The man at Medran Sports, who is renting us skis, boots, poles, ski knives and seal skins to improve our grip while walking, gives me an encouraging smile as I try on touring boots and exclaim that they are much more comfortable than my normal ones. 'It's just as well,' he says cryptically. Day one: Argentiere, France
I feel stupidly excited, swaggering around at the bottom of the Grands Montets lift in my rock-climbing harness. My backpack is incredibly heavy. Out goes my mobile phone, two novels, face creams, inappropriate clothing and make-up, to be replaced by crampons, the ice-axe, rope, ski knives and bottles of water that seem to weigh a ton.
We have a lovely ski down to the glacier with a deep blue sky above us. We put our seal-skins on at the bottom and gawp at the close-up beauty of the surrounding mountains. 'Make like Claudia Schiffer,' instructs Jeff as he sashays on ahead. The trick is to slide the ski forward without lifting it. We walk across the glacier for an hour towards the first night's accommodation, the Refuge d'Argentiere. The weather is clouding over and I can't keep up with the boys, but, if every day is like this, I'll manage.
We are shown our dormitory; two big shelves each accommodating 10 people, with two blankets and a pillow per person. Juvenile giggles take over as we opt for the top shelf. A blizzard has developed but we go out again to acclimatise ourselves further. I can't see much except for gaping crevasses which, with icicles, look like hungry mouths. People once lived in fear of these mountains and believed them to be inhabited by demons and ogres. No smoke without fire, I say.
Eventually we ski back to the hut and learn about crampons and abseiling. A few people who turn up unannounced at the wooden cabin are sent away, and there's a sorry-looking tent outside. More giggling as the guardienne sends us to our dormitory until suppertime. A word to the faint- hearted; the loos leave something to be desired and a head torch is essential. Lights-out is at 10pm, and we reluctantly settle in our freezing bunks with 15 other foreign bodies, hoping for a good night's sleep.
Day two
The Haute Route seems to be predominantly a male enthusiasm, and there's a lot of snoring. I brighten considerably at the sunrise outside. Huge, dark peaks are silhouetted against a coral-coloured sky. It's a beautifully clear day as we set off. We traverse and perform kick-turns to zigzag up to the Col de Chardonnet, which is rather steep. My backpack pulls me backwards as I wobble mid-turn with my skis pointing in diametrically opposite directions. We fit ski knives under our skis for the hard, icy bits as climbing gets even steeper.
'Five minutes more,' encourages Jeff, miles above. I'm panting now and my heart rate has increased to an impressive tattoo. Each step is one step closer, I mutter.
The others have already arrived, and Jeff relieves me of my backpack for the last few metres. Finally, thankfully, I make it, trussed up like a chicken in my harness. I'm breathless, red-faced and I look, my husband kindly points out, like an extra from Total Recall. A few swigs of sweet tea and it's time to abseil.
I experience true fear as, with skis on, I am lowered down a drop of ice. A lone walker decides to crampon down a few feet above me. One slip and my head could be stapled to the mountain. I gingerly unhook myself and side-slip down. Grudgingly, I admit that the rest of the descent is worth it. Brilliant spring snow as we glide down effortlessly towards the next glacier.
The next ascent looks easier, but appearances are deceptive. We take off our skis halfway and climb up a sheer piece of mountain. My limbs are aching and, when Jeff offers to carry my skis for the last bit, I lose all my pride and say yes, please. Quivering muscles and an inability to speak properly are setting in. I gorge on dried fruit to give me energy.
We come across fabulous powder snow until the final climb to our next stop, the Cabane de Trient. After a decadent afternoon drinking wine and playing Scrabble on the terrace, we watch another stunning sunset.
Day three
We walk across the glacier for two hours until we arrive at the Aiguille du Tour. Jeff insists that I walk behind him and, amazingly, I keep up. It's less tiring than stopping and starting all the time. We take off our skis and leave our packs at the bottom to climb up, roped together with crampons on and ice axes. There are terrifying drops on either side, but I have utter confidence in Jeff, who has to haul me up a couple of times when my crampons decide to make a bid for freedom. We reach the summit and I feel amazing. Topped out, I believe the expression is.
We begin the first stage of our descent into the valley, where we have been promised hot showers and real beds. My mind wanders pleasantly as our little caravan marches rhythmically back across the glacier. Our shadows look like figures from an Arctic expedition.
The ski down is wonderful but too short. We put our seal-skins on and climb to the final ridge. My beloved suffers from an acute attack of vertigo, as Jeff lowers him down the other side, and he sees nothing but the valley below. All for one and one for all, we retrace our steps and climb up what we had skied down to try a different approach. The walk up is a lot longer. I have dropped behind the others again as my legs tire. It's incredibly hot, my skin is burning. I fantasise about Emma Hope shoes to forget the pain in my thighs.
Jeff is worrying that we are too late in the day. He hurries us, and eventually we tiptoe across a crevasse and ski down towards the snowline. We look up and see where we would have come over, and I'm very glad we didn't. Husband is forgiven for making us walk for extra four hours. We have not stopped for eight hours, and I'm tired, thirsty and hungry. 'Five minutes more,' calls Jeff. We trudge through sorbet-like snow for the last couple of miles and eventually arrive, with blistered feet, at a bar.
Our hotel in the village of Orsieres is charming. Delicious food, too much wine, a shower and a change of clothes. I offload more 'essentials' from my backpack, including a fascinating book about the English conquering the Alps, until I am left with the bare minimum. I keep foot revitalising gel and a pack of blister plasters.
