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“That’s craziness!” remarked the vegetable seller happily when I revealed I was going skiing. A rational reply since just a while back I had been out on crutches due to a hip replacement. Friends of my sister were rather anxious: “How old are you? In your eighties? I don’t think this is a good idea. You’ll take a tumble and get injured.” My brother, Andrew, 86, chose it was wiser not to tell anyone.

An Enduring Wish

For twenty years or more I had nurtured a half-buried wish to enjoy one more ski trip. A concluding dose of blue sky, crisp atmosphere and the excitement that comes with finding yourself still intact at the end of a snowy run. I was never much good, and hadn’t skied for decades, but that didn’t matter. At 83, I needed to see if I was still capable. Should I succeed, what about including my sister, Kate, one-third of our Old Crones group who motivate one another to participate in weekly runs? I recalled that, during our younger days, Andrew had joined me on my first ski holiday. Nearly seven decades earlier, but Andrew used to be quite good, so I included him in the plans. A companion named Penny, who is remarkably youthful (claiming to be 67) that she’s almost an exception, was invited along and test her skills among the seniors and improve her language skills. Each of us worked to get as fit as possible, but not one had been on skis for at least 40 years.

Choosing the Destination

Seefeld, in Tirol near Innsbruck, was the spot we selected, as it has many snowy pastimes – assuming we’d survive our brief skiing instruction on the first day (frankly, was the only skiing we intended to do) – and is happily without post-skiing parties. Families frequent it rather than boisterous teens, and is characteristically Austrian, with onion-domed churches and alpine-style homes. We stayed at the friendly, family-run a charming inn and we dined somewhere new every night.

“It’s known as Kaiserwetter,” explained Janina, our leader when I noted we couldn’t believe our luck at getting up each dawn to clear blue skies, pleasant rays and abundant snowfall for the beginning of March.

Everyone acted as if just to be eager, completely unafraid, as we hopped on a coach to the slopes. It was packed with families and youngsters with winter gear and glowing with vitality. I thought I caught the assistant assisting with our rental equipment rolling his eyes at our undertaking.

I felt certain I would tumble the moment I started. However, I stayed on my feet. Everyone managed to stay upright.

The instructor, Ulrich, who had been pre-warned of our ages, grinned courageously as we trudged over. We chatted rather noisily, beaming widely, perhaps trying to postpone the point when we had to step into the bindings. Inside, I felt certain I would tumble the instant I began. However, I remained upright. Everyone else stayed up too. Our instructor showed great patience, allowing us sufficient time at each step of the instruction to gain in confidence.

Today’s Ski Technology

Current ski equipment is more user-friendly, I found out – more compact, lighter weight with curved tips – than the long, cumbersome things I remember from the 60s that frequently caused me to slip from the lift. We assumed we’d be barred on a ski lift whatsoever, so thought we’d have to painstakingly climb the slope and slide down, falling over in the process. That was the method back in 1958. But here there was a wonderful new device, a “travelator”, or motorized path, that transported us easily to the top of the gentle beginners’ slope, which was filled with brave kids. We stood out as the sole seniors.

After 120 minutes, we hadn’t even fallen, had all managed some decent snowplough turns and even a sort of parallel turn. We were euphoric. “It was truly wonderful!” exclaimed Andrew, who isn’t given to hyperbole.

Beyond the Slopes

Could we have managed a whole week of skiing? Perhaps, but the variety of activities available in Seefeld was more appealing. Trails were available around various lakes, public transport allowing visits to incredibly scenic towns, and the “cold-weather trek to Hämmermoosalm, 4.6km (and sled back down)”, as the information pack casually described it.

After viewing Olympic events, my sister and I knew all about sledding. You dash after it, shoving the toboggan, then jump aboard and speed downward on your stomach at velocities comparable to racing cars. Janina provided comfort. Don’t be anxious: we’d ride the sled and guide it using our feet. However, we were nervous. My brother opted out but the rest of us continued.

A fellow in a red jumpsuit zoomed past shouting something over his shoulder regarding my sister.

During my childhood it was exhausting pulling our family’s DIY toboggan up a local hill in the English county in our wintry youth, and now in my eighties it was strenuous dragging a reduced-weight toboggan ascending in oxygen-depleted air (the alpine hut, a customary high-altitude retreat, is at 1,410 metres) for about three miles. I trailed the others, complaining quietly about senior limitations. {The glühwein and Gulaschsuppe|The mulled wine and goulash soup|The warm