I moved to Whistler to learn how to snowboard and before long - thanks to heaps of enthusiasm and confidence - spent the best part of two winters attacking rainbow rails and battleship rails and nailing switch 180s over blue table tops in the park.

But balls to being a jib-monkey. That was only when there was no visibility. Plus I say the ‘best part of two winters’ because in the beginning when my confidence superseded lack of experience, I displaced two ribs and twisted my spine as a result of buckling it over a rail, and I’ve lived with a painful stiffness ever since.

For me it fast became all about the powder. The first time I floated weightlessly down an endless run of fresh pow and became competent at riding trees I felt I’d discovered what life was all about. This was what being alive felt like.

Season life, consisting of going to work in a beautiful sunken valley in the mountains and being able to stomp to a conveniently located ski lift in the centre of town and heading up the mountain to shred on my days off, was unreal.

Then I whiled away the summer sandwiched between the snowy months as a canoe guide hanging out at two of the valley’s glassy clear lakes and leading people down a 13km river in a hot hot sun.

And there were always friends living nearby to hang out with. Whistler is small enough to herald a cosy community atmosphere but big enough, vibrant enough and crammed full of enough bars, never to tire of it.

I had my fair share of problems, what with my injury and lack of cash, but life was nice. In the end though, when it was time for me to leave, I realised that there were a few things I had tired of - but which don’t stop me day-dreaming about returning and living there forever one day.

For ski resorts aren’t ‘real’. They in no way represent a cross section of society, everyone is having a great time - on the surface anyway, and life is centred around having fun. The hedonists fly there in abundance, and why not?

To me, Whistler is an example of what is arguably a perfect bubble of non-reality. And of course this visage of perfection and the magic and fun of this Christmas Disneyland is what makes these bubbles so special.

But after a while, despite its apparent perfection, I found myself wondering what life was like on the outside of this bubble. And once I’d left, ever since, for some reason I’ve been contemplating what I’m doing outside of this bubble while at the same time wondering what life’s really all about.

According to a spokesperson from Mont Tremblant where the she had her accident, Natasha fell and hit her head on a beginner slope, but did not feel unwell so carried on skiing.

It was only until later that evening that she developed a severe headache whereupon she was rushed to hospital in Montreal and then to one in New York City where she later died.

Hearing about Natasha brought back memories of when I first moved to Whistler, back in 2003 and was careering off a cat-track where I’d picked up a load of speed, and then caught my edge as I dug it in to stop, falling backwards and slamming down hard on the ice.

My wrist flung back as did my head - which smacked on the rock-hard ice beneath me. I lay there for several minutes, waiting for the pain in my lower back, head and wrist to subside.

The pain in my back and head did eventually disappear but the pain only worsened in my wrist.

Anyone who has been to Whistler will know that it is crawling with Ski Patrol - so lucky for me I had one of the worthy guys with me within a few minutes.

After threatening to cut my glove off, I managed to stop whining long enough to have my hand - attached to a very deformed looking wrist pulled free.

My wrist bone had snapped in half and my helmet had a dent the size of an enlarged golf ball in it.

If the impact snapped my wrist bone, without a helmet, my skull surely would have been fractured, leaving me…

Anyway, throughout the season I went on to compress a vertebrae, displace two ribs and twist my spine a little. I’ve also got nerve damage in my right knee, thanks to my persistent Super Pipe efforts - so it’s numb to the touch.

Now, almost six years later, after so many physio sessions I still can’t believe my insurance company coughed up for the lot, sessions with a chiropractor, an osteopath, electro-acupuncture, homeopathy, and having been referred to a neurologist back in the UK - my back still aches when I do anything remotely strenuous and is often stiff as hell.

So when I ride (snowboard and mountain bike), I wear a helmet, ice-hockey player’s shoulder pads and/or a spine protector and knee/shin pads.

I look a bit stupid, kind of like a Michelin (wo)man, but I know that a helmet saved my life and my armour enables me to continue riding, despite all my former injuries.

With my helmet and suit of armour on, I may not look as cool as those who choose to wear there so ‘on-trend slouch bobble hats’ but hell! I can ride as hard as I like safe in the knowledge that if I fall I’m not going to break much (more). And I’ll still be alive and kicking at the end of it.

But when the sun came out after a few days of riding almost waist deep powder, we quickly acknowledged the threat of the beauty that immersed us.

We knew Europe had had a good start to its 08/09 season (unlike North America!) but when you book three or four weeks in advance you never really know what you’re going to get.

But we reckon we bagged ourselves the week of the season – the week that Seasonaires recall fondly and holiday makers hope and pray for.

Snow was falling when we arrived in Mayrhofen – the resort we visited at a similar time last year and knew to offer a massive and varied terrain for expert riders. This snow relentlessly fell, day and night, for the first 72 hours.

