Snow Shoeing

Snow shoes or La Raquettes in French, are a must for snowy mountain terrain. They work by distributing my weight over a larger surface area allowing me to walk and not fall waist deep in snow.

You may be wondering what all the raquette is about but actually these unfashionably practical additions to my feet made the difference between being able to hike in the mountains and not. You can see from the video, soles who have gone before left rather deep impressions in the snow and on my belief in these clunky appendages.

I’m an avid hiker in the UK, although I never write about the experiences. Some pursuits of mine are just that- experiences. Solitary pisses in the bracken, romps never to be documented, no photos taken, no stats recorded, it’s natures word against mine.

Deciding to traverse The Alps on foot was probably the same reason I’m only ordering Croque Monsieurs – because it’s the only thing I know! I know how to hike and I know how to order a cheese and ham toastie in French.

I’ve given myself a hard time because I’m hiking in an area where everyone is skiing. As I trudge through the snow they whoosh past, as they ascend via ski lift I put one foot in front of the other. Slowly over the course of 5 days however I come to realise the benefits of being able to walk this terrain.

I’m staying at the UCPA hostel in Chamonix, France. I’ve paid £847 for a week of snow shoeing, full board, equipment hire, ski lift pass and shared accommodation in a 4 bed same sex dormitory. The hostel is crammed with an international mix of Chinese, French and me! Everyone is there to either learn to ski or snowboard but the vibe is youthful and I make friends with the barman pretty quickly.

Needless to say the snow shoe crew are a small group, four in total including our guide, Didier. You can imagine the amount of small talk being banded about as we try to get to know each other. However this is where my limited French is serving me well and I get to hike in relative silence. Jai detest petite talk.

My favourite hike took us up 750m over the course of 5 hours to a mountain refuge some 2100m above sea level where we spent the night.

Hiking with a guide is novel and allows me to completely zone out at times. As I don’t have to keep myself on course and with the rhythmic monotony of my trudge, trudge, trudge, I go into a trance like state as my mind looks for things to latch onto. It’s been a while since I’ve had sex and I think nature is flirting with me.

The landscape is splendid but at the same time devoid of life, no bird song or even any wind at times. Nothing grows on the peaks, it’s sheer rock is dressed only in white veins of snow.

The snow feels like cotton wool and down hill is fun. The snow absorbs the shock so you can run down the mountains knowing when you fall on your face it’s nothing but a refreshing lick from the Alps.

During my hikes my breath becomes my mantra and allows me to dip into a meditation that pass the hours. After tiring of the small talk and in my attempt to not let the hikes be an insular experience, I occupy my thoughts by trying to identify tree species.

I realise I know nothing about trees and it quickly just becomes a word association game. Fur, Spruce and Sheila, Larch, dendrochronology, deciduous, and I convince myself Evergreen is a tree a species. I manage to kill twenty minutes and then go back to meditation, ooh wait a spider!

Nothing beats adulterating virgin snow, so when my guide lets me lead I embrace the trudge, my heart full I’m really seeing the charm of choosing this over other winter sports.

The week ends with yoga and a trip to a nearby spa. Zen doesn’t speak French so we get to know each other real well.

Im exhausted but relaxed and ready to move onto my next week of winter.