have done in the summertime with an overnight stay in a hut.
Do I know what the source of creativity is? Still no, but I am willing to spend my life trying to find out.