I arrive at the top of the slope to crystal quartz snow that glistens from the rising sun. Footprints sink 2ft deep in the powder, while the central parts of the slopes are carved by boards and ski edges, spiralling down in grand patterns that decorate the mountain face. Ruka is still. Still and quiet. The only exceptions are occasional skidding and the mechanical wheel that turns the lift.
The start of my week is spent purely clueless, with no preconceptions of snowsports, and genuinely wondering if I’m going to get stuck on the mountainside. My cousin Steven wasn’t particularly comforting.
‘We're going straight to the top of the mountain and by the bottom, you’ll be able to snowboard.’
This was my induction to snowboarding.
*
I mainly kept to the green run ‘Saaura’ on the first two days, because it was the only slope I could get down in less than an hour. It felt considerably more progressive than falling into hysterics 100 metres down the main mountain because I had once again been abandoned by my cousin and was already exhausted. The downside is the T lift. This is a piece of hard plastic in the shape of a ‘T’ that is supposed to drag you up to the top of the mountain. You queue with one foot out of the snowboard, wait for a ‘T’ to come around, place it between your legs with your front foot facing the mountain, and then hopelessly pray that it doesn’t fling you off. To the entertainment of both my cousin and the growing queue of people behind me, I’m thrown, spat, and launched into the snow several times before I gave up and started walking.
A later favourite was the blue slope ‘Bistro’. You take the cushy gondola lift to the top with both feet disconnected from the snowboard, before going down a slope that has slightly more variation. It’s a fun one, even if you can’t heel break to save your life. There are days when the sky is filled with snow clouds, making it impossible to differentiate the white of the ground with the white of the sky, so you can’t see the drops until you’re already falling down them. Prepare to be unprepared. Body boarding to the bottom isn’t cheating if you have no choice in the matter. With a sufficient amount of snow up your shirt and down your pants, you’ll eventually turn your head and look for the safe space that is the gondola lift; instead you’ll find a ski lift.
‘Just push yourself past the gate with your back foot, balance, and then sit down.’
I turn around and see Steven standing behind me. A new kind of adrenaline hits as I queue up for the ski lift. If I fall now, the entire lift will come to a stop. Everyone moves like clockwork. I don’t think people realise that this is my first time on a mountain. My tense stance is met by a laugh. ‘Just don’t fall’ wasn’t quite the reassurance I was after but I was glad for his presence. My hands grip onto metal bars either side of me. I adjust my footing. Exhale.
‘Now!’
I push myself out of shock onto the moving walkway and will myself into balance. The floor moves for one, two, three, it stops.
‘Get ready to sit!’
I focus on my cousin's voice, look behind and see a chair ready to take me out. I squat backwards, but my ankle’s in a funny angle as I collide between floor and chair.
‘Pull your feet up!
I heave my right foot up with as much strength as I can, hauling the snowboard into the air. He points to the pedal for me to rest my foot, but by the time I figure it out it’s time to move again.
‘Foot down, get your line, balance with your back foot on, push off and don’t fall.’
The corner gets closer and I see the man on shift sitting calmly in his pod, as if I know how to get down from this chair. All I have to do is balance long enough to get out of the way and then I can fall. Move out of the way, then fall.
‘Ready? Three, two, one.’
My positioning is off but a pair of hands stabilises me. They let go and I watch Steven glide ahead. The chair’s still nudging me forwards but I’ve lost my footing again and I don’t think I’m going to make it. I swerve. Slide. Throw my hands over my head as the ski lift runs me over. Then I claw my way to the sidelines in a mad rush just as four skiers prepare to ascend.
Although a nightmare, the ski lift does have its own charm. Within seconds it can soar you up into the sky, and you can float up the mountain with a fantastic view of everything going on below. It forces you to fall over, duck under moving chairs and crash into all sorts of shapes (and people) and you have no choice but to lighten up, smile and have a great time.
By lunchtime you feel like you’re on a Snickers advert, and you hand over 40€ without a second thought. I planned on ordering a coffee on the first day but I heard myself asking for a crisp pint of cider instead, and it was so good I stuck to the same order for the rest of the week. I also realised that getting off the slopes half an hour before Steven gave me time to loosen my boots, finish a pint and feel my toes again - and it did wonders for my calves, since I hadn’t realised that I needed a larger boot size. Day two had me feeling like I understood this whole snowboarding thing and a pint helped a lot. Once Steven arrived in his snow-covered jumper and donkey hat beanie, we ordered a combination of cauliflower and chicken wings along with more drinks, followed by a final pint of courage before spending the afternoon crashing into more snow.
The Rudolph Adventure Run was my favourite. This is mostly down to the fact that it has a halfway point to reward your bruised knees and cold bum with a campfire and reindeers. This makes a considerable difference for someone who takes an hour to get down. You get off the lift at the top of the mountain and go as far right as you can. As you begin to go down, you’ll notice a new route on your left with a big sign displaying a cartoon reindeer on it. Turn towards it, or collapse in the snow just before it, whatever your style. The path narrows and zigzags then, but the possibility of seeing reindeers and sitting by an open fire is too good to miss. You’re committed now. Halfway down the slope, christmas-themed bird boxes and polar bear sculptures appear. Before long, the path opens up to a campfire with piled logs and a reindeer farm. A nice little slope that even I can glide down allows for an elegant entry and you end up conveniently standing by the snowboard rack. There are little huts filled with Christmas displays and lights, and further down the route there are husky kennels too.
The forests are dense with spruce trees in white coats, and it stretches for miles from my balcony window, right up to the skyline where sunlight seeps between breaking blue-grey clouds. In a few hours, a pastel sunset will transform this white canvas into the most naturally beautiful thing I have ever seen. Blush clouds, a baby blue sky that turns into peach, then lavender, casting an amethyst hue over all of us. Not a single leaf sways under the weight of snowfall, and I watch the stillness as the sun sets in the softness of watercolours. Only when my skin prickles with goosebumps and my core begins to shiver, do I head back indoors to figure out the sauna in our bathroom.
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