Little Hills Big Thrills in Trafoi, Italy
Mike Richards Goes Back to Where It All Began for a Perfect Slice of South Tyrol
Image: mikethesnow
It’s almost 40 years since I started my ski career at the small but mighty Trafoi. Powderhounds call the pretty village, buried deep in the Stelvio National Park, a super-secret-stash spot—one of those “blink and you’ll miss it” locations that get pounded every winter.
But in 1986 (hello, neon Nevica and rear-entry Raichles), all I was thinking about was making it out alive!
First, there was the near two-day coach trip when my cousin James and I piled onto a ski bus alongside a load of other 20-somethings. Then, once on the nursery slopes, I faced skating-rink conditions that turned into equally unskiable afternoon slush. Put simply, my skills were no match for even the mellowest slopes in the shadow of South Tyrol’s highest mountain, 3,905m Mount Ortler. Worse still, each evening at the much-needed après drinks, as I showed off a growing collection of bruises, my cousin would blather on about how beautiful it was up on the mountain proper and what I was missing out on down below.
By the third morning, I was so black and blue that I’d taken to stuffing any additional clothing I could find down my salopettes. Heaven knows what I looked like, snow-ploughing (badly) down the meadow named after Trafoi’s most famous son, Gustav Thöni, a former Olympic and Overall World Cup winner. But let’s just say an important crossroads had been reached.
In the battle of Mike vs. Skiing, it was time to show little Trafoi (with its handful of lifts and just 10km of pistes) who was boss.
A Turning Point
Day four began with a rebellious skipping of ski school. Instead, I accompanied my dear cousin up the double chair for a glimpse of what lay beyond the village-level beginner area. Over the ridgeline, lit by a bright March sun, was an amphitheatre of slate-grey jagged peaks, wide-open pistes, and, best of all, tons of lovely soft snow.
Yes, this rugby-playing 20-year-old was still Bambi on a set of 201cm Blizzards, but at least the falls were now forgiving, and the slipping and sliding a fraction more controlled. By late afternoon, when I finally made it back to my picturesque Val Venosta lodgings at 1,570m, I was exhausted, elated, and hooked for life.
Yes, this rugby-playing 20-year-old was still Bambi on a set of 201cm Blizzards, but at least the falls were now forgiving, and the slipping and sliding a fraction more controlled. By late afternoon, when I finally made it back to my picturesque Val Venosta lodgings at 1,570m, I was exhausted, elated, and hooked for life.
Check out Mike’s pics on his Instagram.
Revisiting Trafoi
Three decades later, I still feel exactly the same. Hence, this trip down memory lane to enjoy the Ortler Ski Arena pass, which gives access to 15 local hills—including Trafoi—and a combined 400km of pistes.
It turns out Tania, the owner of the three-star Hotel Garni Interski where I’m staying, is also the daughter of my first instructor! That’s just the kind of birds-of-a-feather, everyone-knows-everyone, nothing-ever-changes (in a good way) community that Trafoi is.
At first glance, €60 per day for the Ortler pass may not seem like the smartest investment, given that Trafoi has just six runs and three lifts. But those numbers are deceptive, considering the huge off-piste and sidecountry potential, especially if you’re prepared to tour.
I am. Cresting a rise above the top lift at 2,550m, having put my skins on, I’m surprised to see traffic ahead—also-skinning guide Toni Stocker and his client Helen, visiting from Val Gardena. As they drop into north-west-facing terrain, I opt for a north/north-east-facing bowl on the opposite side of the ridge. It’s such an off-the-radar spot, especially above the resort, that it feels strange to encounter even a couple of skiers. But somehow, I’m delighted they’ve witnessed me touring out like a boss. How proud—and possibly confused—my mid-’90s self would be to see me now, high above the Schonblick chairlift, having the time of my life with boot-top turns aplenty on the way back down to Trafoi (or Furkel, as the ski area is technically called).
The Descent of a Lifetime
Traversing back to the lifts an hour or so later, I spot Toni and Helen once more. Hearing that I’m staying at Tania’s, they kindly offer me a lift back—but only after we cut down through the trees to the lower village of Stelvio, where they’ve left their car.
It’s close to 1,500m of glorious vertical, with near-untracked powder all the way, despite it not having snowed for four days. Catching our breath and sharing smiles at the bottom, I can only think of one word to mutter: magnificent!
On the short drive back to Trafoi, I think of my younger self and how time flies. The lesson? Don’t wait too long before visiting this wonderfully underrated patch of South Tyrol.
