Page 49 - Army Mountaineer Winter 2022

man, I hadn’t read that far down the DIN into the niff naff and trivia, so hadn’t seen the bit about a mandatory 2-week training camp. And secondly, it started on Sunday. I was halfway through giving it my best apologies and disappointment reply when I thought “sod it, give it a bash innit.” The next thing was my XO moidering the CO at half 9 at night with something along the lines of “Big Miles wants to go skiing again.” I’m aware it’s not a universal experience throughout the Army but my unit, 3 Royal Welsh, have been incredible in supporting both AT and sport for groups and individuals. So, credit where credit is due, the unit understands and pursues the benefits these activities have to offer. (Preaching to the choir with this readership I suspect.) The next stumbling block was the small issue of my civilian job. In the end seven people got spammed to cover my courses for which I am still paying the beers off.
Come some inhumane time on Sunday morning, I was driving down to Tidworth, which is south of Chesterfield, so practically in France anyway. I’d been slightly confused trying to coordinate with what I thought were three different people, which turned out to be just one person using maiden, married and nick names rather indiscriminately. Enter Ibbs, the trip organiser, along with standard issue officer spaniel. More people trickled in and began loading vans with kit. The Pauls, Gareth, Mikey, Sarah and James all being introduced. The gentle hand of guidance was applied as the G4 lance jack unceremoniously launched boxes around the place. When you’re a hammer, most things look like a nail. Attempts were made to remember names until Bruce introduced himself and I just had “G’day Bruce” (Aussie accent) on repeat in my head for about an hour. All aboard some combi vans to drive to another barracks to pick up more people. Sat up front, I was being driven by ‘KY’. Sometimes you’re best off just not knowing, so didn’t ask.
There’s only so much to be said about driving combi vans out to the Alps. Eventually we all pitched up in Areches, in the Beaufortain, which I thought was named after wind but it turns out that it was named after cheese, of which they’re very proud. The hotel was decent. We had a set menu every evening which did the job in my view. I think the vegetarians
in the group may have a diverging opinion of the food options, and here was me thinking they just really liked omelettes. At the hotel we were joined by the remainder of the group; Rob, Louise, Joe, Nigel, Tom and Pete. Pete and Tom have been the driving force behind skimo in the Army, as well as bringing the experience and qualifications required to make the trip possible. KY and Paul P backed them up with more qualifications and experience, having previously raced the ‘A’ course of the PDG.
The usual kit faff, getting boots to fit people, boots to fit skis etc... Skimo kit being a bit niche and lightweight, there wasn’t too much adjustment, so only a few trips to the tech shop for mounting were required. Areches is a small ski village at the head of a valley. It’s particularly French which means the pastry shop was exceptional. There is also a dedicated skimo shop, in which a significant percentage of GDP was spent in desperate attempts to purchase competence. Somehow, I’d lived my entire adult life without a jazzy tight top with outside mesh pockets on. Said top purchased, I was now a ful- ly-fledged skimoist. (I intended that to be read ‘skimo-ist’ but I’m finding the alternative, ski-moist, so innately pleasing I shall leave it up to the readers discretion.)
We used the fairly limited lift system for a day to get used to the skis and to wean the lungs off nice chewy sea level air. After that, it was Shanks’s pony. By way of an ability gauge for anyone wanting to join in this season (I know I’ve really sold it so far); you must be happy turning up on day one, strapping on a touring set-up, and then heading into the back country with all the knowledge and skills needed to operate safely, and to look after yourself in that environment. For ease, The DIN states Ski Foundation Level 3 as a prerequisite.
Areches proved to be a great training location. We spent the week exploring the back country around the village, with some tight complex terrain, trees, open mountains, and all aspects and access to a range of altitudes. With Ski Leaders 1, 2 and 3, and Ski Mountaineering Instructors dotted around the group, some coaching was imparted. The little floppy light skimo skis took some getting used to, especially in cruddy hardpack snow. Having previously purchased competence in the form of fat skis, actually having to (try and) be good was most disappointing. We had theoretical and technical workshops ranging from avalanche rescue, crevasse rescue, transitioning (the ski touring variety), race prep and tactics, nutrition, skiing roped up and towing. It turns out that there was much more to this skimo thing than just rocking Lycra and putting a shift in.
All this lightweight stuff is for racing. So, it was about time we gave that a bash. We all entered the ‘L’Alpini Ski’, a Swiss national champ’s race in the Vallee du Trient, above Martigny. The night before, we drove over, chucked bags in a hotel and went out for pizza. Some, of a wiser disposition than I, opted for pasta or sensible pizzas. However, I got suckered in by garlic (the menu was multilingual, and what mortal can resist ‘knoblauch’, certainly not me) and prawns. Tradition- ally, pizza is an easy to eat, thumb it in and hope for the best, type of affair. I naively assumed the prawns would be in an edible format. Wrong! Most people were onto dessert while I was still elbow deep in prawn hoofs, burning more calories than I was consuming.
A 4am alarm signalled our drive up the valley, to kick the arse out of the free breakfast, and then to get a bus, then gondola to the start line. We were racing
Joe, Paul and KY finish the long route
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