Day 111: Crevoux!
Today we were back on the Alpine skis again finally! It feels like I haven’t done this in an age, and I could barely remember how to do it at first.
We drove down to Crevoux, near Embrun. I think of this mountain as being the most scottish of ski resorts for three reasons: 1) If you say it in a scottish accent, it sounds like a craggy hill outside of glasgow, 2) it is a shoe-string resort that can only afford drag lifts (more on that later) not unlike Cairngorm and 3) The last time I skied it was with les grumblies scottish friends whom I shall call The Weather Man and Shirley.
In fact that’s why we were here today. It was lovely to see those two again. They’re both very outgoing late-60’s people that are amazingly fit and able, and travel all over the world. They had moved into a fascinating house in Embrun, and are season pass holders for Crevoux.
The pistes, and the view up on Crevoux are really lovely – lots of swooping red-ish blues with nice snow. Lots of nice off-piste (which I didn’t do – as I said to BF, “non signifie non!”.
We stopped off for lunch at a really nice cafe that I remember from the last time I was here, with a very lovely waitress and very nice food, and generally had a really nice time.
My ski technique I think is getting on – my short turns now are getting pretty nice, controlled and gradual. at least that’s how it feels. In fact the better thy get, the slower I go. Is that I good thing? Must ask Bawsaxx.
The bad thing about Crevoux though: The Pommers. At least, that’s what they call them – they really are made by a company called POMA which supply a lot of the ski lifts in France. They’re drag-lifts, button lifts. Big metal poles that sit between your legs with a rubber button underneath your posterior.
I hate them – they burn your legs, long ones aren’t fun, and if you’re not careful your skis get caught in the ruts that are worn into the slope below.
I wasn’t careful today – the first time it happened I was close to the bottom of the higher lift and some idiot ahead of me was shouting stuff and messing about on the pommer. I got distracted and ultimately fell off the pommer, narrowly avoiding knocking someone else off. I quickly side slipped down to the bottom and went back up safely.
The second time I wasn’t so lucky – I was on a really steap bit half-way up the lower pommer at the end of the day. My ski got caught in a rut and I fell again, this time sliding a fair way and knocking BF off the pommer below me. By the time I’d side slipped down a really long, narrow, icy piste, I’d had enough, and sat the last run of the day out in a cafe with a chocolat chaud.
Embrun, as I’ve said before, is basically Narnia. What a lovely view!