I awake to a snowy morning in Champéry, Switzerland under the warm protective cover of my duvet.  The flurries began just before midnight and the grate of a passing snowplough has interrupted my slumber. I brave a cold floor crossing to take a quick look out the window and the welcome sight of a raging blizzard provides all the natural caffeine I need to get going.

It’s still early, but the anticipation of a powder frenzy puts me into panic mode searching for socks, thermals and scattered ski gear. The lifts don’t officially open until nine o’clock, but if I hurry I can catch an unofficial ride with the first employee lift of the morning.  There are 220 lifts in the Portes du Soleil, but today only a fraction of them will open due to avalanche and weather concerns.  This still leaves us with a 1000 vertical metres of tree and glade skiing utilizing Champéry’s main cable car and the Grand Paradis chairlift.

Lift-off is only 4 minutes away and I’m fortunate that even Homer “Mr. Plow” Simpson couldn’t possible keep the streets clear with the current rate of snowfall, so I’m able to ski directly to the Téléphérique.  The irresistible smell of baking bread tempts me as I glide by the local patisserie, but powder takes preference over a pain au chocolat any day.

As I ski through this postcard perfect village, many of the older Champérolains are already hard at work trying to remove the snow in front of their chalets and shops.  Those who don’t ride the mountains seem to have a slight aversion to this beautiful blanket of white.  Shovels in hand, snow blowers running at full power they relentlessly try to remove all traces of what every skier and snowboarder embraces. As I slide by shouting my ecstatic “bonjours”, they shake their heads in a sad acknowledgement of my happiness and continue fighting their losing battle.

Fortunately the younger residents don’t share this sentiment for as I slide by the Champéry Freeride Company (an ultra-hip snowboard shop and school) I’m joined by the two snow-worshipping proprietors Thierry and Xavier, who are fully kitted-up and closing shop in order to bag a couple runs before they have to officially open for business.

We arrive at the 120-person cable car to find other like-minded souls standing apart from the 20 or so employees of the lift company. Just as the door is closing Owen Day, the English bartender from La Crevasse disco makes a comical last second entrance sprinting into the cable car half dressed, with a partially eaten loaf of bread falling from his jacket pocket. It is a miracle he made the lift at all as he was serving drinks all night and from the look of his dishevelled appearance has barely slept for an hour.

As the lift rises we spot a few more stragglers running down the hill, looking up in frustration as we pass overhead.  We cruelly wave at the poor sods, knowing that they’ll have to wait another ½ hour until the Téléphérique officially opens.  Onboard we ride in nervous silence preparing for our run.  Four Swiss, 2 Brits, 1 French, a Swede and a couple of Canadians all anxiously tightening straps, checking zippers, and getting psyched.  I team up with Owen, and Yannick “Frenchie” Ducrot the front desk manager from the Hotel Suisse, and as the lift drops us off at the top of Croix du Culet the three of us sprint towards the exit trying to gain whatever advantage we can on the others.  

The snow is even deeper than expected and we have to straight-line the first pitch on Planachaux to gather speed.   I follow Frenchie into the trees and out of the wind and we begin to carve some epic lines. The snow is so deep that you have to turn your face sideways to breathe!  I’m having an incredible run and feeling pretty cocky when I catch my tip on a hidden branch that catapults me into a slow-motion cartwheel through the air coming to a gentle rest submerged under the snow.  Struggling to right myself I hear girlish laughter and clear my head in time to see a flash of pink ski jacket whiz by at warp speed.  This would be visiting ski model Malin Westerberg, one of those freeriding Swedish über babes that ski bums like me dream about, and I’m momentarily crushed that she doesn’t stop to wait for me, but she is only abiding by the universal rule:  “There are no friends on a powder day”.

Owen, Frenchie, and myself rendezvous in a clearing 700m below where we started and decide not to continue down to Grand Paradis but take an unploughed side road that will take us down through the village back to the Téléphérique. We arrive in time for the 08:30 bin, along with the second tier of instructors and powder fiends who are hoping to get a few runs in before they have to teach a lesson or get back to work. Two of the Piste Artiste ski guides are heading up with some of their regular clients and they curse us for having already put in a “top to bottom”.  They shouldn’t worry; today there will be enough powder to go around.  There are no crowds as most of the fair weather tourists will spend the day in their chalet or shopping in the village, not knowing the difference a good pair of goggles can make.

People who don’t understand the off-piste skiing in Champéry often ask why some of us chose to spend our winters here rather than in the limelight of Verbier or Chamonix. Well, first of all those in the know recognise Champéry as the most underrated resort in the Alps.  All the major ski film companies make Champéry an annual stop on their round the world tour. Steve Winter, Teton Gravity Research, and other crews make Champéry their secret European “base camp” to shoot those amazing shots you see in ski films and magazines.

For me the allure of Champéry is the powder. In the Chamonix valley there is 600 seasons pass holders who don’t have a job for the winter – that is a lot of ski bums to compete with.  In the entire Portes du Soleil I’m willing to bet there are no more than a dozen.  In Chamonix the powder lasts for half a day, while we can still find face shots two weeks after a storm.  Riding the Téléphérique on our fifth trip back up to heaven I get a text message on my cell phone from a friend in Argentière “All lifts closed.  How about Champéry?”  Trying to keep our secret safe for another season I reply, “same here :-( ”

Après-powder finds an exhaustive group of ecstatic riders checking into Mitchell’s Pub and Restaurant to knock back celebratory pints of Guinness and Kronenbourg, while munching on garlic bread and chips. Everyone is boasting that they garnered “first tracks”, even those who didn’t get up till lunchtime.  There are some good-natured arguments in 3 different languages over who skied what and where, first.  One thing we all agree upon is that today there was enough face shots to go around – and it’s time to order another round of face chopes (½ litre of beer, called a sérieux in France). 

After a hot shower I meet up with some visiting Piste Artiste clients and we decide to go for dinner at Champéry’s newest brewpub Café du Centres to sample some of their latest homebrew remedies while eating the best stir-fry in the Alps prepared by their Hong Kong chefs.

Stuffed and exhausted I contemplate the thought of going to bed early to get a head start on what should be another epic day come morning, but somehow I get talked into “just one more”. Before I know it I’m following a crowd into Champéry’s infamous La Crevasse nightclub. Owen seems be on fine form having recovered from the days excursions. He is wearing a pair of safety goggles while lighting shooters with an industrial blowtorch for Malin and her Swedish girlfriends.  The proverbial joint is jumping and the dance floor is groovin’ to La Crevasse’s in-house New York DJ Chilli-Chill who is spinning the vinyl with his usual abandon.  Originally from Haiti, Chilli can’t ski to save his life but his enthusiasm makes up for his lack of skill as he yells over the microphone “How bout that goddamn snow?  I am the Powder King! I am the Powder King!”

After, a few more “just one more”, I finally find the will to head home and pass an enthusiastic group determinedly building an anatomically correct snowman in the middle of the high street.  Everyone is making optimistic promises; “See you on the first lift!” “8:30 sharp!”  Walking back to my room, I’m absently catching snowflakes in my mouth listening to the church bell strike 4 times thinking, “I’d better set my alarm”!

I awake to a snowy morning in Champéry, under the warm protective cover of my duvet...