Words and pictures: Ed Blomfield
I never thought I’d live to see the end of the world. The cursor on my screen blinks away like any other day of any other year. But outside, everything’s changed.
I’ve just got back from the bank, where a line of customers snakes down the street from the doorway. Each person keeps a careful two metres from the one in front. Proximity to fellow humans is forbidden. The reception desk guy greets everyone from behind a face mask and visor. I might have laughed once, but this is the new norm, so I just deposit my cash, scuttle home past the closed shops, and wash my hands.
If I close my eyes, I can remember a time when deserted streets and zombie viruses still seemed like the stuff of sci-fi. When the cries echoed out from school playgrounds, when punters lined up three deep at the bar on a Friday night, and Corona was a bottled beer with a wedge of lime. When cabin crew asked me to stow my hand luggage in the hold, because ‘this flight is full’. When lift lines at the mountain were shoulder to shoulder. When the dream was still to escape the crowds and find some solitude, somewhere off the beaten track. Somewhere where the powder is deep, and the pistes are empty.
I’m sure you can remember that time too, if you try.
Close your eyes.
I’ve woken to the sound of Sam, the filmer, snoring in the roof space above me. It’s cold up there, with only the van’s pop-top canvas for protection from the alpine elements, but he has an expedition-grade sleeping bag and several layers of clothes to keep him from freezing. Down here behind the cab – in ‘the swamp’, as Sam calls it – the air is warmed by a heater in the footwell. I’m stripped off to my shorts and t-shirt.
By 7.30 we’re both up and crouched around plastic bowls of muesli. The jetboil is readying water for our morning tea and coffee. Through the windscreen, across the frozen carpark, a chairlift is slowly cranking into action amid drifting flakes of snow.
We are on a mission to explore a few of Switzerland’s lesser-known mountains. It’s incredible, when you think about it, just how narrow our horizons usually are. Every year millions of skiers and snowboarders rush through Geneva Airport to access the same handful of overcrowded (and overpriced) resorts. For those willing to take a chance, the Alps present a myriad of more interesting destinations.
The Swiss know this more than most, which is why in 2017 a small army of mountain towns came together to offer a new seasonal lift ticket: the so-called Magic Pass. Valid from May through to May (for both winter sports and biking) it grants the holder access to over 1200 kilometres of pistes and 15 snowparks at no fewer than 30 resorts, primarily in the French-speaking part of the country. Some of these – like Leysin – you may at least have heard of; others – like Crêt-du-Puy – probably not. What’s more, in a very un-Swiss move, the price for early birds is a ridiculously cheap 429 francs.
Within a year of its launch, close to 100,000 people had snapped up this mega deal and unheralded mountains like Rathvel were seeing a 220 percent increase in visits. This was precisely the idea: sharing resources and revenue between the little guys would help safeguard the future of these lift operations in the face of the dominant super resorts and climate change.
Right now, we are at the foot of a small ski area called Ovronnaz. Unlike most places I’ve ridden, there’s little in the way of facilities down here at the base station – just a carpark and a lift and forested slopes on either side. The town itself is back down a winding road and is better known for its thermal baths.
We fold away the bed, and close the roof canopy with the flick of a switch. Campervans are not your traditional choice of accommodation in the middle of winter, but they are the perfect way to hop across the little galaxy of stars on the Magic Pass map, each of which represents an unfamiliar mountain and the potential for discovery. Thanks to social media, #vanlife is becoming more popular these days, and at every resort we see at least a couple of other mobile homes in the parking lot. This being Switzerland, many are small and teutonically well-organised – like our own VW California – but you can always rely on seeing the odd hippy in a quirky old rustbucket.
Within a year of its launch, close to 100,000 people had snapped up this mega deal and unheralded mountains like Rathvel were seeing a 220 percent increase in visits. This was precisely the idea: sharing resources and revenue between the little guys would help safeguard the future of these lift operations in the face of the dominant super resorts and climate change.
Right now, we are at the foot of a small ski area called Ovronnaz. Unlike most places I’ve ridden, there’s little in the way of facilities down here at the base station – just a carpark and a lift and forested slopes on either side. The town itself is back down a winding road and is better known for its thermal baths.
We fold away the bed, and close the roof canopy with the flick of a switch. Campervans are not your traditional choice of accommodation in the middle of winter, but they are the perfect way to hop across the little galaxy of stars on the Magic Pass map, each of which represents an unfamiliar mountain and the potential for discovery. Thanks to social media, #vanlife is becoming more popular these days, and at every resort we see at least a couple of other mobile homes in the parking lot. This being Switzerland, many are small and teutonically well-organised – like our own VW California – but you can always rely on seeing the odd hippy in a quirky old rustbucket.