So we rode the trees, on top of the Penken and Eggalm - like you should when visibility sucks everywhere else, and made fresh lines down duvets and pillows of almost waist deep pow. The trees were our slalom and we slashed in between them blissfully aware of our tremendous luck!

Day four saw our one and only bluebird day – we were hungry for open powder fields and gagging to float down an epic out-of-bounds area we’d used and abused last year whilst all the crowds bashed the pistes.

But our early morning rise immediately brought signs of the death zone that surrounded us - deceiving us with its elegant facade.

We were up on the alpine by 9am and speeding down the corduroy on our first run, scoping out the area, when our mouths dropped and we screeched to a standstill as we caught sight of the roof and part of a window of a Snow Cat that had been almost completely concealed by a slab slide. We watched as this giant vehicle was dug out of its burial chamber – luckily the only casualty of many avalanches in the night.

All around us whole sides had slipped. So without transceivers we kept our free-riding to lower level areas and for the first time - rather than being half buried as we cruised the pow, we were blessed with what every snowboarder knows to be the best darn feeling in the world and floated weightlessly down the hillside.

We headed up the valley to the Hintertux Glacier for our penultimate day – a sure bet for masses of powder, left well alone and ours for the taking. We hit up a wide open area under one of the chair lifts, over and over again - until belatedly being scared off by the lifty, who informed us of the Avalanche warning level 5 - throughout the whole mountain.

For more information on avalanches visit:
http://www.abc-of-snowboarding.com/avalancheawareness.asp

Every year I spend three out of six days riding in agony. The pain is mostly confined to the bruising around my ankles as a result of an unadulterated battering from my Burtons which slows me down and leaves me infuriated…

I’ve done two seasons in these boots and yet they always hurt like hell every subsequent year. I think maybe they’re getting their own back for not being used as much as they used to – either that or they’re telling me not to be so tight, let them retire and buy another pair.

It’s not just the bruising either - my toes cramp up for a couple of days, forcing me to hold up anyone I’m riding with (not without their own problems let me assure you) as I un-strap and bring my delicate little tootsies out into the icy mountain air, as my boyfriend (if I’m lucky) or I, vigorously rub them back to life so I can carry on racing around.

But just as my feet get used to my boots, my upper body starts to whimper, shoulders and back becoming stiff as hell, not used to hours and hours of strange and unfamiliar movements.

Every year this happens - and as my sacred week approaches once more, I’m left racking my brain as to whether I can do anything to prevent this inevitable pain.

Answer:

Yoga, pilates or both are the obvious pain preventers, as being all limbo-ed up and strengthening your core to the max, will mean your body is more on guard when taking the strain of snowboarding all day every-day and could prevent potential injury.

But I’m not certain that all this pain can be entirely warded off by these alternative practices - as whenever your body uses muscles it hasn’t used in a bloody long time they’re going to rebel – and if your yoga/pilates workouts don’t work those muscles in the way they’re used on the hill, then you’re screwed anyway? Besides, yoga – as far as I know, doesn’t prevent bruising.

I have been pondering over whether to wear my boots around the house, possibly even attempt a few lunges in them. But again, surely this isn’t substantial preparation for when I get on the mountain for real and they start strangling my poor ankles, all day long.

Conclusion:

So, save for going down the gym in my boots, I’ve decided that I may as well sit around and just write about it, because it’s going to hurt whatever I do and I’ll just have to grin and bear it.

Either that or I move back to the mountains and never face this annual pain ever again.

I was at work when the first flurries of snowflakes came floating down upon southern England last week – a day later than those that blanketed the capital with their feathery whiteness. Flurries that were to cause 5000 schools to shut across the country – in one day, cause havoc on the roads and induce a chaotic meltdown of the whole of the London transport system whilst grinding other cities virtually to a halt.

Ever since moving back from Whistler three and a half years ago, I have vowed to snowboard right here in the city of Bristol where I live, should there ever be just an inkling of snow.

So a dusting was all it took for me and my Canadian to scrabble up in the loft, hurl our boots down the stairs, pull on our snowboard pants over our jeans and set off through our city suburb to the fields that lie just beyond for some slippery action.

But the snow kept falling and yet another day at work was cancelled so ensuring we were well hydrated, we set off once again, this time to higher ground and a few more inches of snow.

We squelched our way through mud and slush, crossed streams and trudged through woods edging our way deep into the back country of North Somerset where we strapped in and did the unthinkable – carved ourselves some fresh lines on English soil, avoiding the cow-pat as we slid.

First I travel to India - the highest of them all and float down an endless white glow of soft icy fur. I am happiest here because a fascinating culture envelops me - making me forget every mundane day I‘ve ever had.