Day four
It's hard to get up after a night of luxury. A cable car takes us above Verbier, we 'skin up' and walk beyond Mont Fort. I stay behind Jeff so there's no chance of slacking. We get to the Col de la Rosablanche after a four-hour climb, and my lungs feel ready to explode. The descent, however, is a joy and I squiggle for the first time in my life. We arrive at the Cabane de Prafleuri. A lesson in using our avalanche bleepers in the afternoon leaves us feeling jittery. The weather is closing in.
Day five
We traverse high above a huge reservoir where two avalanches have fallen. It's like walking over cobbles in 4-inch Manolo Blahnik heels. I fall twice, nose first, and feel very frightened.
A steep climb up the Pas de Chat leaves me absolutely breathless when we get to the next Cabane. Thick fog is descending, and if the weather doesn't improve we may not make it to Zermatt. Two avalanche dog trainers are looking for volunteers, and I agree to being completely buried in the snow, clutching a handful of dog biscuits. Once my little ice cave is covered, there is no noise at all until a massive Alsation snuffles its way in. The moral: always ski with dog biscuits. Unfortunately, the trainer tells me that most of the bodies they recover are corpses by the time the dogs are put to work.
The Cabane des Dix is lovely and we have cards, liar dice, backgammon and mulled wine to keep us happy. The dormitories are getting smellier as the week progresses, and we are forced to keep the window open in subzero temperatures. Another sleepless night.
Day six
Descending fog threatens our progress. The best option is the Pas de Chevre; two vertical ladders up a rock-face of 50 metres with skis strapped to our packs. The Vertiginous One is not too chuffed but the alternative ridge is shrouded in fog. We are roped together and I am last. I keep my eyes firmly ahead not daring to look down, or up at the five big men clambering unsteadily up the ladder in ski boots.
Fog means warmth so the snow has become slushy overnight, and it's impossible to turn. We cross the glacier and march for four hours to the Cabane des Vignettes perched way above. The guardienne is being serenaded by a Quebecois choir singing old alpine songs, but the quaintness wears off while I attempt an afternoon nap to compensate for lack of sleep. The camaraderie inside the Cabane is wonderful, and I love every moment of this amazing adventure, but tomorrow, God willing, I shall sleep in a proper bed.
Day seven
Lots of coughing and snorting indicates it is time to get up. It's . I feel sick with tiredness and apprehension because today, albeit the last day of our expedition, promises to be the toughest. Outside is a very clear indigo blue sky with mountains silhouetted in the moonlight. After a thrilling downhill ski in the half-light, we climb for two hours before facing 100m of vertical climbing with our skis strapped to our backs. The summit seems to be beyond my grasp. There is another descent and a long walk across a glacier before we climb over the final ridge. It's hard work and Jeff is making us keep quite a fast rhythm.
The sun is beating down and, just as we finally reach the top, I'm greeted by the most incredible sight I have ever seen: the Matterhorn looming up in all its majesty. My legs are shaking with tiredness and I'm perspiring like never before, but I've made it and I'm very, very proud. Next stop, Everest?
Factfile
How to get there Argentiere is the obvious base camp for the Haute Route that we followed, but many resorts in the vicinity are only a train, bus or taxi ride away from the Grands Montets cable car. Flights from Britain to Geneva - a couple of hours away - are plentiful, with Easyjet (0870 6000 000, .com ) offering the lowest fares if you book ahead.
How to be prepared Mountain Guide: Jeff Osenda, our guide, was introduced to us by the Maison du Sport in Verbier, home to the Swiss Ski School and Guiding Office (0041 27 775 3363). All ski resort tourist offices will be able to put you in touch with a local guiding office. It's worth making sure that they will also be able to lend you equipment such as an emergency avalanche bleeper, crampons,an ice axe and harness. The cost of a guide depends on the number of people in the group. Our party of five was charged £230 (SF550) per day. The guide will arrange accommodation. Bed and half board costs roughly £10-20 per night. More basic equipment, such as skis and boots for touring, is available for hire at most good ski rental outlets.
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A ski tour of the High Atlas Mountains , Morocco , climbing to 4,000 metres above the desert, provides a challenging journey for confident skiers. It includes descents of Jebel Toubkal (4,167m) and slopes normally accessible only by helicopter. Lodgings are simple, and mules carry supplies. Exodus (020 8675 5550; . ) offers the eight-day tour, including six days' skiing, bed, board and porterage, from £675.
The Grand St Bernard Safari covers the oldest Alpine pass route, protected by monks inhabiting the hospice on top for almost a millennium. This tour explores the Val de Bagnes area, staying in the most comfortable mountain huts in the area. A one-day warm up on the slopes of Verbier is included. The Grand St Bernard, once a monastery, will be stayed in while skiing the St Bernard pass area. Touring experience not essential, but must have sense of adventure. The Ski Club of Great Britain (0845 458 0784; . ) offers this week-long tour from 22-29 March for £650, including half-board and guide. Travel to the Alps not included.
For a shorter ski adventure, Jackson Hole, Wyoming has expanded its backcountry possibilities with a new hut at the base of Rock Springs Canyon , south of the resort. Unlike many of the European mountain huts, where ski tourers tip up and grab a sleeping space, this hut (or yurt , as it is locally known) is only available for pre-booked groups. This is a rewarding and magnificent two days off-piste skiing. Ski Independence (0870 555 0555; . ) offers a week in Jackson Hole, departing 1 February, from £678 per person, including flights, transfers, bed and breakfast. Once there, an all-inclusive package to the yurt, with guide, sleeping bag and food costs $500. For resort information, see .com .
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