In summary, snowboarding is a process of sensations becoming increasingly refined, then increasingly dulled. When you’re a beginner, you’re super tense, your body so stiff you can’t feel anything. Gradually, you become hyper-sensitive, falling at the slightest mishap. Then you get used to it, only for that sensitivity to slowly fade again. Riding, bumps, ice, carving, knee bends, squats, moguls, ollies, counter-arching, arms hanging low, arms gripping, back leg pressure, the burning fatigue in your thighs — whether right or wrong, it’s all a genuine experience. I remind myself to cherish the feeling of fear. That first time I stood atop Mont Lachat in Bornand and dropped down Les Lanches feels completely gone now. The same tragedy happened on the black run in Dole, the middle red run at La Faucille. As far as steep slopes go, the last unconquered challenge is the off-piste area behind Mont Lachat in Bornand — probably a 50 to 60-degree slope that’s absolutely terrifying. But my buddy said we’d tackle it next season. Peer pressure builds courage, and I’ll probably go too.
Ride, ride, ride!
I’m self-taught, learning from videos and secretly watching the pros on the slopes. Most people who are somewhat confident in their athletic ability tend to believe in diligent, painstaking practice — and in hindsight, all the detours and injuries become sources of joy. My first four snowboarding sessions were practically spent lying on the ground. Standing, riding, getting on the lift — I fell at almost everything. I can’t even remember how many times I fell. According to my friends’ estimates, I fell at least three times every run down the beginner slope, and with twenty runs a day, sixty-plus falls was a conservative guess. One noon, I saw a mom teaching her kid to use the back edge to brake downhill, so I imitated her, learned the backside, did the same with knees slightly bent, and then mastered the frontside push. Then came the switch. The pain of switching edges needs no elaboration — it’s a rite of passage for every snowboarder. My strategy was simple: commit to falling, and practice switching on the steepest and fastest slopes. That’s actually how I learned quickly. I remember on the sixth day, the slopes were nearly empty, like my private run with Mao Mao, and I finally got the hang of continuous switching. That was also the first time I rode the big blue run at La Faucille.
La Faucille Trail Map
La Faucille Big Blue Run
La Faucille is a small resort just about 30 kilometers from Geneva, overlooking Lake Geneva and backed by the Jura Mountains. It has one beginner slope, two blue runs, three red runs, one black run, with a vertical drop of 230 meters. At 24.5 euros a day, aside from being a bit crowded and lacking night skiing, it’s pretty much a perfect beginner ski area: the blues are wide and long enough; the reds are a bit steeper, icy when it’s cold; and the black has dense, deep moguls. Both my wife and I love this resort. Around my twelfth time out, once I got the hang of switching and using my back leg to slow down, I started practicing carving on the blues, mimicking Japanese pros. At first, it was frustrating — almost no progress after two tries. Back home, I studied videos closely and decided to exaggerate my pop-up motion, switch edges in a taller stance, squat deeper into turns, bend my front knee almost into the snow, and sit back on my rear leg until I couldn’t grip anymore. Gradually, I realized that the sensation of the board gliding with almost no resistance just before a fall was probably what carving felt like. So I leaned into it more. I remember training pretty hard back then — you’d just see me cruising the big blues alone, not rushing to tackle the steep reds. I’d bring cake or cheese up the mountain in the morning, nibble on it at noon, and repeat runs over and over. I even gave up the chairlift to take the high-speed lift more often, just to build more ride feel.
La Faucille Sea of Clouds over Lake Geneva
La Faucille Little Green Run
La Faucille Slopes
After another dozen or so runs, I could finally make smooth wide turns, and I proudly had my wife film me. The footage exposed the harsh truth again. My posture was terrible — hunched and tucked, not enough edge angle — and most critically, I had no power, riding loosely. Where I placed my hands was also problematic. Initially, I tried Yuki Ueno’s duck-style riding. Watching the footage, I felt that as a man, my body was too stiff, lacking the softness of female riders. Going back to the more solid style — dropping the front arm on the backside, gripping with the back arm on the frontside — felt stronger. I also noticed that after several consecutive carves, with the added pressure from my rear leg to gain speed, my right leg (the back leg) would start burning with heat, then fatigue. And if I hit a steeper bump after that, I had zero power to jump-turn. There were some truly scary falls while practicing carving — one time, I caught my front edge, fell straight back, fists clenched to my chest, and bruised a rib. It took over a month to heal. So carving became my nemesis — slow progress but still fascinating. I hoped to solve these issues next season by logging more vertical.