Then I float on to the Far East and arrive at one of SnowSphere’s most treasured spots. I am snowboarding in Japan and can hear the plinky-plonky echoes of Oriental melodies as I negotiate billowing marshmallows and carve giant powder turns splashing the land’s delicate, illustrator-perfect trees. My body aches by now so I duck into a smoking room and tuck head first, into a bowl of spicy miso soup. My face becomes hot and damp with the spray of its salty juice. I devour a temple of sashimi and keep my decorative chopsticks to remind me.

I double back west and turn to see a man on an irritated mule bump past. I am standing in slush and mud but my path leads to a far more inviting end. Small wooden homes lead the way from villages to hills whose summits, until a few years ago were never even contemplated upon. A clandestine Eastern Europe still awaits full discovery.

Suddenly I’m riding high in the mighty US of A! The cold air has me bury deep into the furrows of my jacket. My fists clench and I attempt a near perfect run up – I know I mustn’t let the fear force my legs to speed check too much. My knees bend and I feel the power muster in my back foot as I pop myself into the air just as I reach it…I grab my board and I’m flying.

And then, without warning, I’m back on safe ground again and staring at the lastminute.com ski holidays deals page.

The Alps again is it?

“Watching snowboard movies makes you a better rider!”

I spluttered out laughter when my friend declared this quite seriously, but then quickly reverted to having an open mind that truth could prevail…

After a two hour hill bombing session on our long-boards,  three of us sat around scoffing sandwiches as Mountainlab 2.5 - the 2007/8 DC movie, started arousing the stoke in us for the impending cooler months when we’d be bombing soft snowy duvets not hard concrete sheets.

We were all in mutual agreement that snowboard movies can excite, inspire and mentally empower you to ride better - core ingredients that are needed for the will and the way (the desire and confidence) to pull off new tricks or just to ride harder and get the most out of a riding session. But these qualities are a given - a basic expectation when it comes to any extreme sports movies - so can watching snowboard movies actually make you a better rider?

My friend certainly reckons so. His theory decrees that progressive riders can, whilst watching the Pros get their groove on - learn from them.

But it’s a bit more technical that - it’s all about visualisation (apparently), contemplating not only the mechanics of the trick but how the trick feels, helping you develop a greater sense of body awareness.

For example, when watching riders throw down massive 180s or 360s you really need to try and feel how the trick feels, considering what speeds and angles of rotation are needed - so employing whole body visualisation (get it?!).

And (just in case you didn’t understand any of that) - snowboard movies are more obviously, also full of new trick ideas, that dole out fresh helpings of inspiration for us to try new styles of riding altogether.

An example of this can be seen in the recent-ish trend of riding up the side of a tree stump, like a wall ride – this is a trick that has seemed to eclipse the more old school way of tree jibbing where riders pop up and pull 180 nose-bonks on them…

So next time you’re getting ready to take on the mountain, stick on one of them snowboard movies and let the inspiration flow and your riding improve - from the comfort of your sofa!

WATCH, LEARN, AND FEEEEEL!

I’ve just come back from another week in Nova Scotia – the Canadian province I have re-named the ‘Land of Trees and Lakes’ due to the region being smothered in a rich blanket of trees punctuated with cool clear, fresh and salt water lakes.

But it’s not only the lakes nestling round every corner that make Scotia so beautiful  - fishing towns, which are really hamlets by UK standards, are quaint and quiet, dotted with candy cane houses all the colours of the rainbow. And Halifax, the capital city, is more like a really chilled town. No one rushes anywhere and everyone has the time to ask you, ‘How ya doin’?!’

But you never hear of Nova Scotia – and certainly not for its snowboarding!

Canada’s second biggest province is eclipsed by the Rockies out West, the Great Lakes of Ontario and of course Niagara Falls, and when people rave about the Fall colours, they are talking about New England further south in the States.

But this under-rated and seemingly undiscovered corner of Maritime Canada was on fire when myself and my Nova Scotian husband paid his folks an impromptu September visit. Early autumn was ablaze with trees singeing as Hurricane Kyle caused their blood red and caramel ginger flames to lick around the province - making our road trips a delight.

Ski Martock

On the way back from Cape Split – a remote point of the Annapolis Valley, up by the Bay of Fundy - we dropped by on ‘Ski Martock’, where my other half worked as a snowboard Instructor for two seasons way back when, in the late 90s. Martock is only 45 minutes from Halifax but has the facade of utter remoteness as other than the tiny resort’s restaurant-bar and nearby local convenience store - there is nothing around for miles…and miles…in either direction, other than the odd house or farm.

But this is the essence and the beauty of Canada.

