The Wrong Gloves

So yesterday was a day of two halves and notwithstanding S had identified this well ahead of time we still set off too early.  It’s a ‘we’re only here for a week’ and ‘do you have any idea of the price of a lift pass’ thing.  I did a tiny kit tweak from the last two days.  S did another.  Neither were to my advantage.

We had a plan.  Up the drag lift, ski over and down to a chair lift and up.  The conditions appeared to have the French behaving like the British - who knew it is actually down to  the weather!  Instead of pushing their way through the queue, poles, skis and elbows flying they just stood at the entrance and exit getting in the way and looking confused.  It was like trying to get on and off an escalator in any English shop/shopping  centre with the added disadvantage of two lengthy bits of wood strapped to your feet and slippy white stuff under them.  

Having almost reached the front of the queue, a French guy (or, at least, a guy who spoke French) spreadeagled himself across the route within a couple of metres.  The operator got him to the side and the girl in front of me managed to get away.  The French guy tried again.  I wasn’t really fancying his chances, his ski trousers appeared to be half way down his bottom.  I am in no position to dictate fashion but when it comes to skiing and ski lifts I view it best to be fully secured within one’s clothing.  He took the button and was on the floor within about couple of metres once again.  We gave him a third chance.  I’m English, I can queue patiently - seemingly at any rate.  He failed.  I got away whilst he was rearranging the waistband of his trousers from his thighs to his torso.  

I survived a couple of diversions on route - one body spreadeagled across my path and one upright individual looking round for their friends in the middle of my defined path at an intersection.  On arrival at the release zone I was greeted by a crowd immediately in my way.  Such was its magnitude I can only assume that someone had announced they were selling concert tickets for The Rolling Stones, Oasis, Take That or some such.

Having managed to avoid serious incident  I settled toward the side to wait and see if S ever made it.  Eventually he did.  I will spare the comments but suffice to say they echo the above.  

By this point my hands are in their own little sauna. It clearly was not as cold as I thought and my mittens of the last couple of days would have done.

The low light meant getting any definition on the snow was tricky and usually I am rather better in low light than S.  Not this time.  There had been no grooming overnight and the runs were chopped up from the day before with added snowfall. I had my carvers.  S had switched his longer all mountain skis for the shorter pair we had with us.  He was gliding over every lump and bump.  I was not!   Definitely should’ve thought of that one instead of faffing with mittens. 

The light improved later and with it my skiing but it was a confidence sapping day.  

Today, in contrast, was a confidence building back up day.  I had the right mittens, though S was still sticking with the shorter all mountain skis (why wouldn’t he?). We spent most of it on Vallee Blanche/Pied Moutet which is mostly blue runs though such were the conditions of yesterday that we started on the green.  We toyed with a red but decided it just was not necessary to our happiness today.  Beginner and the lower echelons of the broad church that is intermediate together with an omelette for a late lunch was.