Aside from carving, I caught several big snowfalls at La Faucille. Once, I went with two buddies, and after one lift ride, we were nearly snowmen. By the time we left in the afternoon, I was close to hypothermia. Another major snowfall saw barely anyone on the slopes. I gleefully cruised the reds and blacks, surrounded by powder. Strangely, foreigners don’t seem as enthusiastic about powder as the Chinese do. But I soon found that powder technique isn’t hard — just lean back, use your rear leg to press the board flat, and keep balance. Only once did I try to weave around a tree, ended up falling into a hole near its roots, and got caught by a kid watching the whole thing. Super embarrassing.
La Faucille Blizzard, Mid-Lift
La Faucille Powder
La Faucille’s Line of Duckling Riders
Espace Dole, Grand Bornand, Chamonix
Besides La Faucille, we also visited Dole, Bornand, and Chamonix. Chamonix is one of the world’s most famous ski resorts, the birthplace of modern alpine skiing. It’s a valley at the border of France, Switzerland, and Italy, where I often go hiking in summer. The resort is actually made up of four or five areas combined. I didn’t cover them all this year, but I’ll write a dedicated post next year about its summers and winters — I really love Chamonix. Just a heads-up for beginners: don’t go there. Despite the majestic mountains and breathtaking scenery, the difficulty of the runs will make newbies struggle — just ask Mao Mao...
To be honest, Dole is the only Swiss resort we visited (mainly because the Swiss franc is strong, and lift tickets are pricier than in France). It’s much bigger than La Faucille, also on the Jura Mountains, with a 450-meter vertical drop. There’s a steep groomed black run for speed runs, and an off-piste mogul field under the lift (see the photo of the foreigner in the moguls showing their depth). I tried that mogul run once — long and steep. I only remember being halfway through, falling so hard I wanted to die. But on the gentler moguls around the blue and red runs in Dole, I somehow managed to learn switch turns — thrilling, though I could only pull them off when I was well-rested.
Dole Trail Map
Dole Summit View
Dole Slopes
Me in My Colleague’s Goggles at Dole
Dole Off-Piste
Our main reason for going to Dole was the cheap group tickets online (15 CHF per day). But Mao Mao didn’t like it much — her first bad fall happened on a red run there. I was at the top, watching her get through three-quarters of the steepest section, then she suddenly veered off-piste and belly-flopped into the powder. A few foreigners rushed over, asking “Ca va? Ca va?” She rides twin tips, and every fall is quite dramatic — gear flying everywhere. I rushed over; she had a shallow cut on her face from her goggles but was otherwise okay. But ever since, she’s been terrified of Dole’s red runs, preferring to argue with me rather than push herself (here’s a shot of her at the Dole summit — the view is nice, at least). The other snowboarders weren’t fans either — there’s only one quad chair, the rest are lifts, and the reds are steep and fall-prone. As they put it, “your butt will be wrecked.” By then, my skills had improved a bit, and I could handle most reds and blacks, so I scouted around, trying to find comfortable runs for everyone. No luck, though. During those explorations, I saw my first T-bar lift. For twin tips, it’s easy — just wrap your waist and ride up two at a time. But what about snowboards? Grab the bar? Wrap your waist? The lift attendant didn’t speak English, just gestured in French, handed me the T-bar handle, and I had no clue what to do. I kept letting go. He looked helpless. Then another snowboarder showed up, straddling the T-bar and sliding up. That’s how I learned. I fell a few times during the process, and for a moment, I seriously worried if I could even get back to the start. At bigger resorts like this, you ski from peak to peak. If you don’t ride, you have to hike all the way around the base.
Wild Mushrooms Under the Dole Lift
Dole Wild Mushrooms
La Grand Bornand Trail Map
La Grand Bornand is a resort we all really loved. Nestled in the heart of the Alps, less than 60 kilometers from Geneva, it’s surrounded by mountains, with a main peak at 2,100 meters. The resort has a vertical drop of 800 to 1,100 meters, covers 360 acres across 4–5 peaks, and has 90 kilometers of runs across 44 trails — including 3 black runs, 14 reds, 15 blues, and 12 greens. There’s also a park ranked in France’s top ten, 32 lifts (including 2 gondolas, 13 chairlifts, and 14 surface lifts), capable of transporting 39,700 people per hour. Bornand is just a mid-sized Alpine resort — there are plenty like it. But I loved it for several reasons: First, the stunning scenery — rugged peaks and pillow-soft powder. As Mao Mao put it, it’s where Snow White lives. Second, there are super wide, long blues — over 4 kilometers and about 150 meters wide — perfect for beginners and great for carving practice when it’s quiet. Third, there are challenging reds and blacks. The first time I saw Les Lanches, a slope slicing down at over 40 degrees from the sky, it felt like a lightning strike. Halfway down, I saw a foreigner crash and slide 30 meters like a sled before barely stopping. I was completely demoralized — I even forgot how to switch edges. Fourth, the powder moguls are addictive — even if you belly-flop and do a front flip, it doesn’t hurt. Also, at the end of the season, I witnessed an avalanche. I stopped on an off-piste slope when I suddenly heard the scraping sound of someone carving on a snowboard. At first, I thought someone was nearby, but there was no one. Then I heard it again and realized snow was shifting and making noise. I bolted. (There are photos of other avalanches elsewhere, and the summit has avalanche risk warnings.) Looking back, that strange, terrifying experience was actually pretty exhilarating.
