'One Resort, Two Seasons' by Jane Claire Jackson

February

So cold, our own breath’s visible. Tinted goggles protect eyes from the glaring white landscape. We struggle, pulling on heavy ski-boots, fasten tight buckles and plod clumsily outside, carrying skis over shoulders, hands protected by thick gloves. We queue for the first chairlift, clipping boots into fittings, trying to stay upright on these unfamiliar appendages. Twelve months since our last skiing holiday; we’ll need time to readjust. On the ride to the top, skis dangling heavily, we look out for deer amongst the conifers below. Footprints testify to their presence, tracks crisscrossing steep slopes, but sightings are rare. A short first glide leads to a second lift. We soon arrive at the summit. Breathtaking scenery: a white world, clearly-marked pistes, busy chalet restaurants where skiers recline in deckchairs, drinking hot drinks as they pause mid-morning. Later, we’ll choose a trestle-table for lunch, admiring the prowess of more experienced skiers whilst we eat.

July

Air buzzes with insects. Green mountainsides beckon. We pull on hiking-boots and stride out, inhaling lungfuls of fresh air scented with wildflowers. Only the lowest chairlifts are in operation, transporting cyclists to the top of steep tracks. Their thick-tyred bikes hung on specially-fitted hooks. Helmets and joint-paddings testify to the dangers of their daredevil sport. We jump off and continue upwards on foot, following well-worn paths through conifers, providing protection from the midday sun. Reaching a lake, we picnic to the sound of distant cowbells. Refuelled, we climb until trees thin, finally giving way to open grassland and we pass cattle and goats on our sweaty route to the summit. Studying the view, we try to identify where we skied in winter. Empty cables suspended on tall pillars and shuttered restaurant cabins the only clues we’re stood in the same spot.