Back on the piste – at 83: Hilary Bradt and her gang of seniors go skiing in Austria | Ski holidays
‘PYou are crazy! Caroline the greengrocer said cheerfully when I told her I was going skiing. Reasonable Reaction Not long ago I was shopping on crutches after a hip replacement. My sister’s friends were more concerned: “How old are you? 80? I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re going to fall and break something.” My brother Andrew, 86, decided it was best not to tell anyone.
For at least two decades, I’ve had a half-buried desire to try another ski trip. The ultimate fix of blue skies, cool air and the exhilaration that comes when you find yourself still intact at the bottom of a snow-covered slope. I wasn’t good at all, and I hadn’t skated in decades, but that wasn’t the point. When I was 83, I needed to know if I could still do it. And if I can do it, how about inviting my sister Kate, one third of our group of Old Crones who encourage each other to parkin every week? Then I remembered that, when I was a teenager, Andrew joined me on my first ski holiday. That was 67 years ago, but Andrew was really good, so I invited him too. My friend Penny, who is too young (67, she says) to really get attention, was also allowed to come and try her luck with the seniors and practice her German. We all made an effort to stay as fit as possible, but none of us had been skiing for at least 40 years.
Seefeld, in Tyrol near Innsbruck, was our chosen destination, because it offers a variety of winter activities – assuming we’d be able to survive our two-hour lesson on the first day (which, frankly, was all the downhill skiing we had planned) – and is wonderfully devoid of après-ski. It attracts families rather than young people, and is typically Austrian, with onion-domed churches and chalet-style houses. Our base was a friendly family run hotel Helga Hotel We ate at a different restaurant every evening.
“We call this Keesreuter“said Janina, our guide, when she remarked that we couldn’t believe our luck in waking up every morning to clear skies, warm sunshine and lots of snow in early March. We were all just pretending to be excited, not worried at all, as we boarded the bus to the ski area. It was full of young people and families carrying skis and glowing with energy. I thought I caught the young man helping us on. He rents boots and ski equipment as he rolls his eyes at the challenge.
Our coach Ulrich, who had been forewarned about our ages, smiled bravely as we walked towards him. We were talking a little loudly, smiling a little too widely, perhaps trying to postpone the moment when we had to plant our feet on the skis. Internally, I was sure I would fall as soon as I moved. But I didn’t. None of us did. Ulrich was very patient and gave us enough time at each stage of the lesson to gain confidence.
I’ve discovered that modern skis are much easier to manage—shorter, lighter, and rounded in the front—than the long, cumbersome things I remember from the 1960s that always caused me to fall off the ski lift. We knew we wouldn’t trust an elevator of any kind, so we assumed we’d be up the hill with difficulty and slide down, falling in the process. So it was in 1958. But here was a wonderful new device, the “traveller,” or moving walkway, transporting us effortlessly to the top of the gentle beginners’ slope, which was full of brave children. We were the only adults.
After two hours, we still hadn’t fallen, and we all managed some decent snowplow turns and even some sort of parallel turns. We were thrilled. “That was amazing!” said Andrew, who does not give in to exaggeration.
Could we have managed a full week of skiing? Perhaps, but the variety of activities Seefeld offered was more enticing. There were walking tours around different lakes, buses giving us access to picturesque villages, and a “winter trip to Hammermosalem, 4.6km (and ski down),” as the information pack casually described it.
Having watched the Winter Olympics, Kate and I knew all about skiing. She runs after you, pushes the sled, then jumps and rolls on her stomach at a speed that rivals a Formula 1 car. Janina was reassured. There was nothing to worry about: we would sit on the sled and drive with our feet. But we were worried. Andrew decided it wasn’t for him but the three of us connected.
When I was 12, it was tiring pulling my father’s homemade sled up the common Gold Hill in Buckinghamshire of our snowy childhood, and when I was 83, it was tiring pulling a lighter sled up the oxygen-depleted air (Hämmermoosalm, a traditional mountain hut and alpine farmhouse with dining rooms, It is located at an elevation of 1410 metres) for a distance of approximately 3 miles. (5 km). I fell behind, muttering to myself that I was too old for that. Glühwein and Golashsubi The goulash in the warm sunlight in the restaurant at the top was refreshing, but the descent couldn’t be put off forever.
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Penny shot forward and quickly disappeared from sight. I proceeded cautiously, getting down to pull the sled over the gravel and mud, but soon realized I was wearing a big smile: it was exhilarating. Halfway through I thought I’d wait and take a gif of Kate. A man in crimson walked by, shouting something over his shoulder that seemed to have something to do with Kate. There’s no point in waiting, and I certainly won’t be heading up the hill again to check on her. If she were already dead or injured, surely the man would have told me?
“How did you manage to control those ice chunks?” Kate asked when we finally met down below. “My sled hit a bank and I was thrown over. As I was lying there swearing, a man stopped and stared at me and asked, ‘How old are you?’ I walked the rest of the way.”
In contrast, cross-country skiing was a joy to everyone: no slopes and no feeling of helplessness.
We also did some proper trekking around pine lakes and snowy peaks, and tried local trekking Swimming pool and sauna. Since I’ve never had a sauna before, I thought I’d give it a try. It was all very strange and a bit unsettling, as mixed-gender saunas were the order of the day. I rented a robe of towels and went exploring. In a seemingly empty room, dark and steaming hot, I gingerly sat down in my den and took in my surroundings. It was like looking through an old-fashioned London fog, but I could see the recesses around the walls occupied by ghostly Greek-style statues. Fairly impressive. Then go one.
On our last day, after so many adrenaline-filled experiences, we finally started behaving like rational retirees, and opted for a carriage ride, wrapped in carpet behind two huge gray horses winding their way through the still snow-covered landscape. I tasted the local cuisine and of course drank a lot of glühwein.
What a wonderful, open and adventurous four days. On the back of the Old Crones’ T-shirts is a message that says: “We do because we can.” Unless you try it, you don’t know what you can do.
The trip is provided by Visit Tyrol and Seefeld. Double rooms in Helga Hotel In January 2026 starting on €952 per week Room only. Ski equipment rental in sailor from €232 For six days