Flipping crazy

Even so, more and more people want to try freestyle skiing, says Lucas Marchand, the director of Valloire’s ski infrastructure. “The airbag makes that experience accessible. It lets everyone feel like a pro.”

I have a nagging sense that “everyone” may not include a middle-aged man who has skied only twice. Is it really possible to go from zero to hero in three lessons? The receptionist at my hotel answers my question with a Gallic “Poooof!”, which roughly translates as, “You’re having a laugh, mate.”

But no, a jump is achievable, says my instructor and expert snowboarder, Brieuc Le Guennec. But first he wants to see if I can actually ski.

Cupped by the valley, Valloire’s nest of chalets shrinks as our cable car soars into white mountains sawtoothing a flawless sky. Two hours later, we’ve abandoned the toddlers on the nursery slopes and are swishing down green runs, Brieuc skiing ahead backwards (show-off), while shouting encouragement: “Oui! Parallel drift!” Whatever it means, it feels fantastic.

Day two, lesson two: gunning for speed. It sounds simple: crouch low, lean into boots, clench fists. But, blimey, these red pistes are hairy. Poles strobe at unfathomable speed. Orange banners flash past. Occasionally, I lose my bottle and crash in a spray of snow. Brieuc sucks his teeth.

I wake on day three with a bad case of the jitters. Where before I was gliding through powder, now my nerves seem to be skittering over ice. I have tried other stupid extreme activities: I’ve pulled 5G on an Olympic bobsleigh run and dangled off a cliff on a glorified camp bed. Yet it now dawns on me that on all the other occasions, I have been steered by an expert. By definition, you jump alone. As fat snowflakes fall, turning Valloire into a real-life snowdome, I count down the hours like a man condemned.

Still, this is the deal, so it’s gear on, skis shouldered and up we go. Below are sparkling boutiques and Alpine bars that are a fug of sausages, brandy and bonhomie. Up here, it’s -5C and near whiteout. Cloud merges into snow. Horizons blur.

Visibility is, in fact, so bad, they’ve closed the airbag. I’m secretly relieved. But not for long. Just for me, they’ve dug it out from 4ft of snow and marked the kicker with poles. Bugger.

My last lesson is in a cabin restaurant at 7,000ft. Speed aside, explains Brieuc, the secret to a successful jump is launch posture: lean too far forwards and you torpedo into the bag; too far backwards and you over-rotate, cracking your skull on the kicker.

Le BigAirBag

After a shot of herbal liquor — “Pour le courage,” the waitress explains — we swish to the airbag. Large letters on its side shout “JUMP!”.

We climb the piste behind. Who shrank the kicker? I can now cover it with my thumb. Factor in the speed and I’m not sure I’ll even hit the target.

As Brieuc starts a countdown, I silently run through our lessons. “Five...” Stay low and centred, knees together, skis tight. “Four...” Look beyond the airbag, never down. Christ, that kicker’s tiny. “Three...” Clench my abdomen. “Two...” Lean forwards. “One!” Oh, God.

The skis clatter as I accelerate. There’s just time as I race up the 12ft-high kicker to recall that Eddie the Eagle couldn’t ski that well, either.

There’s an involuntary cry when you launch into the void at speed: a strangled, guttural groan that wells up from deep inside. It’s the sound of evolution hollering, “Are you kidding?” I’m not attempting any flips at this stage. Just learning to leap, fly, land and not die. All I recall is the bag billowing as I hit it and then me laughing with pure relief. The bag cushions my clumsy fall perfectly.

Jump number two sees me soar, land on the airbag, then slide off again (a slightly overinflated bag, Brieuc says). But my fear has dimmed. This is almost fun.

For jump three, I make a timid spring off the kicker’s lip to gain height, skis flailing.

For number four, I’m going to attempt a forward flip. I’d try a backflip, but I’m still terrified of my head meeting the kicker as I rotate backwards. Brieuc reveals the secret: spring off, jerk your arms down hard, tuck your head forwards. OK.

I launch off the kicker. I lean forwards. I face-plant into the bag. Forward flips are harder, Brieuc tells me afterwards. Then the snow swirls, the kicker vanishes into a whiteout and we have to go: frontflip not completed, backflip not attempted. That wasn’t the plan.

Back in Valloire, elated at survival, but floored by failure, I nurse a beer and ponder. It’s too easy to blame the weather. My guess is that it’s pretty near impossible to go from near-beginner to backflip in six hours. But if you’re starting out as someone who is already adept at the basics of skiing, why not?

After my sessions with Brieuc, I reckon I’m at that basics stage now. So I’ll meet you beside the airbag, where it says “JUMP!”.

The brief
James Stewart was a guest of the Valloire Tourist Office (valloire.net), Crystal Ski Holidays and Ski Stuff. BigAirBag Stunt Weeks start at £285pp, including accommodation, lift pass and three lessons; a two-hour stunt lesson starts at £61 (resavalloire.com). Crystal has a week in Valloire from £565pp, half-board, including lift pass, flights to Chambéry and transfers (020 8939 0726, crystalski.co.uk). Rent your ski kit from Ski Stuff from £40 a week (01548 830953, ski-stuff.co.uk).