Fraser Mountain - Living the snow life

Chapter Ten

Taz and I stand at Fraser’s famous ‘hitching post’ and if I was a man and had any balls, they’d be freezing off about now. Taz is starting her first day of ‘lift supervisor’ training so we wait by the side of the road, thumbs extended, in the vague hope that a nice person will stop and pick us up. I still can’t quite believe this a normal method of transport but I’m happy to be proved wrong. We’ve been waiting around and stamping our feet to keep warm for about fifteen minutes, but the road up to the ski hill isn’t exactly the M25, ie: heaving with traffic. Another van full of people sails past, the driver shrugging his apologies through the windscreen.

‘I’m so excited!’ Taz squeaks, for about the fifth time. To say that she’s thrilled about getting a job is a slight understatement.I think the whole Hostel heard her when she got the call from her new boss at RFM. Frankly, the idea of standing next to a bit of machinery all day pressing buttons is about appealing to me as having teeth pulled, but a job is a job and I know she’s relieved to be getting her lift-pass paid for.

‘I wonder what your training’ll involve?’ I ask, blowing on my frozen hands. Fingerless gloves are proving to be a complete waste of time.

She nudges my shoulder. ‘Thanks for coming with. Sure you’re not gonna be too bored? Dan says we’ll probably rescue a dummy off the chairlift with some rope and a bit of plastic.’

I’ve got to admire Taz’s enthusiasm as I watch her and her fellow trainees pulling ropes and being yelled at by a man called Jake, who is their supervisor. He strikes me as a chap that likes his job a lot, because he’s been strutting around with a walkie talkie clamped to his jaw for the last thirty minutes, barking numerous commands into it.

I leave them to it and decide to go for a walk around the base of the resort, but I’m gutted the fog still hasn’t lifted. It’s been like this for a few days and there’s a massive mountain range somewhere, but can I see it? Can I hell. It’s definitely a few degrees colder up here than in town and I’m grateful for the extra warmth of my ski jacket. It might be getting a bit frayed around the edges, but this jacket has been with me through all my snowboarding adventures. It’s pretty non-descript, being black all over, but it fits me like a glove and I can wear a t-shirt or a fleece underneath, depending on the weather. Henry used to call it my ninja jacket because he could never spot me on the slopes, but I like to blend in. Joe and Sam may compete to wear the most lurid outfits going, because they’ve got the skills to. I’m happy to blend in with the crowds, glad that I resisted the urge to blow some cash on a load of blingy new gear before I left London.

I hear Jake’s voice drift over the buildings as I walk away. ‘Nice job, guys!’

I’m full of admiration for my tough little Aussie friend and her colleagues, doubting that I’d be resilient enough to stand in all-weathers, having had to get up at 6am every morning to get to work on time. That and the fact you have to stand around all day, watching other people have fun.

I swing my arms to get a bit of warmth into them as I saunter past the ticket office and notice the large timber building with the sign at the front that reads ‘DayLodge.’ Unfortunately, for me it’s locked up but I know from my guidebook that there’s a large canteen area inside, as well as locker rooms and toilets. There are a couple of chain restaurants and a Starbucks nearby, but they’re all firmly closed too. I take a quick peek through the windows.

The larger hotels and chalets are further up the mountain, obscured by the grey mist. I’m guessing this early in the season means they’re empty, apart from the seasonaires cleaning them. It would be a pretty dreary time to come here with no snow at the base and no lifts running, but on a sunny day I bet it’s still magic.

The cloud seems to be getting thicker and the drizzle wetter, so I shelter on a bench underneath the entrance to the DayLodge and enjoy the novelty of my surroundings. It may be damp and cold but I’d much rather be here than Bostock Bank. I wonder what Susannah’s doing right now. Maybe she got another city job, or moved to another department in the bank. Why am I even thinking about her when there are much more exciting things to occupy my brain? I can’t see much of the mountain in front of me, but I decide to go for a walk up the hill and see how far I get. I rummage around in my daypack for the ski area map I picked up earlier in the week. As I stand up and turn around I almost trip over.