Engelberg-Angel Peak

Two things became apparent to me a fine morning of a recent Sunday. The first revelation came when I found my attention once again arrested by a view that amazes me each time. Gazing down at the amazing panorama of a powder frosted Swiss valley I once again realized how the town Engelberg got its name–Angel Peak, in English. No bluer skies, no crisper winds–like the breath of Gaia–exist on earth.

My second revelation was simply how lucky I was to work for once of the most established vacation rental companies in Europe. I know not everyone can just pack up and head out to the Swiss Alps, so I’ve decided to share my good fortune with my readers and describe the experience as best I can.

My father and I set out at the crack of dawn, just as soon as we noticed the weather would be favorable for skiing. Being Swiss and skiing go together like being American and lusting after a first car at sixteen years old. The difference is that while most twenty-somethings can out race their fathers in a car, at 67 my father is still better on the slopes than I am. Naturally he won’t take the same risks I will, but by easing back a little and concentrating on form skiing is a sport he’ll be able to enjoy virtually his entire life. A life longer than mine may be if I don’t do the same!

I’m proud to say it was I who called a lunch break. It’d been more than a year since my last Ski session and my legs were as weary as my senses were energized. There are plenty of restaurants to choose from in Engelberg and, all of them being of refined quality, we weren’t picky. Out of practicality as much as tradition we dined on a hot and hearty soup before heading out for a chair lift to take us to one of the runs we had not yet explored. The lift took us over Lake Truebsee, frozen solid. There was something else frozen solid, or rather a series of somethings. I was not sure at first, but then my memory fired on an old magazine article or advertisement and I realized I was looking at a commercial Igloo village. If you want to spend a cool night on the rocks, that’s definitely the place to do it.

After a few more great runs on slopes groomed the way only the Swiss would even try the wind made further skiing unviable. At the peak above us entire clouds of snow were being blown from one ridge to be deposited against the next. There are few words to describe such a spectacle, something so epic that can be seen on a regular basis. The site of something so cold can inspire anyone to seek warmth, so the rest of the night was spent with whiskey, fire and food and the memory of a day well spent with Dad.