Lewis Sonvico is one such traveller. The first of our riding companions, he arrived in a giant beige plastic motorhome like a refugee from Butlins. A tall, perma-tanned snowboarding instructor of no fixed abode, his go-to riding outfit consists of authentic combat clothing that he picked up while training the British Army Snowboard Team. This particular camo pattern, he assures us, is reserved for Special Forces (“You can’t buy this shit, bruv”). Sharing the cab with Lewis is his French girlfriend Céline and her tiny dog, Marcel. The two of them plan to spend the summer working the land on an organic farm somewhere in the Dordogne, so sharing a vintage caravan is good practise for the simple life. Little do we know that before the winter is out, fights will be breaking out in the supermarket and we’ll all be thinking about growing our own potatoes.
Our crew is completed by Dave Crozier, a diminutive seasonaire and the Scrappy Doo to Lewis’s Shaggy. He hails from the North East of England – where brown ale, even browner surf and professional footballers come from. Indeed, Dave once played fullback for Newcastle Utd’s youth team before discovering snowboarding; his younger cousin plays for the senior squad and enjoys considerably greater wealth. Still, he can’t lay down a eurocarve like Dave.
We squeeze into our boots, almost dry from a night jostling for space beside the heater, and are on the chairlift before the local shuttle bus has even begun depositing skiers from town. The lift system at Ovronnaz occupies a small handful of faces amidst a wilderness of giant peaks, and the pistes all eventually funnel back to the same base station. Over on the untamed side of the valley, mist clings to the forested slopes beneath walls of vertical rock, like a backdrop from The Revenant.
We’ve sampled most of the runs by lunchtime. They’re invariably steep, and eerily quiet amidst the fog. A foot or so of snow has fallen overnight and we spend the afternoon hacking through the trees in search of untouched powder, then it is back to the vans and out of our wet kit and back on the road.
Lewis Sonvico is one such traveller. The first of our riding companions, he arrived in a giant beige plastic motorhome like a refugee from Butlins. A tall, perma-tanned snowboarding instructor of no fixed abode, his go-to riding outfit consists of authentic combat clothing that he picked up while training the British Army Snowboard Team. This particular camo pattern, he assures us, is reserved for Special Forces (“You can’t buy this shit, bruv”). Sharing the cab with Lewis is his French girlfriend Céline and her tiny dog, Marcel. The two of them plan to spend the summer working the land on an organic farm somewhere in the Dordogne, so sharing a vintage caravan is good practise for the simple life. Little do we know that before the winter is out, fights will be breaking out in the supermarket and we’ll all be thinking about growing our own potatoes.
Our crew is completed by Dave Crozier, a diminutive seasonaire and the Scrappy Doo to Lewis’s Shaggy. He hails from the North East of England – where brown ale, even browner surf and professional footballers come from. Indeed, Dave once played fullback for Newcastle Utd’s youth team before discovering snowboarding; his younger cousin plays for the senior squad and enjoys considerably greater wealth. Still, he can’t lay down a eurocarve like Dave.
We squeeze into our boots, almost dry from a night jostling for space beside the heater, and are on the chairlift before the local shuttle bus has even begun depositing skiers from town. The lift system at Ovronnaz occupies a small handful of faces amidst a wilderness of giant peaks, and the pistes all eventually funnel back to the same base station. Over on the untamed side of the valley, mist clings to the forested slopes beneath walls of vertical rock, like a backdrop from The Revenant.
We’ve sampled most of the runs by lunchtime. They’re invariably steep, and eerily quiet amidst the fog. A foot or so of snow has fallen overnight and we spend the afternoon hacking through the trees in search of untouched powder, then it is back to the vans and out of our wet kit and back on the road.
We have yet to stay more than a day in a single resort. Our journey began back in Leysin, close to the shores of Lake Geneva, where we lapped the snowpark and its world class halfpipe. Leysin’s slopes lie within the shadow of two mighty limestone tabletops, and on a sunny Saturday they were busy with weekend warriors, but this was to prove the exception to the rule. At La Lécherette, for example – a 20-minute drive to the north east – we found a sleepy village nestled amongst empty, sun-drenched hillsides that would make an ideal retreat for kids and first-timers. Les Marécottes, further south, proved similarly modest in size and light years away again in terms of terrain. Its rickety old gondola whisked us into a sheer-sided bowl enjoying dizzying views over the nearby glacial floodplain almost 2000 metres below, and beyond that, to the jagged granite teeth of the Chamonix valley. Like its more celebrated French neighbour, the clientele at Les Marécottes included a large number of serious alpinists – even the ten-year-old in front of us in the life line was kitted out with an avalanche airbag, shovel and probe.
