Bayerisch Eisenstein

The little German town one nanometer past the CZ border has the greater share of the same mountains that špičak is built on. It's a slow and winding route through the characteristic myriad of small-towns in the Czech countryside en route to BE. At the end of the road a series of snow-covered hair-pin bends adds to the driving excitement and makes sure you're wide awake by the time you cross the border.

Deciding that there was a lot of skiing to be done this season, and having experienced the consequences of poorly fitting boots on a recent outing at špičak, the wife and I ventured into the, as we discovered, highly technical and complex world of ski-boots and ski-boot fitting.

Having shied away from the prospect of braving the technical discussion with a technical Czech, we decided to look into the matter on the web and read through a thesis-sized plethora of, a thankfully largely convergent, commentary and advice on the art of ski-boot fitting.

Our first attempt, at a large sports store in Plzen, found us attended by a linguistically proficient sales assistant who, to his ultimate demise broke every rule and caution highlighted in the aforementioned thesis. Eventually leaving the store with nothing but a few pairs of socks, we determined to solve the problem ourselves and spent a few more hours in another store across town.

We made all the technical measurements, felt for the different flex factors and went through the list of fit elements, wore the boots as prescribed etc. Hayley in her characteristic decisiveness, a trait shared well with her sister, wavered till the end, and even then wasn't sure.

We left the store, 2 pairs of boots in hand (for better or for worse), boot bags, new gloves for bugz, and an unscratchable itch to hit the slopes again.

The set-up in BE seems a lot larger and varied than those in neighbouring špičak, there are slopes of every permissible colour and one in particular that was to be a great hit, but I'll get to that in a minute. On the Friday of our arrival, the entire region had been blessed with a good covering of snow just in time for our foray. Huge piles of graded snow, in places 1.5 M high, lined roads and driveways - the girls wasted no time in conquering the one in the yard of our B&B.

The view from the B&B verandah

We checked into our B&B, for the evening and, after cursing for not remembering that German B&B establishments rarely provide bath soap, forcing us to improvise by showering with the shampoo, we passed out and dreamed of the slopes waiting for us the next day. Next morning we got ourselves all outfitted with skis at the local hire shop and headed out for the slopes. The babies had a 2 hour ski lesson with Vanessa, one of the local instructors who turned out to be great for the girls boosting their confidence and desire to be in skis to new heights.

Hayley and I used the time to ski the slope adjacent to the girls and had a great time carving perfect arcs with complete confidence thanks to our properly fitting and custom chosen boots.

After the blood had abandoned all hope of ever reaching my right pinky toe again, and two decent spills on my part, (Hayley not blemishing her poise by giving way to gravity even once!) we made our way back to the babies who had finished their lesson and were waiting for us to pick them up.

Lunch at the on-slope restaurant, and a beer to soothe the shattered ankle was welcome, warm and rejuvenating. Afterwards, we decided to take the girls up the slope we'd been skiing and bring them down with us.

The slope has 2 parallel drag lifts that have "T" shaped bar that is supposed to fit under ones bottom and drag one up the slope. The "T's" are made for a pair of skiers to ascend together. We went through the turnstiles together and made our way to the lift with the expectation of taking a single lift up the slope. One of us on each arm of the "T" and a baby each between our skis, and up we go... right? Well, not precisely. Amber and I somehow lost communication with Hayley and Sarah even though they were less than a meter behind us in the Q. We made our way onto the launch pad, moved over to the left side of the T as had been strategised, and looked right expectantly for Hayley and Sarah... who were not there... in an instant the next "T" bar found my bum, Amber was waiting between my skis and the tension in the tow line was being taken up... off we went, and I am thinking "they'll be fine - perhaps on the next T after us..." up we went.

About 100m into the ascent we look back, again with expectation and there is nothing but a bunch of empty "T" bars behind us... odd... oh well, they must be there someplace and we carry on chatting, admiring the frosted trees and generally enjoying the scenery.

Suddenly the entire conveyor is brought to a stop. The soft sound of snow squeaking under the skis, the only one apart from the wind was gone and a peaceful silence descended on the slope. one of those silences that makes even Amber whisper to me. We speculate as to what could have happened, here, another soft sound enters - it is the intuitive voice in my head that tells me that Hayley has something to do with this breakdown... I tell myself that it can't be true and we wait... and wait... and wait. The line of people ahead of us is now looking around wondering what to do, the conversation has died down and there are increasingly confused people deciding if they should just left go of the line now and ski down the slope that they've climbed so far...

The line starts up again and a few minutes later, we (Amber and I) disembark at the top of the slope and once again, turn to look for Hayley and Saz in the oncoming stream of people... but they are not there...

"There they are!" I tell Amber as I spot them about 500M down the slope, "where?" she's straining to see them that far away...

When they eventually crest the slope I ask the most pressing question. Turns out that after missing a hook, being bonked over the head by the second, catching the third and being pulled over by it, conked again over the head by the fourth the line operators, bringing themselves back to sanity after the spontaneous onset of hysterical laughter stopped the line and some bystanders helped Hayley and Saz stand up, approach a stationery "T" bar and hook it under her bum. Making sure they were still standing, the operators then started up the lift again... slowly...

The downhill run went rather more smoothly than the uphill one had gone and the girls loved the trip. The slope steepens toward the end and Amber (still between my skis) and I put on some speed - a bit more than I would have liked, but I can't snow plough efficiently enough to brake for the both of us, so I made her affirm how exciting it was to be going so fast down the hill ensuring that panic remained a second option as I brought the flying company to a controlled stop at the bottom of the slope.

Hayley, far more poised, with Saz came down as slowly as they went up, but with lots more control and finesse.

If you want an early night, one of the nice things about winter here is that the days are only about 8 hours long - 16:30 is dusk and the illusion that its later than it really is almost impossible to escape. We bundled the girls into bed by about 8 and followed them an hour later. Lovely.

Sunday was a slow day to start with, we got to the slopes at about 11 and hyped the babies up about going up on the bigger slopes. We had done the "family slope" the previous day while Amber and Saz were having their lesson and found it gentle enough to put the girls on. It runs for a good few Km's and is a pleasant, sometimes too gentle run which the girls took to instantly.

We held our ski poles together and out to the side so that Amber and Saz could hold onto the poles for any stability that they needed. They loved the huge 6- seater chair lift that gets you to the top of slope probably more than the subsequent run down the mountain... at least for the first time. Displaying less nerves than I thought we would have to deal with (thank you Vanessa) they both ski'd the slope next to us with not a whimper or sign of panic. By the second run Amber was wanting to attempt parts of it alone, with Sarah imitating too. The third run, Amber did substantially alone and even took on the steep ending where the slope bottoms out into the last part of the red run. Sarah also was far more solo, but a still a little more tentative than her older sister.

During the last lift run, I had dropped a glove from the lift and we'd stopped on the decent near the bottom where the family waited while I trudged up the red slope in my ski boots to retrieve the glove.

If walking up a red slope is that difficult, I can't wait to see what it's like to ski down!

This is the red slope on the left of the lift... someday soon...

Anyhow, a snowman bust was erected at the spot to greet skiers with a smile as they ended their runs.

This place is wonderful - we'll be back.