First, here's a photo of me in Bornand, taken by Mao Mao.
View from the top of Bornand
Photo of the ski slopes in Bornand
Photo of the cable car in Bornand
The chalet in Bornand
The town of Chinaillon halfway up Bornand
The Les Lanches slope in Bornand, seems like the slope has a gradient of over 40 degrees
Mountain view in Bornand
The steepest off-piste area in Bornand (the foreigner in the photo took one look and backed off too)
Me in the cable car in Bornand
Avalanche in Bornand, the black ground is exposed, and the bark and leaves on the trees have been stripped away, as if they were undressed
Avalanche in Bornand (apparently Chamonix also closed some slopes recently due to avalanche risks)
Mao Mao sunbathing in Bornand
Gear I can't bear to part with
After skiing, I developed an indescribable obsession with good snowboards. And I've become hopelessly fond of Alpine Snowboards, aka race boards, planning to start riding them next season, so buying boards and practicing all revolve around carving. My first board was a handmade one from a small Austrian brand, Weekend, bought at half price for 700 Swiss francs, 1.55 meters long, camber, beautifully designed, on the harder and longer side, suitable for intermediate and above skiers. The second board was a second-hand Burton black Bullet board I found at the Nyon flea market for 50 Swiss francs, about 80% new, quite a steal, camber, still on the harder side, and even longer (around 1.58 meters), but I firmly believe the board is secondary; technique is key. As it turns out, I was half right—technique is indeed important, but a board that’s too long and hard is just too heavy, not ideal for moguls, and I’m out of breath after just a couple of jumps. The third board was a second-hand F2 race board, Speedster, bought online, with step-in bindings and an adapter, almost brand new, barely used, total of 300 Swiss francs. Though more than half the price of a new one, it still felt a bit expensive, especially after I bought the fourth board. The fourth board was another Nyon find, a Burton race board with somewhat odd bindings, 80% new, only 60 Swiss francs. Even though I already had three boards and Burton’s three-hole bindings are somewhat special, I couldn’t resist the cheap price and bought another one. So in my first season, I ended up with four boards—quite the sin. I also quite like jumping into the airbag, but being an old bone, I’m afraid of getting injured so I haven’t tried it yet. Maybe I’ll jump on the airbag next year and plan to get a Lib sometime. When I eventually leave Switzerland, I plan to get a Swoard race board and a Kessler chase board, especially liking the Swoard brand—it sounds like a warrior wielding a sword, and the board is bright red like fire, surely very flashy in the snow. Of course, those are goals for three years later—all that’s talk for another day.
My snowboards (missing the black Burton board)
Next is protective gear. Both my colleague and I only considered buying gear after we fell and got hurt, and now we often regret not getting it sooner. Besides the rib injury mentioned earlier, I’ve had two other incidents—one where I was practicing carving and collided with a foreigner parallel on their board. Since I was slightly below them, it seemed my head and chest hit their legs, sending the foreigner flying 180 degrees, and both of us lay on the ground for minutes before getting up. Luckily, my colleague was nearby, and no one was seriously hurt. Another time, while filming a video for a colleague, I caught an edge and injured my left shoulder—it still hasn’t fully healed, and I struggle to lift it sideways. Another older ski colleague of mine had it worse; according to the ski patrol, he supposedly fell at least 360 degrees on a red run, went off-piste, and suffered a mild concussion with short-term memory loss. Though nothing serious, everyone was pretty shaken up. So now I’m fully geared up—helmet, knee pads, wrist guards, butt pads, back protector—dressed like a Robocop. Truly, you only learn through lessons.
That was my first ski season, a winter spent gliding down the slopes every weekend. One last thing—before, I used to enjoy folk music, but ever since I started skiing, I’ve grown more and more fond of those heart-pounding anthems (note: this is Mao Mao’s term, though I think a more accurate description would be high-tempo rock). Let’s hit Chamonix again, see you next season.
Last photo: We all love La Faucille (Mao Mao’s words)
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