We flew home in daylight and looked down on a snow covered Europe.  The snow was thick – right to our door.  If it was deep on the drive, the chances were it would be deep in the Cheviots.

Knowing that warmer temperatures were forecast, rather than put away our ski gear we put it in the car instead and headed up to the Langlee Valley.

We left the car at the Carey Burn, not daring to take it further – winter tyres or no, and strapped skis to rucsacs for the walk in.  Flippin’ eck the wind was strong.  And bitterly cold.  There was a sharpness to the view and it was wonderful.

We were not alone on the hill, we climbed up towards a group of snowboarders trying to put some turns in, having a hoot of a time.  Snowboarders!  On Cheviot!  Sacrilege!

The snow was deep, fence tops just visible above the drifts; wind packed crust and ice sastrugi creating an antarctic scene.  It felt timeless, 21st century or 12th century were interchangeable in the landscape we were looking at.

Deciding against going all the way up to Cheviot summit, we turned right at the so-called Cheviot Knee and followed the chevy route to Broadstruther, managing some nice turns in nice snow which quickly turned into survival turns in crust.  Skis off for the climb up the other side before skiing down to Broadstruther in the gloam.  Snow snakes were in abundance, hiding in clumps of heather underneath the crust, waiting for poor unsuspecting skiiers.  I followed Dave down and cannily avoided the worst.  (Thanks, Dave!)

Tired bodies and glowing, wind-beaten faces arrived back at the car.  Who needs the Alps?