A stint on the slopes in Co Dublin could save you days of frustration when you hit the mountains for real, writes Michael Kelly.
THE PROBLEM WITH skiing holidays is that once you get hooked - which you will, believe me - it feels like a very long year waiting for the next one to come around. And when you finally strap on your boots and head for the slopes on the first morning of your holiday, it can be frustrating to realise that you are more like the skier from the early part of last year's holiday rather than the confident beast you were at the end of the week.
Skills you thought you had mastered, such as getting on a chairlift with poise and grace, seem to have been compromised by the mists of time. When your turn arrives to climb aboard the first chairlift of the morning you are busy fumbling with your skis, poles, gloves, lip balm and ski pass. You make a hash of it and end up falling flat on your backside, to the merriment of others in the queue.
All this seems a terrible waste given the amount of money we are shelling out and the relatively short run of days we get to spend on the slopes. Equally, first-timers often spend an entire week of their first trip on the nursery slopes, at the base of the mountain, honing their snowplough skills. This is also a pity, given that a spectacular part of any ski holiday are the views from the piste.
All of this makes a pre- holiday visit to the Ski Club of Ireland's artificial slope in Kilternan, Co Dublin, a worthwhile investment. Spend some time finding your ski legs there and when you arrive on the snow you will be ready to take full advantage of every blissful minute.
I have known about Kilternan for years but have never visited before this week. I guess I found the idea of skiing in Ireland a tad silly - a little bit Jamaican bobsleigh team, if you get my drift. We have neither the altitude nor the snow, so why bother?
What you get with Kilternan is a very passable impression of the real thing. Lots of people I talked to about dry-slope skiing told me not to expect much - of course it wouldn't be the same as the real thing. It's partly true: we're about 10 minutes from the M50, and instead of chilly alpine air it's a warm, sunny September morning. And there is probably no snow within 750km.
But after struggling into my boots and negotiating a nervy debut lift experience (made slightly more nervy by the presence of an Irish Times photographer), I get the unmistakable anticipatory buzz you always get as you travel up a ski lift.
It's a remarkably pleasant place to spend a Saturday morning, and there are spectacular views from the slopes across Dublin Bay towards Howth Head. (Incidentally, the slope has floodlights, to allow skiing until 10.30pm on weeknights. The view of the city by night must be breathtaking.) Admittedly, it's rather warm to be wearing ski pants, long sleeves and gloves, but they are mandatory.
The slopes here have a synthetic surface called Dendix, a form of matting. Essentially it's like skiing down a giant upside-down yard brush. Imagine rubbing the bristles of a yard brush along your arms and legs at high speed and you start to appreciate how painful it would be to take a spill if you had bare flesh exposed.
My instructor for the morning is the incredibly cheerful Tony McGuinness, who is a senior instructor at the club. As a rule I have remarkably little patience for tuition. On our first ski holiday I abandoned ski school on the morning of our second day, opting to pit myself against the mountain with only guile and cunning (rather than skill) as my companions.
My skiing technique involves throwing myself down the blue and red slopes (no black yet), hoping there won't be any unexpected occurrences to expose my lack of technical know-how. This approach has served me relatively well, but without proper tuition my skiing is like a house built on unstable foundations, and no matter how much I practise I can't seem to improve beyond a certain point.
Instructors call this the intermediate plateau, a frustrating juncture at which you realise you are skiing no better after 10 weeks than you were after five.
Not surprisingly, this problem is more common among men than women, and its root cause, according to McGuinness, is that we don't take enough tuition. In other words, our all-round machismo makes us think we're James Bond, but until we get the fundamentals right we are more like Eddie the Eagle.
We get off the lift about halfway up the main slope, and McGuinness analyses my parallel turns. There are four slopes in Kilternan - the main one stretches 180m, which is long enough that you get a decent run but short enough to leave you yearning for the long runs of the mountains.
It doesn't take McGuinness long to discover the main flaw in my skiing: on my turns I am lifting my inner ski to bring it parallel to the outer ski, a lazy and highly inefficient cheat I have incorporated over the years.
Skiing should be easy, he says, but I am making life difficult for myself, as I have to work harder on each turn. He shows me the proper way to do it, keeping both skis on the ground and turning the inner thigh to allow the skis to become parallel.
This is the beauty of one-to-one tuition: you have the instructor's full attention and start to see results much quicker than you would in a group.
The first third of the main slope is a red run, bordering on black. McGuinness reckons this is slightly beyond my skills (and it does look a little scary), but he shows me a technique called side sliding, which allows you to get down a slope when you don't feel confident enough to ski it. This knowledge would have come in very handy at the top of a certain terrifying red run last winter in Val Thorens, in France.
As he explains the move to me, eight-year-old club member Rebecca Power happens to be passing, and McGuinness asks her to show me how it's done. She does a quick, nimble demo, then turns and disappears down the slope at breakneck speed, carrying the last scraps of my dignity with her.
Rebecca is one of the rising stars of the club, along with her brothers, 13-year-old Darragh and 12-year-old Stephen, even though they started skiing only last year. Her father, Eugene, explains that the three would be here seven days a week if he let them. Family membership costs €760 a year, which seems good value given that this includes unlimited practice and hire of skis, boots and poles.
Members and season-ticket holders also get tuition at reduced rates and can go on the club's annual ski trip. Non-members of all abilities can also take classes. In the context of allowing you to hit the ground running when you go on holidays, it's exceptional value: a lesson costs €40; a series of four costs €140. If you just want to practise, you can book a three-hour adult session for €30.
After my tuition is over I spend an exhilarating hour in glorious sunshine working on what I have learned. I have the slope practically to myself, although members tell me afterwards that this is only because the club hadn't officially opened for its new season. (It is now open for business.) On a busy day you are likely to have up to 150 skiers and snowboarders on the slopes, although I am told you never need to queue for the lifts.
As for whether the Dendix surface feels different from snow, well, yes, it does. But if you love to ski and can't wait until your next holiday, then this is the place for you.
Go There
The Ski Club of Ireland's artificial slope is in the grounds of Kilternan Golf Country Club (currently being rebuilt) on the R117 between Kilternan, Co Dublin, and Enniskerry, Co Wicklow.
It offers lessons on weekday evenings and from 10am until 7pm at weekends, including intensive beginner courses most Saturdays between September and April (€120). Practice sessions cost €22-€30. See www.skiclub.ie or call 01-2955658.
This year's Irish Open Championships are at Kilternan on October 4th and 5th.