I have just returned from a short skiing holiday in Kitzbuhel, in the Austrian Tyrol. This is a magic place, a medieval fortified town with the original wall, some 25 metres in depth, still in place. The large houses in the centre of town and those forming the wall are stone buildings of a decent size painted in bright colours. The main streets are wide and cobbled, presumably to enable the easy passage of horse drawn carts and the setting up of market stalls.

The town has an air of permanence and quiet solidarity with the spiritual air being provided by the beauty of the churches, one of which is particulary fine, being more a cathedral than a church. This spiritual air is reinforced by the mountains whch surround the town. The two main mountains are the Hahenkamm and the Kitzbuhler Horn. Nothing emphasises the glory of nature more than snow-capped mountains pinked by the setting sun or the power of nature more than being in a blizzard of fast-falling snow high up in the mountains.

In the winter these mountains provide a comprehensive range of skiing for all levels of skiier and, in the spring and summer, wonderful walks and views.

Skiing started in Kitzbuhel in 1892 when a local farmer, Franz Reisch, sent off to Norway for some gear, having been impressed by a Norwegian book on the art of skiing. The following year he experimented with his incredible 2.30m 'Snowshoes'. In those early days the equipment was very basic. Skis were wooden planks curved upwards at the front with small spikes pointing forwards to make an initial impact in the snow. There was only one pole held with both hands, more like a garden broom than a modern ski stick. The bindings were of leather and the boots those worn as everyday footwear. In 1894 a large consignment of skis arrived from Norway and the first Ski Championship took place.

From these simple beginnings a massive and highly sophisticated industry has emerged. Speeds obtained by downhill racers are staggering, averaging in excess of 120 kph in some races. These are due in part to technology, part to technique and part to bravery. The world famous Hahenkamm Downhill, one of the most important competitions in alpine skiing, first took place in 1931. It is held this year on Saturday January 13.

In complete contrast, the flounderings of the novice skier are pitiful to behold. As I was on only my second visit to the slopes I fall and fall again in very much that category. Being a mere month from my fifty sixth birthday, to say that I am starting late is a massive understatement.

The wisest man on the mountain directed me to take a series of lessons in a small group. So I joined Aurecia, Peter, Nikki and Akhmed under the direction of Helmut Sulzenbacher, the Supervisor of Special Groups. We were a disparate and desperate crew. Eager to learn but hard to teach.

Helmut is even older than me but of course is a marvellous skier, correct to the point of pernicketiness, relentless in his instruction, behaving like an elderly prep school Maths master. He had a lot to put up with as the class suffered from one major failing - fear.

Skiing is a sport best learned young. I doubt if J.R. Hartley will ever take it up. The five to ten year olds schuss down the mountain without fear of falling. If they do so they just bounce up and carry on. They do not bother to turn, they just snowplough to a sort of ragged stop. The teenagers have all progressed from little racers to controlled stylish exponents of the art. Being higher off the ground and heavier they will fall if their weight shifts to the wrong position or like Inspector Adams they catch an edge.

As one gets older one's ability to react unnaturally diminishes. Those who can ski know the secret is to convince the mind that the body should move in the opposite way to the natural one. The weight must be leaning away from the mountain to enable the sharp metal edges of the skis to maintain grip when cornering. If one becomes unbalanced the natural thing is to lean into the mountain. It is the way one leans when running, riding a bike or a motor bike. The result of leaning inwards is a heavy fall.

But when one gets it right it is exhilarating. The creak of the crisp snow, the tearing of the wind at the clothing, the sensation of speed and the feeling of being almost in control combine to make a heady and addictive cocktail.

Helmut is a very senior instructor at the Rote Teufel - Red Devil Skischool in Kitzbuhel. His son Klaus won Gold at the World Championships and Silver at the Winter Olympics in the Nordic Combination Ski Jump. However the most famous of the Red Devils is the legendary Toni Sailer. Three times Olympic Gold and no less than seven World Championships, he is sixty this year and looks as if he could still win today.

The Roten Teufel celebrate New Year's Day with a spectacular display in the dark. Skiing down the last big slope of the Hahennkamm run they jump through the flames of a bonfire on which a bandaged witch has been burned to ward off skiing accidents in the coming year.

A magnificent firework display with co-ordinated music followed the jumping with classical music enhancing the sight of the bursting beauties. The display ended rather bizarrely with a rendition of the Royal Air Force March Past followed by the Dam Busters' March and Colonel Bogey, all British World War II favourites. I know we were in Austria but many a Municher was there.

Incidently I recognised The RAF March Past as it was the first record I ever bought. Purchased in 1947 and played on a HMV wind up gramophone.

The display included snowboarders who are the brute force of the slopes. Their clothing and their equipment are all designed to appeal to the baser elements of human behaviour. Boards are decorated with fierce dogs wielding trip hammers. Jackets with the obligatory rubber lower back, not because they soil themselves through fear but because they spend a lot of time sitting in the snow, are in subfusc colours reminiscent of modern renderings of Wagner's Ring. Known by homophobes as 'Gays on Trays', they create unlimited havoc for skiers at all levels. They clog up the T-bars, falling off with monotonous regularity and then lying like inverted turtles in the track unable to move. When they finally do, the dreaded board, like a giant's shovel, has scooped a huge gouge of snow out of the run to give the skiers something to fall into. On the piste they sit in groups on their bottoms in the snow, buckling on their boards and summoning the courage to career downhill. When they stop the board scrapes away the piste creating more havoc for the skiers.

There is a real danger that skiers will be driven off the piste by the increasing numbers of snowboarders. Apparently as snowboarders spend more money on their equipment than skiers, the manufacturers' lobby is pushing snowboarding hard. The local authorities will have to decide on separate areas, as on Australian beaches for surfing and swimming, if they wish to avoid a tragedy. Some hope exists in that snowboarders prefer deeper snow whereas average skiers prefer the piste.

I have left the real reason for visiting Kitzbuhel till last. It is a visit to the Hocheckhutte. This wooden building perched on the top of the Hahnenkamm mountain overlooks Kitzbuhel and across the valley to the Horn Mountain. It has been the home of the Noichl family for several generations. They know the mountain backwards and are the experts on the likelihood and whereabouts of avalanches. Inside the hut great food and drink in vast quantities are served. Above each table hangs a light from which hangs a small bell. Every time this bell is struck by a hand of a diner a round of schnapps is produced accompanied by 'The Whistler', an automaton whistling . Hanging on the wall is a large cow bell - when this is rung the entire company gets a schnapps from the bell ringer. I'm sure that you can see how easy it is to inflame the company into 'schnapps hysteria' as rival groups ring their bells and the odd loon clangs the cow bell. An added danger is the 'Bishofberger' a litre of wine and lemonade with a depth charge of cherry brandy concealed within it. I'm not at all sure for obvious reasons but at Christmas Lunch I think our party of ten consumed more schnapps than England scored runs in the second innings at Newlands and topped it off with four Bishofbergers.

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