The Art of Iglooism.
Picture the scene: Peter, John, Nigel and me, their Mountain Guide, were all sitting in a mountain restaurant. It was snowing like mad and the avalanche danger was getting higher and higher; our options as to what we might do were rapidly diminishing. "More wine anyone?" Peter asked.
The Igloo would not leave the conversation and the team could not resist asking more questions:
"Have you tried it out yet?" asked Nigel.
"Yes, I built a 7-footer in the garden for the children."
"How long did it take?" they asked.
"About 3 hours. It was perfect." I boasted.
More wine anyone?
"Will it be cold?" John asked.
"No the temperature hovers around zero - I have some sleeping bags you can borrow."
"I have always been fascinated by Igloos; maybe it would be a good idea." Nigel reflected.
"Another bottle?" More questions and then suddenly we had an Igloo building team.
So an adventure was born. I had been searching the web attempting to find out how I could build some snow sculptures for my daughters birthday party when I came across Grand Shelters and the "Ice Box". Two weeks later it arrived from the US, bought straight from the Internet. Fundamentally it is a bottomless box which you pack snow into to form a block. The "Former" is attached to a long adjustable pole, which is stuck in the snow. You make a brick then move the former and make the next brick going around in a circle. The pole makes sure the Igloo is perfectly round. Once you have made the first layer you shorten the pole and continue until you spiral up and in and, voila: a perfect Igloo.
Traditionally, Igloos are built out of hard packed snow which is cut out in blocks using a saw. Generally this type of wind-packed snow is difficult to find anywhere other than the artic. Sometimes you can build them in the Cairngorms but it requires great patience and skill and it is very likely that there will be big gaps and cracks, which are hardly conducive to a good night's sleep. In the British and European mountains the preferred method is to build a snow-cave [extremely effective and an essential survival skill to develop if you plan to walk and climb in the Highlands in winter]. But snow caves are hard work to excavate and you need a massive drift of snow. In addition you get soaking wet building them. Hardly the ideal state to be in prior to sleeping in any sort of cave let alone one made of snow.
Anyway I was a bit worried that the team, in the cold light of the next day would have backed down. On the contrary their resolve seemed steely and Peter set off to buy what turned out to be formidable supplies:
We drove to the ski station of Combloux which is part of the huge Megeve lift system, manhandled our larger than normal rucksacks on to the lifts and rode them to the top. We attracted some strange looks--especially me because I was the only person skiing in France's most fashionable resort with a saw strapped to his rucksack. [for cutting the door].
We struck off the piste and with the aid of our ski-touring skis headed off to the "building site." I must say that we choose a simply stunning position to site our Igloo. It was stuck out on a promontory looking across to the Mont Blanc Massif. Huge pine trees that were covered in fresh snow surrounded us.
We tramped the snow down with our skis and unpacked the Ice Box. I then announced that we would build an "11-footer." This was a gigantic mistake probably brought on by a pique of over-enthusiasm that seems to have beset recent British architectural projects. We started building at 3.30pm; by 8.00pm the thing looked like a Millennium Dome and was about as on schedule for completion as the new Wembley stadium.
By 7.30 pm we had witnessed one of the most glorious sunsets that the Mt Blanc massif could ever deliver. But in spite of determined work we still only had a structure that looked a lot like a giant pudding. By 8.30pm we had not managed to close the dome, which sported an opening the size of a pool table.
Suddenly all notions of Igloo authenticity deserted me I decided that we should botch the roof by throwing some branches over the top and lobbing snow on the crown.
"There, finished." I said, in a way that was meant to suggest that the branches had always been the Eskimo's preferred method of Iglooism.
The night's silence was broken by a "pop" as Peter opened the champagne [nicely chilled] and we strolled around our Igloo as if we were at some sort of bizarre themed cocktail reception.
Next I fired up the stove ready for our soup while we sipped champagne and passed the hors-d'oeuvres between us as we now sat in our sleeping bags.
We retired to bed by merely blowing out the candles. It would be untruthful to claim that we had an entirely peaceful night's sleep, but this was down to one of our team being in the British snoring team and nothing to do with sleeping in an Igloo.
Next morning we were awakened by the sun streaming in through our perfectly positioned, easterly facing door--inspiring us for another day in the mountains.
Although we journeyed through the mountains on skis, snowshoes would be functional. So anyone wishing to build Igloos in the Alps need not be able to ski.
The Ice Box can be bought through www.grandshelters.com. It comes with an instructional VHS video.
Further information from Mark Seaton. E-mail: firstname.lastname@example.org