Skiing in the land that music forgot

Leysin, Switzerland, off-pisting with ISM. No snow when we arrived, and our hearts sank. We finally found the chalet and got to bed around midnight. Sunday morning and the situation looks no better with a gentle rainfall. We walk into town to pick up some touring boots - they're hard to come by in the UK, and we walk out with two pairs of Scarpas and a lighter bank balance. Rental skis with Diamirs, skins and ski crampons complete the kit list, and now it's started snowing - a lot. With zero visibility and half the day gone, we retreat to the chalet and in the evening we meet up with the rest of the people on this jolly and Steve Jones, our main guide. A diverse, but easy-going crowd. John A we already know from Bristol. A couple, Suzi and Jon, from Gloucestershire. Gordon, a pilot with BA. Robin, a (former) partner with one of the big accountancy firms, on a year's (!) gardening leave before taking up a position with another big accountancy firm. Steve's been living here guiding for 25 years. He looks the part - a wizened mountain man.

When we wake up the next morning, the Alps are covered with a foot and a half of fresh powder. We get introduced to Alex, a Swiss ski instructor, who's job it is to assess and tutor our powder skills. He's a very enthusiastic fellow with that polished style that only ski instructors have. We have a fun day in the fluffy powder, including a sobering session in the avalanche park where we try our hands at locating 'victims' using our beacons. It's difficult, and we don't manage to find any within the stipulated 15 minutes. The bell goes, signalling time's out - for the victims. Effective beacon search requires practice.

The next day Steve has to shoot off to London for a funeral, so we're left in the hands of another Swiss guide, Yvon, for the next few days. Yvon is first and foremost a guide - he takes people on remote and spectacular mountain days, rather than teaching skiing - eventhough he is is a qualified ski instructor.

"I can either ski powder off piste every day, or teach kids the snowplough" he said, and I can't say I disagree.

Yvon takes us to neighbouring Diablreret and we head off on some proper drops in a full on tempo. Excellent skiing indeed. We finish off with a long powdery run through the trees into the village of Villars before heading back. Next morning sees warmer temperatures, and Yvon takes us on our first ski climb to the summit of Tour de Famelon, 2137m. I've never used climbing skins before, but I have done lots of x-country skiing in my youth, so I'm familiar with free heel skiing. It's a strangely hypnotic experience, and we've set off in a moderate tempo with Yvon breaking trail. It's steady, and sweaty, work without being as aerobically taxing as say running. We climb the 500-odd metres in about 1.5 hours. There are some significant skills and fitness differentials within the group. Add to that a factor 4 avalanche danger, Yvon chose the easiest possible descent route. We wound our way back down into the valley in complete alpine splendor and solitude. Reality hit us with a bang when we're about to head for a Vin Chaude and look up towards where we'd started our climb - one side had totally disappeared in a slab avalanche - a safe distance away from our tracks, but still. Yvon says with a wry smile that he'd seen it go but thought he'd better not mention it until we got back down.

During the night I appear to have contracted some stomach nasty, and sadly skiing is over for me for this time. Thursday saw more rain, and I didn't miss much by all accounts. Today, Friday, Steve's taken the group to Diableret for another skinning ascent.

And what is it about the Swiss and the poodle-haired 80s krautrock heard at every lift station?

So, in summary, ISM is cool. Conditions started out great, but deteriorated into slush and rain. Ski touring is definitely something I'd like to do lots more of. Avalanche beacons require lots of training. Diahorrea and puking go poorly with skiing.