Scale a frozen waterfall this winter. Ski off the side of the mountain into thin air. Buzz over moguls like a pro on nippy snow blades. The mountains offer so many exciting things that it seems a waste to spend every single day skiing. You probably wouldn't make a whole holiday out of any of these activities, but taking half a day to try something different could end up being the highlight of your week.
Ice climbing
A frozen waterfall is a formidable sight: a suspended curtain of frozen water hanging hundreds of feet down the mountainside. If you peer through the deep cracks in the ice, you can see the water still running. Scaling the huge, slippery vertical wall is a totally different way of experiencing the mountain.
Fitted with unwieldy climbing boots, vicious-looking crampons, harness, crash helmet and ice axes, I drove with my guide, Jean-Phillipe, to a little valley free of pistes and crowds a few miles from Val d'Isère. We struggled along it (or I did - JP skipped like a mountain goat) until we reached the shining wall of ice I was to climb. The water freezes in rough bumps, so that some parts of the "ice fall" give you a favourable lean into the mountain and you feel like you've got it under control; others curve out, forcing you to climb what looks like a gentle overhang but leaves you clinging on.
With ice axes in each hand and crampons on each foot, I was fully spiked up. Once JP had attached me to a safety line and shown me how it is meant to be done, it was my turn. I managed to plant my first axe after several strikes - it wasn't simply a matter of popping it; I had to strike with all my force as high as I could reach, often twice, for the pick to sink in securely. The same went for the crampons. Particularly where the ice was hard, I had to really kick to get a foothold. This made the whole activity aerobic, so I was soon panting. Every movement took a massive effort even though with feet planted properly I could stand fairly easily.
It was difficult because it was exhausting and because crampons and ice axes don't always stick in easily. But in other ways it wasn't too hard. It was obvious what you were meant to do and, unlike rock climbing, you could make a handhold where you wanted. I managed to fall off twice when my ice axes slipped out, and swung pathetically from my harness until I managed to get some purchase again.
When I finally got to the top, I was as happy to stop as I was to have accomplished the climb. But after a few minutes' rest, I remembered the romantic notion that had made me want to climb a frozen waterfall. The valley was quiet, JP out of sight behind a bump in the ice, and all around were the Alps, the snow and the icy waterfall.
Putting my weight and my trust in JP, I leaned against my safety rope and walked backwards down the waterfall in easy, bouncing strides. After the trauma of climbing up, it didn't even occur to me to be nervous about abseiling down.
Paragliding
On a clear day, I had enviously watched the multi-coloured canopies of paragliders soar above the snowy peaks, twirling and rising and putting us skiers to shame. Such a beautiful-looking sport had to be tried. So, firmly strapped to my guide, Serge, his skis either side of mine and the silk canopy neatly laid out behind, I prepared to float into space.
The slope we were on, at the top of the Col de la Loze in Courchevel, was gently skiable for about 50 yards, and then plummeted away into a death-defying couloir. I prayed we would take off before we ended up sliding down it. No fear of that - when Serge gave the word, we let ourselves start moving down the slope for about five feet before we met with resistance from the canopy, which had immediately filled with air and stood puffed up behind us in a billowing wall of silk. Slowly we skied on until suddenly we seemed to be airborne. Then we weren't, and then we'd made it and were floating gently away from the mountainside.
I was expecting to be terrified, but the fear was all in the anticipation. Although we were miles above the valley floor - and rising - peering down between our skis at a huge quantity of nothing, I felt quite safe on my makeshift seat jammed in between Serge's legs.
Serge used strings to control the angle of the canopy, and before we knew it we were circling higher than the surrounding mountains. The views, of course, were special, though once I started to relax my death grip on Serge's legs I became more aware of the biting cold.
The other unexpected problem was air sickness. The gentle swaying motion, compounded with the odd bumpy bit when we hit a thermal, added up to a worrying bout of nausea. Concerned at the prospect of me throwing up over his equipment, Serge brought us down after just five minutes (the normal flight time being 10). As we descended, all worries about high-altitude vomiting faded at the prospect of trying to land in one piece. The cables of the chairlift looked threateningly in the way, and I had to close my eyes as we swooped just above them.
We landed with an ungainly thump. I promptly fell over backwards and struggled to my feet with the grace of a pregnant duck. But despite the fear, the sickness and the cold, once safely down I couldn't wait to be swooping above the peaks again.
Snowblading
If you've ever cursed your skis as you lumbered up the road with them slung over your shoulder, poles in hand, or if you've ever fallen having crossed your skis and ended up stuck in a snowdrift in a tangle of metal and fibreglass, you'll appreciate snowblades. Scarcely longer than boots, and not requiring poles, these are the minimalist approach to skiing.
I thought I'd give them a quick try on the nursery slopes initally before attempting anything I'd regret. I shuffled to the top of the slope, and tipped myself over the edge. And it was easy! I thundered down, doubtless looking totally unco-ordinated with my feet wide apart and my hands everywhere, but feeling as safe as if I was on my own feet.
The whole experience is much more instinctive than proper skis; it is more reminiscent of skidding on patches of ice in the school playground. With less thinking required to control your skis (at about 70cm long, you'd have to try hard to cross them) the sense of balance comes more naturally. I found myself crouching to lower my centre of gravity, and automatically shifting weight from foot to foot. In less than an hour, I was tackling difficult runs with no problem.
The shortness of snowblades makes them useless for off-piste, and not terribly fast, though you feel like you are moving like snow off a shovel. But they come into their own on moguls. They turn on a sixpence, they are easy to jump with, a piece of cake to control and if you do bury them in a deep bit of snow, you simply step out of it. Even an intermediate skier like myself can confidently go down icy, bumpy, slushy black runs, something I would be nervous to attempt on regular skis.
It feels great having your hands free, although I was a bit at a loss as to what to do with them; I ended up waving at everybody and clicking my fingers in time to any tune going through my head as I grooved down the slope, jumping and turning and whizzing about.
I loved snowblades so much, for the convenience and ease and fun of them, that I considered not bothering going back to normal skis again; my only qualm was that while skiing feels like a proper sport, snowblades feel like a toy. But after all, what are the slopes but an enormous playground?
The practicals
All these activities are available in any major ski resort. Snow blades can be hired from any ski-hire shop for around FFr50 for half a day, and can be worn with ski boots.
Anna Rockall paraglided from the Col de la Loze, Courchevel 1850, France, and booked it through Chardon Loisirs, 04 79 08 39 60. Price FFr450 for 10-15 minutes.
She went ice-climbing in Val d'Isère, France, for FF250 for an hour, which can be split between several people. A minimum of two hours is needed. Contact the Val d'Isère Mountain Guides' Office to arrange a guide (04 79 06 94 03).
