Nine of us (including three newbie boarders) had booked it up to Quebec for a week. Tremblant's mountain is no Whistler, but it's still formidable, with three faces, 92 runs and a snowboard park with two half-pipes. Since Intrawest (who owns both Tremblant and Whistler) took it over and sunk millions into it, they've created a similarly decadent international four-season resort with first-class hotels, condos and a village of shops, restaurants and plenty of bars for après ski indulgence. For the past three years, Ski Magazine ranked Tremblant the number one ski resort in Eastern North America. Definitely imposing to the neophyte.

"three women, bodies splayed in various unflattering positions! ...."

Day One. Ground Zero. I hadn't been to ski school since I was ten, which is about how old I felt when I realized our lesson consisted of walking up and falling down the very bottom of the hill, right next to the gondola. I'm sure our friends, and countless strangers, appreciated the entertainment, while waiting in the lift line, of witnessing our humiliation - three women, bodies splayed in various unflattering positions, surrounded by a bunch of eight year olds.

Thank god we had copious amounts of fine vintage red wine to soothe us as we licked our wounds by the fire that night. We'd rented a sweet cottage on the outskirts of the nearby town of St.-Jovite, surrounded by trees and three feet of snow. The decor was a little circa'72, but somehow that only added to its charm. Day two began much like the first - lessons (they must hand pick those instructors for inhuman patience levels), more walking up the hill, more full body contact. Then we discovered the key to unearthing our moxie: the courage cocktail - a nice, tall drink mid-day. Suddenly, a bit of alcohol coursing through our systems, we were ready to play with the big kids. That afternoon we went straight to the top, where the vistas were fabulous and the Quebec winds howling. It was minus 40 degrees Celsius with the wind-chill factor up there, which made the impetus to get moving easily outweigh any hesitations I might have had. The hill had a number of wind-swept, icy patches which were not my friends, but although I still saw stars a few times from impact, we actually got better, and got down. Our courage tonic was kicking in.

The next day, after a night-long snowfall, I was psyched to find plenty of fresh pow to cushion our falls, while my friend Jonny (a photographer and devout two-planker) was on the hill documenting our "progress." Tremblant is still dominated by skiers, with about 20 per cent boarders, although the scales are tipping further in the right direction each year. After two and a half punishing days, I felt like I was proffering myself to the gods of the Laurentians every time I landed on my knees. Maybe it was pre-millennial tension. January 1,2000. The only sounds in the cottage at 11 a.m. were a few pained groans. But despite the fact that we were nursing excruciating headaches, and that I was barely able to keep my eyes open on the gondola, Nina (one of my cocktail-drinking, fledgling accomplices) and I were out on the (almost empty) hill, determined to master it before we left. And that day, we got it. We figured out how to carve. After the whole humbling process, it was enlightenment - even though Nina broke her wrist. She gets her cast off next week, though, and the first thing we're doing is heading for the hills.

— Jill Borra, BoarderZone.com Newbie