Bark Boy finally found his natural habitat. And it was good. Actually it was much better than that. The forecast Thursday night called for up to two feet of new snow starting that night and continuing through Friday. We knew from our week here that skiing most of the areas in those conditions would be a disaster because the bulk of the terrain is above timberline rendering it invisible during a snowstorm. We had heard from others staying at our hotel that the nearby Italian resort of Courmeyeur had a fair bit of tree skiing. Courmeyeur is just on the other side of the Mont Blanc tunnel and our ski pass was valid there. New snow + trees = A Plan.

In the morning we had to hike through town in our ski gear to the train station to pick up the bus to Courmeyeur; 18 Euros round trip. The Mont Blanc tunnel’s French entrance is just a couple miles outside Chamonix. The entrance road switches back up a hillside several times to get to the portal. This road seems to feature a perpetual traffic jam. Being a veteran of more Eisenhower Tunnel jams than I care to remember, I was habituated to the stop and go crawl up the hill. Not having to drive helped a lot. The tunnel itself is 11.6 kilometers long and two lanes (one each direction) wide. Perhaps because of a massive accident in the tunnel a few years ago involving one or more trucks and a huge fire that killed dozens of people and closed the tunnel for nearly three years, traffic is highly regulated. The speed limit is 70 kph (about 40) and the tunnel officials demand 150 meters between vehicles; hence the traffic jam to get in.

We left Chamonix in a heavy snowstorm and (surprise) came out in Italy in the same conditions. There’s no question we love skiing in a snowstorm, but the result here was we couldn’t see a thing. We couldn’t see where the lifts were and we could barely see where the mountain was. The bus driver on the local shuttle bus had to tell us to get off the bus at one of his stops because we were at the base of a lift we couldn’t see.

On the mountain we found about a foot to a foot and a half of new snow and it was still coming down hard. We had a trail map, but it was rudimentary. It really only showed the most basic layout with little detail. We moved around to several different lifts and tried to get a feel for the place. The snow had melted down the day before and refrozen. The new snow on top wasn’t quite enough to cover it so we had a combination of fluff and hard pack.

Because this ski area is in Italy, there was a restaurant at the top and the bottom of each lift, and sometimes two or three more restaurants in between. We stopped into one quaint little joint for lunch and had a meal that was about as far away from ski area cafeteria fare as we were from normal reality.

After lunch we hit the jackpot. The Bertollini lift, which had been closed in the morning, was now open and we discovered that it served a tree covered hillside that was catching huge amounts of blown in snow. Plus, almost no one was skiing it. Management had carved a couple pistes through the trees, but left far more standing than they had cut. By this time, the snow on this face was about three feet deep because of the heavy snowfall throughout the day and the extra wind deposition. The coverage was ample, the pitch was perfect and the new snow was beaucoup. The only problem with the repeated face shots was that it became difficult to see where the oncoming trees were. We skied almost a half dozen runs in nearly untracked snow before the lift closed again because of high winds. We got in a couple more powdery runs on the front side of the mountain before heading back down to catch our bus.

At the bus station, we stopped into a bar/pizzeria for some of both. We ended up ordering pizzas that were too big, but ate them all anyway, assisted by a tardy bus. Pizza in Italy: perfect.

Now that we are back in the States and easing into the routine that life inevitably is, we can look back on this adventure as likely our finest. For the terrain, the staggering nature and lucky snow conditions, yes. But most off all for its near utter absence of norm. Our only regret is that were couldn’t find a local band that sometimes plays around town: The Cravasseholes. We wanted to buy a T-shirt.