The Ski at night
It’s skiing with a difference after darkness falls, says JENNY STALLARD on a floodlit slope in the Swiss Alps
AS THE gondola slips out of its bay and begins to head up the hill towards the start of the ski run, I am silent and in awe. Usually, I would be in awe of the view, but right now, it’s hard to see much at all. The moon is almost full, high in the sky, but the mountains around me are covered in a blanket of shadows.
It feels almost like trespassing to be heading up to a ski run at 7.30pm. By now, usually, the slopes are empty save for the piste-basher machines flattening the snow ready for the next morning.
But this run, in Corvatsch, St Moritz, has already been groomed, and on a
Friday night, it re-opens to the public until a very chilly 1.40am.
At the top of the slope, my group and I disembark, and the snow crunches beneath our feet, already hardening with the evening chill.
Into the night rings a loud cry – part animal, part yodel. It’s not a mountain wolf but Othmar, the outdoor butler from my base, the Carlton hotel back in St Moritz town.
Our guide for the evening, Othmar has his own battle cry, a sound a bit like ‘Mamma-UH!’ We rally to the cry together, and head out onto the slope.
After arriving at the resort the night before, I’d already spent the morning on sunny pistes, finding my feet again after a year of not skiing.
This evening, as the group and I headed across the valley, the
floodlit slope came into view, glowing like a stream of lava down the hillside – inviting and mysterious, forbidden and enticing.
At the top, I’m not scared, but there is trepidation. Will this be different to daytime skiing?
I’ve skied at night before, but back in the days when I was a seasonaire waitress, where we would ski a cat track (a fairly flat run) back in the dark after our day off.
This is in a different league, of course. For 27CHF (around £20), you board the gondola, and then you can cruise the 4.2km-long piste at leisure. The floodlights are spaced out, so patches of light and dark guide the way.
It’s a mixture of blue and red gradient, I’d say, some challenging steepness, and wide enough for our group of five to stick together.
Luckily, it’s quiet in general, so we’re able to stop and take it all in.
Halfway down the floodlit slope, skiers can stop for a drink or dinner at two small restaurants. Many do this and end up skiing home late, and tired, which we’re warned against.
For us, it’s back to the warmth of the Carlton, a far cry from the exposed night time slope. Interiors from designer Carlo Rampazzi are bold and opulent, and following a refurbishment, the 60 suites (no bog-standard rooms here) now face south with a view of Lake St Moritz below.
Rumours suggest the property, which opened its doors in 1913, was originally planned as a summer residence for Russia’s last Tzar. But take legends with a pinch of salt and instead put your faith in the hotel’s dedication to luxury and guest satisfaction.
Drivers will take you wherever you like in town (for me, it was to the local supermarket to buy some Swiss wine we tried in the restaurant), while the turn-down service comes complete with a lip balm one night, an eye cream the next, and towels are fluffier than a cartoon snowball.
The lake, frozen solid outside my window, is covered in large white tents for the St Moritz gourmet festival. In winter, the lake also plays host to ‘white turf’ horse racing and polo. I can barely believe it when I’m told. But then, that’s St Moritz all over. It’s a place that does things differently, and always has done.
As the birthplace of Alpine tourism, St Moritz was founded in 1864, and is truly unique in what it