Flying direct from the UK to the tiny little airport of Fagernes with Crystal Ski, it was easy to get there too including transfers to our accommodation, a modern apartment with views across the snow-covered forests and mountains. It all felt so simple, suddenly replacing the bustle of busy London for a feeling of wilderness in the Norwegian hilltops.
This part of the country is incredibly picturesque too: red wooden barns contrast beautifully with the pure white hilltops. You can walk here in the countryside or try some long-distance cross-country skiing, take an exhilirating husky dog ride and go ice fishing. For us it was all about the classic downhill skiing though.
On the first few days, under the warm and gentle guidance of the Norwegian ski instructors my children flourished, taking to the slopes confidently and fearlessly as their skills improved. Having never skied before, I was much warier of my own first attempt on the snow. And unlike the views, it was not pretty.
I could feel the snow under the skis, smooth and steep; the cold air caught in my throat a little as I edged left to point straight down the hill, my feet crunching inside the ski boots and making me wince. Somehow, I knew it was going to end badly.
Even before I started, I could feel that I wasn’t 100% certain of the crucial element of how to stop. But seeing the other beginners around me master the techniques and desperate not to be left behind I edged ever more towards the downwards position until whoosh, I was off, suddenly scarily zooming down the hill. I was gathering speed, nothing I was doing was slowing me down and I was rocking recklessly from side to side.
The fence was in front of me, a four-year-old on skis to the right and as I stared in panic at him, I realised that was exactly where I was heading. I threw myself to the ground, running over the back of the child’s skis and just missing the fence.
Sprawled out across the snow, my shoulder felt like it had been wrenched off and ice clung to my hair. That was it, I thought. Skiing was not for me. What a crazy sport.
I still loved the idea of it — family trips meandering down the mountains, taking in the crisp, clear air, all of us together enjoying the great outdoors. But clearly I’d left it too late. I’m not sporty, not particularly agile and clearly not made for snow sports.
I confidently told my husband that it was OK, he could go out skiing with the kids, I loved the setting and would happily sit with my hot chocolate waiting for them to return. But deep down I couldn’t stop those pangs that I was missing out. Why was everyone else finding it so easy? Why did it look so much fun?
And then I met Tor Havard. Norwegian, from Beitostølen and full of calm confidence and positivity. Head of the ski school he skied as if he was dancing across the snow, as if he was its master. I decided to take one private lesson with him, give it one last chance before ruling it out forever.
We concentrated on my main concern: stopping. Over and over again down small slopes, taking it slowly, him in front skiing backwards with hands out to catch me as if I were a small child — stopping, slowly moving off, allowing me to feel confident and in control.
I may have shed a secret tear at the end of that first lesson. Perhaps I could be a skier after all.
Afterwards, we headed out through the small town in the weakening afternoon sun. Beitostølen has a handful of excellent restaurants, bars and hotels with swimming pools, along with two small shopping arcades with supermarkets and ski shops.
Walking through the surrounding snowy lanes peppered with those red topped houses, we gazed down at the huge frozen lake below the town and across to the neighbouring villages on the hillsides, all their lights twinkling brightly.
Stopping to make a snowman with my children, the quietness and peace was only disturbed by the gentle swoosh of people heading home on their cross-country skis.
Back in the town we made our way to the warming fire which had been set up in the centre, to watch the more experienced skiers coming down the tougher routes and across the ski jumps. With a wonderful mix of skiing for those who are more advanced, Beitostølen certainly isn’t only for families and beginners.
Meanwhile, over further lessons with the permanently cheerful Havard, my instructor and I moved further up the mountain. “You can do this Nichola,” he insisted. “Look around, look at the views, isn’t it beautiful?”
And it was. I began to smile between frowns of concentration and realise that actually I was enjoying this. It was fun and freeing and beautiful.
This isn’t going to end with me flipping somersaults and speeding to a halt backwards down the mountain. Or even being confident enough to go on my own again yet.
But after my time in Norway, I have hope and belief that a nice ski down the mountain as a family is actually a very real possibility.
Getting there
A week self-catering accommodation costs from £437 per person (based on four sharing) at the three-star Hovi Cabins in Beitostølen, Norway in 2017 with Crystal Ski. Includes flights from Gatwick to Fagernes and transfers.
Lift pass £180 for the week (includes two night skiing).
