For those who don’t know what ski mountaineering is, we’ll give a brief introduction.

When talking about skiing, the most basic thing, of course, is the skis. Unlike downhill skis, where the emphasis is on downhill performance and weight is not a concern, mountaineering skis are lighter, which helps both when we wear them uphill and—perhaps more importantly—when we need to carry them on our backs along an access trail. One might reasonably ask, skiing uphill? Yes, there is a solution to prevent us from sliding backwards, and it goes by the strange name of “seals.” For the record, the first people to use this technique and pass it on to us were the Eskimo-Inuit, who placed real seal skin under their snowshoes to move comfortably on snowy slopes. Today, of course, these anti-slip strips that we stick under our skis are made of synthetic materials, sometimes mixed with mohair wool. They have a special pile that slides in one direction and grips in the opposite direction. There is also a special adaptation for ski bindings, which are openable to allow the foot to move when climbing, while the boots are softer and lighter to also facilitate movement. This is the basic equipment for a completely different approach to the sport than that of a ski resort. We forget the convenience of lifts, but we gain the tranquility and freedom of the mountains, the magic of endless, untouched white slopes.

We arrived early, via a clear asphalt road, and stepped out of the heat of the car into the cool shade of the Ziria plateau. We put on our boots and skis, loaded our backpacks with snacks and basic safety equipment (crampons, ice axes, shovels, probes), put on our avalanche transceivers, and set off. Soon, we warmed up and, before we even reached the uphill valley leading to the EOS refuge, we took off our jackets. As we progressed through the narrow valley, the slope became steeper, and since the snow was a little icy today, we attached “knives” to our skis, aluminum blades that are fixed to the bindings and hook into the snow. On these slopes, we follow a winding path with many turns. Ilias, who is leading the way, seems to be performing a grasshopper dance with his skis and poles at every turn. Coming out of the last steep passage, we make a short stop for a snack – the sun is shining here now anyway. From this point, a wide field of slopes and open valleys begins, where you have to chart the best – that is, the gentlest – course to the summit. Experience has shown that the ridge in front of us is the best route.

The endless white stretches out around us. The snow fills all the gaps and removes all the imperfections of the ground. The absolute simplicity of the landscape is restful to the eye and creates a kind of catharsis which, together with the quietly rhythmic and repetitive movement, frees you from the noise of everyday life; this too is a kind of happiness. With few points of reference in the space, the uphill climb seems endless. The physical effort, the landscape that remains roughly the same, and the movement in the carved grooves of Ilias that opens the way, cause a mental and spiritual numbness. I don’t think about anything, I just listen to the rhythm of my heart. Every now and then I even close my eyes; after all, the light is blinding. It is impossible to tell how much time has passed. Inside me, numbness; outside, abstraction. Inside the white, even the traces of history fade away: the path, the sheepfold, the landmark, the road. New, ephemeral wave-like patterns appear on the ground, carved by the wind in the snow. The only activity that distracts me from the absolute dominance of white is when I try to name the distant peaks and ridges that hover on the horizon around me.

Reaching the last ridge before the summit, we stop to admire the view. A magnificent landscape opens up before us. A wall of mountains: Dourdouvana on the left, then the Kynigos saddle, a wild ridge from Madero to Neraidalona and Psili Korifi, with many peaks over 2000 meters, a demanding mountaineering route with rappelling and climbing passages after Madero. Further on is the impressive slope of Neraidorachi, which every time I look at it, I wonder how the incredible Tsoutsias managed to ski down it. For mountaineers, mountains are usually associated with stories, people, and memories. Lower down, there is another, gentler landscape, with the endless and impressive flat plateau of Feneos and the beautiful Lake Doxa, nestled at the bottom of the valley that opens up between Dourdouvana and Chelmos. A few photos and we set off for the summit, which is only a few minutes away.

Upon reaching the summit, we remove our skis, detach the “seals,” fold them with quick and careful movements as the wind blows them left and right, fasten our bindings and jackets, and off we go! A change of pace and mood. Speed, excitement, joy—the pleasures of skiing on the slopes. This side of the mountain is perfect for downhill skiing, with wide slopes, moderate inclines, and the reassuring view of the large plateau in the distance. Of course, we don’t forget that we’re not on a ski slope here, the snow conditions are unpredictable, and the risk of avalanches is higher. So, we keep all our senses on high alert and cross the slopes (mostly) one by one.

The three or more hours it took us to climb up vanish, as the 1,000 meters we gained are quickly lost. But it’s enough for us to enjoy the slide. After all, the last part is always the best, as time has passed and the snow has softened, making our maneuvers between the sparse trees and bushes a fun game of finding the best line. The goal is always to reach the parking lot and the car with as little pushing as possible, thus completing a happy day in the mountains.