Extreme Golf: Róisín McAuley on the strange joys of teeing off on snow compressed by a special cement. All you need are clubs, winter golf gear and climbing boots

I'm a golf addict. I will go to a lot of trouble for a game. My husband Richard and I take our golf clubs on every holiday. We have played golf on the side of a volcano, and on deserted courses at the end of dirt roads in the Pampas of Argentina. But this last holiday was the first time we encountered an avalanche.

It happened near the top of the Col des Saisies, a high mountain pass in the French Alps, about six kilometres from our destination. "Route Barré" said the sign on the narrow road. Avalanche ahead, we were told. Happily, there was no one buried under the snow. Unhappily, we would have to retreat and take a longer route.

Three hours, a jittery journey through a gorge, a traffic jam and a snowstorm later, we finally arrived at our hotel. Looking at the snow piled on the chalet roof, the snowflakes swirling in the light from the windows, the ski-lift 50 metres away, I couldn't believe we had two sets of clubs in the boot of the car and were intending to play golf in the snow.

We had heard about snow golf while learning to cross-country ski on a winter holiday last year. Our first lessons were on the golf course of Mont d'Arbois, covered by two metres of snow, on the slopes above the chocolate box charm of Megève. The resort hosted a Snow Golf Cup, we were told. The idea of playing golf where we had learned to ski intrigued us.

The Snow Golf Cup was founded by Jean-Luc Biset, the golf pro at Mont d'Arbois, I was told. He thought it fitted with the image of Megève as a place in which to practice the "art de vivre".

He designed a nine-hole layout that followed the summer fairways and avoided the ski runs that cross the course, and the cable cars that dangle above it on their way to the summit of Mont d'Arbois and spectacular views of Mont Blanc.

The course takes about two weeks to prepare. The snow is compressed by a special cement. Snow cats shape the fairways and the tee boxes. Black flags are planted in the centres of small, smoothed out "greens".

Entry is open to all golfers with a maximum 35 handicap. The formula is two rounds over Friday and Saturday with teams of two playing four-ball better ball. Men play with black balls. Women play with pink balls.

This being France, there is a particular emphasis on food. The entry fee, 200, includes lunch each day, dinner, cocktails and a gift. There is a snack break halfway round on both days as well.

Golfers who don't want to compete for the Snow Golf Cup can play the snow course on Sunday for 20.

"The principal idea is to have fun," explained Marithé Crozet at Megève Tourist Office. "Why don't you come back and try it?"

And so we found ourselves with an invitation to play this year in the journalists' competition held the day before the two-day tournament proper.

We arrived at the course with our clubs, winter golf gear and climbing boots (advised) curious, eager and ready to play.

First, naturally, there was lunch - a modest five-course affair. Champagne aperitif, hors d'oeuvres, fish course, beef casserole, cheese, all accompanied by wine; then a pudding of choux pastry and vanilla cream, coffee and digestif. I passed on the digestif, fearing for my ability to move, much less hit a golf ball.

We shared a table with two Danish sports writers, Svend Norup and Tuula Undall, vice president of Royal Copenhagen Golf Club.

"There's a lot of Danish interest in Ireland because of the Ryder Cup," Undall told me. "We hope there will be at least one Danish player."

She was looking forward to playing and writing about the K Club and Druids Glen as a guest of Bord Fáilte, next month.

Tuula, Svend, Richard and I, sauntered on to the slopes. Skiers swished past us. The cable car hummed over our heads. We posed for photographs on the first tee. In winter, Richard plays golf in plus-twos (like plus-fours but with two panels of tweed instead of four) and thick, knitted socks. Better than getting the bottoms of trousers wet and muddy he says.

The French photographers admired his get-up. "Le tweed Écossais!"

"C'est le tweed Donegal," he told them.

Jean-Luc explained the snow golf rules. Lift and place everywhere. Alpine pistes out of bounds. There were jokes about shouting "Skier" instead of "fore", though the skiers were safe from us. The balls didn't fly far in the cold, much less in the falling snow.

Fifty-five pairs of golfers teed off over the next two days. They included the French professional Raphaël Jacquelin. He had his first European Tour win in Madrid last October and is playing in the Irish Open at Carton House in May. "It's the first time I've lost a ball on the fairway." he said. "But I'm enjoying myself. The whole spirit of the weekend is to have fun."

Golf in the snow is great leveller because balls can get lost on the fairway and the "rough" is great drifts of powder snow. It suited me. I hit my balls short, low and straight and watched others flounder in the rough.

I loved it. I'd like to play the course proper in the summer. But I mightn't do so well.

Róisín McAuley's second novel Meeting Point was published in paperback last week by Headline. For more details about snow golf, go to www.megeve.com.