I have perfect technique, he says, but he hasn’t yet shown me how to stop and seconds later I start to gather speed on a downhill stretch and crash into my daughter, Emelye.

We both land in a heap and Pierre looks less than impressed. Perhaps I should have stuck to downhill skiing but it’s February half-term and the slopes of the French resort of Saint-Gervais at the foot of Mont Blanc are heaving with skiers.

We’re avoiding the crowds with some alternative winter pursuits. After we untangle ourselves, Pierre shows us the braking action.

Even then I’m little better, so my partner Tom generously swaps places with Emelye so I can use him as a bumper. We couldn’t have picked a more perfect day for our outing through the pine trees towards neighbouring Saint Nicolas de Véroce. There isn’t a cloud in the sky and the sun is bouncing off the snow, giving it a tinsel-like quality.

From time to time a tree sheds a clump of snow, leaving a glittery trail in the still air. Even though the crowded pistes are a few feet away, the only sound in the woods is the swish of our skis.

We scoot along the tracks, passing a hamlet of wooden chalets and a river bed, where Emelye and my son Luke pick giant icicles from a frozen waterfall. I frequently stop, pretending to admire the view but really I’m out of puff. It’s hard work and I’ve put on too many layers. After 30 minutes we’ve all shed coats and hats. I’d thought the children, avid downhill skiers, would quickly tire of cross-country but they plead to carry on.

The next day we’re back on the skislopes but instead of joining the skiers in the 10-minute queue for
the gondola we put on snowshoes, which look like plastic boats, and head off across the nursery slope and into the woods beyond, leaving a trail of yeti-like prints.

Our guide Sylvie stops to point out evidence of wildlife: a pattern of tiny paw prints left by a fi eld mouse; fox prints; a pine marten.

We feel as if we are miles from civilisation. Snaking up the mountain, out of the woods and back into the warm sunshine, we stop for a welcome cup of hot tea with honey from Sylvie’s fl ask.

Later in the week I’m back on my downhill skis but have the smug satisfaction of leaving the family in the lift queue because I’m going to walk up the mountain. Yes, on my skis. With nylon “skins” glued to the underside and special bindings that allow you to lift your heel, touring, or “randonée” skis as they are called in France, enable you to walk
uphill without sliding back down.

We head for the Plateau de la Croix, nearly 1,000ft above us. It’s –7C but within a few minutes I’m soaked with sweat and have to stop for a breather. Two hours later I pant to the top of Mont D’Arbois, our halfway stage. I’m exhausted so we cheat by hopping on to a chairlift to take us a little higher.

When finally we reach our destination every muscle in my body is groaning. It’s late afternoon, the skilifts have closed and we have the mountain to ourselves.

Then my guide points to a slope of pure, untouched snow.

“This is what it’s all about,” he says, bouncing off downhill. My skis wobble a little, then I find my balance and start turning through the deep powder. Pure bliss. This definitely is what it’s all about.

● GETTING THERE: You won't find Saint Gervais in tour operators' brochures, but HolidayRentals offers lots of self-catering accommodation in the village, as does HolidayinAlps.com. Driving is the cheapest way to get there with a family, or you can fly to Geneva, the nearest airport to Saint Gervais, from several airports in the UK. Swiss Air has flights from London City Airport.

For resort transfers, try www.resortrides.com

Saint-Gervais tourist office (dialling from the UK: 0033 450 477 608/www.saintgervais.net) can arrange half-day snowshoe hikes from £18 for adults, £13 children; and cross-country or randonée skiing lessons from £33pp per hour.