This winter break is my first spent in Switzerland. Contrary to popular belief, it is actually about the same temperature here as in Pennsylvania. However, skiing at the top of the Swiss Alps is a different story.

The past two days, my family and I were on a ski vacation in a town called Flims, Switzerland. It is pretty much everything you might imagine a Swiss ski town to be. It’s filled with quaint buildings hemmed by the painted and carved trim you always see in travel magazines, which are shadowed by the towering snow-capped mountains, and filled with people doing that awkward bobbing step they do when they’re walking in ski boots. Picture perfect.

The hotel wasn’t much different. Complete with a hardwood-paneled ceiling, balcony with, once again, a carved and painted railing, and a sweeping view of those same majestic mountains. And the best part? It’s only about a block away from the closest ski lift.

This ski lift is actually more of a small gondola (I say small because it only fits about 6 people, but the bigger ones fit around 50). It takes you to another small gondola that then takes you up to the top of the closest peak (at about 3000 meters above sea level).

The trails from this lift go all the way back to the bottom of the mountain. And, to no surprise, are picture-perfect once again. The trails are relatively narrow for the size of the mountain, and as you fly down the hill, it feels as if you are on some sort of amusement park ride. You are kept on the trail by forests of lofty evergreens with snow piled on their boughs, pulling the bottom branches almost all the way to the forest floor. Through the openings in the trees you can see the same scenic mountain view, only now you are at the same level as the rest of the chain. It’s easy to picture yourself without skis, flying through the mountains instead of plummeting down them.

Although this and the other runs around it were perfect, my dad couldn’t stop talking about a glacier that was on the other side of the mountain. So, although I wasn’t exactly sure how it would be different, I agreed to go to the glacier to find out if his enthusiasm was worth it.

To get to the glacier was a complicated process. We had to take the original small gondola up to the top, switch to a different, open air lift, and then get on a large gondola. The large gondola took us to another smaller gondola, which then took an additional 20 minutes to get us to the bottom of the mountainside that houses the glacier. As a whole, the trip took about 40 minutes.

On the way there, while looking out the windows in the various gondolas, I noticed that the trees were starting to disappear. Another warning factor was the fact that there were no longer animal trails of any kind in the fresh snow. But who knows, maybe the animals and trees just weren’t feeling that location at the moment?

So, we arrived at the base of the glacier, about 7000 meters above sea level. The temperature had dropped by at least 15 degrees and the wind speed had increased by around 10 miles per hour (at this point, I was also extremely hungry, which did not lend me generous feelings towards the new weather conditions). In addition to these developments, there was a giant gray cloud blanketing the top of the peak.

Regardless of these unpleasant effects, I held my tongue and blindly followed my father to the “lift” that would take us to the glacier. I say “lift” because whatever it is, it is certainly not a lift. To get on the “lift,” you stand at a designated spot and a glorified fish hook (a metal rod with two prongs on each side for you to grab on to) swings by. If you don’t grab onto the fish hook at first, simply try again. The chosen fish hook then reels you in, all the way up to the glacier, which is approximately another 500 or so meters above sea level. If for some reason you let go of your hook, or it lets go of you, you’re positively screwed. Upon letting go, the hook immediately gets drawn back onto the pulley it came from, well out of reach. At this point all you would be able to do is ski back down the steep run the fish hooks pull you up and hope that you don’t accidentally run into some innocent civilian on a fish hook also on a quest to reach the glacier. Luckily, I was not unfortunate enough to lose my hook, though I did almost fall off several times.

After what seemed like hours of being pulled by my hook and enduring treacherous and frigid cross-winds the entire way up, my dad and I finally reached the top of the glacier. I breathed a sigh of relief as I let go of my fish hook and watched it fly back to its pulley, its journey complete for now. This feeling of elation was quickly replaced by one of fear, as a gust of wind nearly managed to sweep me off of my feet (quite literally). I made a speedy recovery and penguin-wobbled over to my father, who was looking out over the edge of what, at first, appeared to be a sheer cliff face.

(this picture is actually from another trail, but gives an accurate representation of the wind)

Unfortunately, this was not a cliff, this was what appeared to be the only way down the glacier. A 60-degree angle, composed mostly of ice seemed the one path to get me off of the desolate, windy wasteland that is the glacier. Although I am honestly a more-than-proficient skier, this was not anything I needed or wanted to see. Nearing the point of exhaustion due to my hunger aforementioned, I was frankly on the verge of tears. I felt the need to throw myself on the ground in the hope that a Swiss yeti practiced at navigating these treacherous slopes would find me and carry me down.

To my great excitement, in my deepest misery there was a ray of hope! There was a potential trail we had not seen on the other side of the fish hook machine!

My dad and I speedily penguin-waddled over to the other side, careful not to let the winds take us. And there it was: my beacon of hope, my ray of sunshine in this cloud-covered abyss! A medium-difficulty trail!! We made haste and arrived at the bottom of the glacier after several minutes on what was, admittedly, quite a nice trail. I then finally got my lunch (delicious, golden mac-and-cheese) and had some time to shake off the experience before hitting the slopes again.

Although my story ended up with the tasteful and positive ending of a delicious meal, I have drawn some conclusions about glaciers. For the first part, anywhere that there are no signs of animals and no trees is not a place for humans to be. Do not ever venture off onto the top of a glacier yourself, despite how “cool” and “fun” a glacier may seem to you (like it did to my father). People have absolutely no business messing around up there. I don’t even understand why they’d want to. Also, if you a beginner, do not try this at home, you quite honestly could fall and die (sounds dramatic but I’m not even kidding, there was a cliff a few feet off the trail).

But, despite these grim conclusions, if you are prepared and well-equipped, it is an experience worth trying at least once. After all, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?