Retreat from Moscow

This morning a wan sun shone on Wengen and a fairly wan Idle Skier made his way round the mountain.

I had spent the night coughing up nuts and bolts it seemed and today’s skiing was pretty much like Napoleon’s army leaving Russia, a slow trudge through the snow.

The early sun, such as it was, disappeared and the weather turned to snow again.  By mid-afternoon, I had left Russia far behind and was experiencing my personal Waterloo. Thinking that reaching the village might be a near run thing, I pointed my skis towards Wengen and let them carry me home.

Today’s most important piece of ski gear

By the time I reached the Innerwengen chair, I felt slightly better.  Alive anyway.  So I had a few runs on the slalom course.

A shivery, coughy day brought 8,022 vertical metres in 20 lift rides.

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