Martock elevates to a whopping 600 meters with one chair lift and three drag - but there are rails, a ½ pipe, night boarding, and a cross country skiing park. The season runs from late December to mid March and mainly relies on snow guns, thus keeping conditions consistent - and with arguably the best facility management of all, Martock reveals itself as the ‘best skiing in Atlantic Canada (i.e. New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, Nova Scotia and (maybe) Newfoundland!).

Ski Wentworth

Other ski hills include Wentworth, which also has a terrain park, ½ pipe and night skiing and tends to get the most snow being situated in a valley and on the Nova Scotia snow-belt. Wentworth also has 10km of cross country skiing and several Nova Scotian residents claim it to be the best resort for free-riding.

Ski Cape Smokey

Cape Smokey and Ben Eion are Scotia’s two other resorts and can both be found on Cape Breton Island, famous for whale watching and the picturesque Cabot Trail. Cape Smokey nestles in the Cape Breton Highlands and is the province’s highest resort at 1000m, with all of two lifts feeding 16 runs.

Ski Ben Eion

Ben Eion overlooks the beautiful Bras d’Or Lake and is slightly more accessible near the urban spot of Sydney and in addition to its terrain park and ½ pipe boasts 12km+ of cross country trails – a fantastic way to get the heart pumping whilst breathing in serene and stunning surroundings.

All these resorts are perfect for the novice rider and although expert riders may tire of any one of these in a couple of minutes (!) Scotia is a great place to get your CASI (Canadian Association of Snowboard Instructors) Level One - because without the ‘distraction’ of vast/epic terrain, the focus remains on the teaching.

But even if you are an experienced rider, with a great country and western atmosphere, the best radio stations (its rockin’ out on every frequency) and lift tickets at around £15/day - if you combine your riding with a few road trips and take time to admire the wild and open spaces that surround you, making sure you absorb every ounce of the chilled Canadian way – you may find yourself falling victim to the charms of this fruity coloured wilderness and falling in love with Nova Scotia (or indeed a Nova Scotian!) in all its entirety…

“When I see rain, I think…What a waste of perfectly good snow”

This was one of many comments, which had me nodding at my laptop and publically crying tears of laughter – these guys are funny, British wit at its most parched…

‘The Ketchup Smugglers’, consisting of Jack Rabbit, aka film maker Paul Lappin, Bald Eagle, Lone Wolf, and Big Bear can’t understand why sponsorship eludes them – after all they can get a good 3 or 4 inches of air? Nevertheless this short movie shows how they manage to dodge the paparazzi and learn how to jump turn having had only a Tenants Special to start the day.

With clever editing - one of them comments on Lone Wolf’s “riding ability…as an accomplished rider” as he tumbles through the pow – and a complementary soundtrack, teamed with the guys’, board-clutched-close-to-the-heart, sincerity this is one hilarious amateur concoction!

I can’t believe they managed to keep a straight face throughout – these guys’ talents obviously aren’t just confined to their tremendous board sliding skills.

I’m sure they’ll do their new sponsors, their local fish n chip shop and hair salon proud!

You can see for yourself that these guys really could be, the world’s worst snowboarders on: http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=aqe2QvnriCs

I have sorely missed the sun this summer - its warming energy infuses inspiration into me and enables the fulfilment of my persistent craving to be outdoors. Activities we poor Brits normally have to endure under grey skies and rain can, let’s face it, be far better enjoyed when the sun shines… For example, the ever rare, past-time of swimming (minus wetsuit) in cold salt waters or in fresh water rivers; bright and sweaty tennis games interspersed with the glugging of cool sweet soda in the shade, and afternoons long-boarding along smooth, dry sidewalks.

Yet even during the rare and precious sun worshipping I have conducted this ‘summer’, I have still found myself dreaming about the mountain heaven of snow I will come to immerse myself in this season.

So in these sporadic dry spells, I turn my enthusiasm to my plank with wheels, as when the perfect hill has been found, long-boarding is the closest I’ve come to mimicking the feeling of snowboarding on dry land (in the absence of any massive sand dunes and/or a mountain board!).

After a particularly intense bout of rain and cloud, upon waking to a bright sun the other weekend, the hunt was on for a hill to cruise down and a 20 minute push from home later, we found ourselves contemplating several narrow paths which ran off in different directions through the trees.

After an aggressive and narrow beginning, our choice route widened and flattened out into a path named ‘The Avenue’, so using our imaginations - this concrete slope became our mountain and similarly to snowboarding, a sense of freedom and exhilaration was aroused as we carved broad swooping turns in swift succession.

Shaded from a burning sun, under a canopy of very British Oaks graffitying the concrete with their shadows, run after run, we evaded the stares of passersby - perhaps a little envious at our determined yet yearning kindred spirits…