The closest thing to flying without leaving the ground

A heli-skiing adventure is full of yin and yang. There’s the fury of the machine but the joy of flying in it; the remote terrain and fresh snow you find in it; the avalanche risks you encounter but the experts who ride alongside you (and the safety gear they give you).

And then there’s the group. On this trip, taking off from Telluride in Colorado and into the wilds of the San Juan Mountains, who would I be onboard with? That part of it can be a gamble; turns out I won the lottery.

Our guide is Jeff Davis who is also the safety coordinator for Telluride Helitrax’s entire operation – he skis with the strength of a guide and the ski patroller he once was. Safety box ticked. Then there are two remarkable Colorado skiers – Robbie Klimek, a critical care flight paramedic and national ski patroller on a day off (worst-comes-to-worst box ticked) and Carolyn Parker, a former ski guide who runs a rehab and strength gym (spare guide and recovery boxes ticked). Rounding it out is Patrick Latcham who runs marketing for the resort. Entertainment box ticked.

We gather at Helitrax HQ, a stroll from the centre of the Mountain Village, where we have the briefing and gear checks and go through the safety drills. Then we’re out the front and into the helicopter, climbing up over the old mountain town and over the ragged 4300-metre ridge that is its backdrop.

Up and over the ridge, a world of white wilderness unfolds and all of a sudden, as though teleported, we’re on the snow and getting set for our first run. It’s called Chicago for whatever reason (the band maybe? Telluride is that kind of town) and here arrives a moment of truth – 10 days ago I was at the beach in a sea level summer, but my fellow skiers have a winter on snow up their sleeves. Was I up to their level?

Turns out it didn’t matter in the slightest. Such a wonderful, friendly group. We laughed, we complimented each other’s turns and technique, we made space where it was needed and huddled when we had to. Everybody was just so happy to be out there.

More runs followed in snow as deep as your boots and sometimes up to your knees; light and dry but with enough resistance to simply let your skis go and tip them just so, from one side to the other. It doesn’t always go right, but when it does, coming down the mountain is like the way a ribbon might float through the air, with just the slightest little grab from gravity. It must be as close as you come to flying without leaving the ground.

Probably the longest run was Silver – tricky at the top but then unfolding into a vast open slope. Jeff Davis, as always, was crystal clear with his instructions. “Wait for me to traverse out and keep just one skier on the slope at a time.” But once the risky bits were behind us – “I’ll set a trail down there, and you all just go ahead and fill in the holiday to the right. Make it five Mississippis [five seconds] between skiers, and it’ll be happy days all the way down.” And so it was.