What most of the lift areas of the Magic Pass lack in size, it seems, they certainly make up for in variety.
We have yet to stay more than a day in a single resort. Our journey began back in Leysin, close to the shores of Lake Geneva, where we lapped the snowpark and its world class halfpipe. Leysin’s slopes lie within the shadow of two mighty limestone tabletops, and on a sunny Saturday they were busy with weekend warriors, but this was to prove the exception to the rule. At La Lécherette, for example – a 20-minute drive to the north east – we found a sleepy village nestled amongst empty, sun-drenched hillsides that would make an ideal retreat for kids and first-timers. Les Marécottes, further south, proved similarly modest in size and light years away again in terms of terrain. Its rickety old gondola whisked us into a sheer-sided bowl enjoying dizzying views over the nearby glacial floodplain almost 2000 metres below, and beyond that, to the jagged granite teeth of the Chamonix valley. Like its more celebrated French neighbour, the clientele at Les Marécottes included a large number of serious alpinists – even the ten-year-old in front of us in the life line was kitted out with an avalanche airbag, shovel and probe.
What most of the lift areas of the Magic Pass lack in size, it seems, they certainly make up for in variety.
From Ovronnaz, the road unfurls in a long series of switchbacks back down to the motorway, where we motor steadily east across the flat Swiss no man’s land. Behind the wheel, with aprés off the menu, we pass the hours discussing what might await at our next destination and look forward to filling our stomachs with pizza and beer when we get there.
Grimentz is the village in question, accessed via the most dramatic stretch of road yet – a thin ribbon of tarmac dynamited out of the rock face high above the valley floor. The ski area itself is certainly worth the hair-raising climb. Connected with neighbouring Zinal and known as the Val d’Anniviers, its main attraction is a huge bowl with options on every aspect including wide open trails, gnarly chutes and rolling powder fields. A short hike from the top of a drag lift takes us to the summit of Roc d’Orzival, from where you can gaze across at several 4000m-plus peaks of the Toblerone variety before dropping into the back side. It’s an insane descent that begins with a massive, steep couloir and ends several kilometres later with a treeline traverse back to the village.
As rad as this place is, the open road still beckons. There is one more resort on our hit list, and later that night our little convoy pulls into the quiet town of Vercorin.
Dave and Lewis are two snowboarders who have perfected the art of the turn. Watching them flick smoothly from edge to edge, palms scraping the corduroy, is to witness a kind of live poetry. We had hoped, when we set out on this journey, to uncover the ideal piste for them to explore this synchronised flow state. At so many mountains, littered as they are with moguls, crowds and ski schools, it is hard to truly open up the throttle. We were after the dream run – the carving equivalent of the mega ramp in The Search For Animal Chin. And in Vercorin, we found it.
Picture an immaculately-groomed strip of snow, 80 metres or so wide, lined on either side by forest. Not a soul in sight. Picture it rising and falling in waves, a twisting white rollercoaster that starts off slow and picks up speed over four long miles until you’re spat out of the last corner at 60 miles per hour, ready to run back around and do it all over again.
I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.
Geneva-bound once more, we celebrate with a bath. Getting clean is one of the biggest challenges of van life, but Switzerland is dotted with thermal spas – in fact for 250 francs you can upgrade your Magic Pass to include entry to some of them. At Les Bains de Lavey we pull off the motorway, stash our stinking outerwear in lockers and wade into the steam and murk. The wind has picked up, and lifeguards prowl the water’s edge in hi-vis jackets like crowd control at a rainy music festival. Half naked people scurry between pools; most huddle in the water – human croutons in a vast, bubbling soup.
By this point, news of a virus spreading out of China has reached our phones, but we pay it little attention. No doubt it will all blow over, like this crazy storm. We battle through a sea of limbs to the whirlpool. Fleshy bodies everywhere. My friends are laughing and I close my eyes and slide beneath the surface.
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The world is opening up again. They say that things will gradually return to normal, provided there’s not a second wave.
