“That’s insanity!” exclaimed a local shopkeeper brightly when I revealed my ski trip plans. A reasonable reaction since not so long ago I had been out on crutches following a hip surgery. Acquaintances from my sister’s circle were rather anxious: “How old are you? In your eighties? I don’t think this is a wise plan. You’ll fall and break something.” My elder brother Andrew, aged 86, chose it was wiser not to tell a soul.
A Buried Desire
For at least two decades I held a quiet longing to undertake one more ski trip. A concluding dose of clear skies, chilly air and the thrill that follows finding yourself still intact at the base of a white hill. I was never much good, and it had been years since I last skied, but that was irrelevant. At 83, I wanted to find out if I was still capable. Should I succeed, what about including my sister, Kate, part of our elderly ladies’ circle who encourage each other to join regular fitness events? Then I remembered that, during our younger days, my brother had accompanied me on my first ski holiday. Sixty-seven years had passed, but Andrew had some talent, so he got an invitation as well. My friend Penny, who is remarkably youthful (claiming to be 67) that she barely qualifies, was given permission to join and test her skills among the seniors and improve her language skills. Each of us worked to get as fit as possible, but not one had been on skis for over forty years.
Selecting the Resort
The Tirol town of Seefeld, close to Innsbruck, was where we decided to go, as it offers a variety of winter activities – assuming we’d survive our two-hour lesson on the opening day (admittedly, was the extent of our alpine skiing) – and is blissfully lacking in post-skiing parties. Families frequent it rather than boisterous teens, and is typically Austrian, with distinctive church steeples and alpine-style homes. We stayed at the friendly, family-run a local hotel and we tried various eateries nightly.
“This is what we term Kaiserwetter,” explained Janina, our leader when I noted it seemed too good to be true at waking each morning to unblemished heavens, sunshine and plenty of snow for early March.
We were all pretending just to be excited, completely unafraid, as we hopped on a coach to the ski area. It was full of children and adults holding ski equipment and radiating energy. It seemed the assistant assisting with our rental equipment showing skepticism at the challenge.
I was sure I’d fall over immediately upon setting off. But I didn’t. None of us did.
The instructor, Ulrich, who had been told we were older, smiled bravely as we stomped towards him. We chatted rather noisily, grinning excessively, perhaps trying to postpone the time when we had to clamp our feet on to the skis. Privately, I was sure I would tumble as soon as I moved. But I didn’t. No one else fell either. Ulrich remained calm, providing ample opportunity at each stage of the lesson to gain in confidence.
Modern Skiing Advances
Today’s skis are far simpler to handle, I realized – more compact, lighter weight with curved tips – than the bulky, extended planks I remember from the 60s that often led to lift mishaps. We understood we wouldn’t be permitted on a lift of any sort, so expected to laboriously herringbone up the hill and descend, tumbling during the descent. That’s how it was in 1958. However, we found a wonderful new device, a conveyor belt, or automated track, that conveyed us effortlessly to the top of the gentle beginners’ slope, which was filled with brave kids. No other grown-ups were present.
After 120 minutes, not one of us had taken a spill, had all managed some decent snowplough turns and even a sort of parallel turn. We felt ecstatic. “It was truly wonderful!” exclaimed Andrew, who doesn’t usually exaggerate.
Other Winter Activities
Would we have handled a entire week of winter sports? Maybe, but the range of options Seefeld offered was more enticing. We could go walking around several bodies of water, shuttles providing entry to incredibly scenic towns, and the “cold-weather trek to Hämmermoosalm, a 4.6-kilometer hike with toboggan return”, as the guidebook briefly mentioned.
After viewing Olympic events, we two knew all about sledding. One sprints behind, propelling the sled, then jump aboard and speed downward on your belly at speeds rivalling a Formula One car. Janina provided comfort. Don’t be anxious: we would be seated on the toboggan and direct it with our boots. Yet we remained apprehensive. Andrew decided it wasn’t for him but we others persevered.
Someone wearing crimson overalls zoomed past shouting something over his shoulder related to Kate.
During my childhood it proved fatiguing hauling my father’s homemade toboggan up a snowy incline in the English county in our snowy childhood, and as an 83-year-old it felt draining hauling an admittedly lighter toboggan uphill in high-altitude atmosphere (Hämmermoosalm, a traditional alpine mountain hut and farm, is at 1,410 meters) for almost 5 kilometers. I fell behind, complaining quietly about being too old for this. {The glühwein and Gulaschsuppe|The mulled wine and goulash soup|The warm
