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‘Unable to ski, we discreetly followed classes run for five-year-olds on the nursery slopes’

Far from being tales of derring-do, your accounts of time spent on the slopes were self-effacing and charming in equal measure

METTLE COUNT Liz Kolbeck, Manchester Pearl Phillips, Surrey

When I was a teenager, my parents took me skiing in Arosa, Switzerland. Sport was anathema, so I struggled with ski school but persevered and passed my bronze medal test.

Returning the next year, my parents suggested over breakfast that I try for the silver medal. I appeared reluctant until a middle-aged man sitting with his wife lent across and said he would be happy to take the test with me. We both passed with flying colours. It was only later that he owned up to having been an Olympic skier in his youth.

Years later, I persuaded my fiancé that Arosa would be the perfect honeymoon choice. I still treasure the medals – and the memories.

Louise Boxhall, Devon

SNOW PATROL

After the long flight from Heathrow to Seattle, we flew to Kelowna in British Columbia, Canada, then took a bus up the mountain to Big White Ski Resort. Next morning, as we skiied down the snow-laden slopes, there were scarcely any other skiers. It was so peaceful.

As we rode the next chairlift, a cougar slunk beneath us, padding across fresh snow. Later we hired snowshoes and trekked through the forest, observing animal tracks as branches cracked all around us. We hoped the bears were still hibernating.

After a tiring day, we headed to the bar for some après-ski music and a game of bingo. We all needed a rest after such an action-packed holiday. Joanna Pryce, Cornwall

LOOK OF LOVE

It was my first ski holiday, in Austria, and I had spent the day grappling with boots, bindings and other equipment. The thought of the evening après-ski grew ever more inviting.

In the packed bar, a cacophony of languages filled the air. Some people were still in ski wear, others in casual clothes. Suddenly, across the room I saw him – a guy in a three-piece suit. Cool Runnings or what? He saw me, too. I don’t remember if there was a drumroll, a fanfare of trumpets or soft romantic music, but suffice it to say we have recently celebrated our 40th wedding anniversary. I now know that the three-piece suit he wore was simply down to his bad dress sense. Sue Newth-Gibbs, Essex

THE WEEK

Newly arrived in Germany and living on a shoestring, I was told by

the new boss that my year’s holiday allocation included the following week. No pressure. After a swift visit to a travel agent, we were off on a cheap winter-sun break – to Saas-Fee,

in Switzerland.

With no prior experience of the slopes, we had

borrowed skis and clothing but on arrival

found that the piste expenses just went on and on… ski passes, lunches, lessons, all unaffordable.

Fortunately, I had also borrowed the book Teach

Yourself Skiing, which I tucked into my salopettes. Discreetly, we also began to follow the classes run for five-year-olds on the

nursery slopes.

After seven days, we could manage one-inch jumps and perform the occasional parallel stop

without falling over. Forty-three years later, we

still haven’t paid for lessons but can powderski and have tackled the Streif and La Chavanette, among other black runs. It was a good book and a memorable start to

a life-long hobby. Graham Evans, from Cambridgeshire, wins a £250 Experience Travel

Group voucher

LOST AND FOUND

When my daughters were young we would take the last bubble lift of the day up to La Saulire restaurant in Courchevel. Mugs of hot chocolate in hand, we would wait for the last skiers to leave and then have the mountain to ourselves, whooping all the way down. But one day… oh no! There were only three pairs of skis outside – and none of them were mine. With the help of a kind lift mechanic, we adjusted a pair to fit my boots. Later, we contacted the hire shop and found they belonged to a Norwegian man in Méribel. We returned the skis late that night, having driven through heavy snow.

We had hoped for some glühwein for our efforts, but all he said was: “This is a good story to tell my friends!”

Gerry Marling-Roberts, Hampshire

COMING OF AGE

I have had so many great ski moments, it is hard to choose a favourite. The Matterhorn, rosy sunrise, glowing bright. The lights of Whistler, spread out below a forest clad in marshmallow snow. Goats above Val D’Isère, raising curious faces to the sky. In Norway, silent fire flickering in the heavens.

Memories from the Swiss resort of Flims dominate: sunshine on the glacier illuminating a butterfly making its first, doomed, flight; a toddler timidly balanced on his father’s shoulders, then taking a triumphant trip down the baby slope; fighting our way up the precipice with friends in a piste-caterpillar during a snow storm, and nearly losing our grip. Best of all, watching our four teenage boys carve their way down the final slope at the end of the holiday, silent graceful diamonds in their wake; confident, aware, part of the mountain.

A TRUE CONVERT

For someone like me who feels the cold and dislikes winter days, Austria might seem a strange choice of holiday destination. Undaunted, I bought snow boots, salopettes and a snow jacket and was amazed that, despite all the snow, everything in my chosen resort – Soll, in the Tyrol – ran like clockwork.

I tried downhill skiing and langlauf (the cross country version) for the first time, and rode the ski lift to the top of a mountain where I caught the sun. I took trips to see the filming location for The Sound of Music in Salzburg, crossed the Brenner Pass to visit Vipiteno (once in Austria but now in Italy) and was shown the ski jump in Innsbruck where, from the very top, competitors have a view of the graveyard below. I tried snuff, Sachertorte and fondue and took a sledge ride, too – pretty photographs, happy memories.

YOUR SAY

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2022-11-26T08:00:00.0000000Z

2022-11-26T08:00:00.0000000Z

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Daily Telegraph