I hope so. Right now, so many things I used to take for granted seem part of a bygone era. Crowded football stadiums. Busy airports. Dinner out. Our little holiday in Switzerland seems like just another fragment from that innocent time. Who cares about snowboarding when people are out of work and the streets are on fire?
Even as things settle down, I have a feeling we’ll return to the mountains with some fresh perspective. Lockdown has taught me, for one, to appreciate what’s on my doorstep. The age-old dream of long haul powder and heli drops seems frivolous now. I’ve also learned, through countless hours at home, how much I love my family, and how much I miss my friends. It’s been a refresher course in life’s essentials.
But when the nightmare ends and we can finally walk past strangers on the pavement without stepping into the street, I’ll go snowboarding again. And you know what? This Swiss road trip is exactly the kind of thing I’ll do. Less hotels, more memories. A celebration of freedom – and friendship.
The world is opening up again. They say that things will gradually return to normal, provided there’s not a second wave.
I hope so. Right now, so many things I used to take for granted seem part of a bygone era. Crowded football stadiums. Busy airports. Dinner out. Our little holiday in Switzerland seems like just another fragment from that innocent time. Who cares about snowboarding when people are out of work and the streets are on fire?
Even as things settle down, I have a feeling we’ll return to the mountains with some fresh perspective. Lockdown has taught me, for one, to appreciate what’s on my doorstep. The age-old dream of long haul powder and heli drops seems frivolous now. I’ve also learned, through countless hours at home, how much I love my family, and how much I miss my friends. It’s been a refresher course in life’s essentials.
But when the nightmare ends and we can finally walk past strangers on the pavement without stepping into the street, I’ll go snowboarding again. And you know what? This Swiss road trip is exactly the kind of thing I’ll do. Less hotels, more memories. A celebration of freedom – and friendship.
WHAT THEY RODE
THE AREA
Who It’s For: Freestyle riders looking for a carving hit
With the softest flex and mellowest sidecut in the series, the Area works perfectly as an introductory carving board that still lets you lay it all out there, whilst softening the bite if you get it wrong.
This gives your carving a more freestyle feel, making jibs and butters easier to fit into your fast laps alongside your elbow diggin’. The tail holds tons of power, loading ollies up with plenty of pop for blasting over piste markers and friends.
THE TRACER
Who It’s For: Riders who know to look sideways at snowboarding
We’re no symmetrical when we ride, so why should our boards be, especially when you’re focusing on perfecting your turn. The Tracer’s heel edge has a tighter sidecut radius, optimising the board’s turnability on both edges.
And yes, it comes in both regular and goofy flavours. It’s not just a one trick pony, this thing goes in the backcountry too, making it a team favourite both on and off piste. This year it takes the bold colour scheme to even greater heights, so if you didn’t know by now, now you do.
THE CONCEPT
Who It’s For: Riders who want speed
At the top end of the line, the Concept features our ultra-fast sintered N-9000 base for warp speed straightlining, but when the road runs out its premium construction and progressive sidecut provide more than enough grip and bite to deal with corners. Taking tech from the highest echilons of the Nidecker range - the Megalight - this board gives the ultimate ride for the carving revolution!
THE AREA
Who It’s For: Freestyle riders looking for a carving hit
With the softest flex and mellowest sidecut in the series, the Area works perfectly as an introductory carving board that still lets you lay it all out there, whilst softening the bite if you get it wrong.This gives your carving a more freestyle feel, making jibs and butters easier to fit into your fast laps alongside your elbow diggin’. The tail holds tons of power, loading ollies up with plenty of pop for blasting over piste markers and friends.
THE TRACER
Who It’s For: Riders who know to look sideways at snowboarding
We’re no symmetrical when we ride, so why should our boards be, especially when you’re focusing on perfecting your turn. The Tracer’s heel edge has a tighter sidecut radius, optimising the board’s turnability on both edges.And yes, it comes in both regular and goofy flavours. It’s not just a one trick pony, this thing goes in the backcountry too, making it a team favourite both on and off piste. This year it takes the bold colour scheme to even greater heights, so if you doidn’t know by now, now you do.
THE CONCEPT
Who It’s For: Riders who want speed
At the top end of the line, the Concept features our ultra-fast sintered N-9000 base for warp speed straightlining, but when the road runs out its premium construction and progressive sidecut provide more than enough grip and bite to deal with corners. Taking tech from the highest echilons of the Nidecker range - the Megalight - this board gives the ultimate ride for the carving revolution!