How to try luxury ski touring in Austria

Ski touring sounds like it should involve leisurely drives from one grand resort hotel to the next. In reality, it involves forgoing the luxury of lifts to hike up slopes in your skis in an off-piste wilderness. And all the great ski tours, from the Haute Route to the Gran Paradiso, involve ending a day of sweating your way uphill by staying in remote, rugged mountain refuges.

Until now. The Nockberge Trail, in the southern Austrian region of Carinthia, eschews huts in favour of spa hotels – and your luggage is even transported for you.

I was so sold on the whole idea of touring meets luxury that I stopped reading, skipping over the bit about fitness, ski expertise, etc. After all, with a spa, four-course dinner and comfortable bedroom at the end of each day, what could there be to worry about?

Lisi, our guide, gave us a relaxed briefing over cocktails in the resort of Katschberg, 75 minutes from Klagenfurt airport. I do remember her saying we would be covering 20km the next day – but with dinner waiting, my mind was happily elsewhere.

Another concession to fair-weather tourers like me is that each day starts on a ski lift to speed us on our way. Not that we needed more speed, as we skidded over the snow’s meringue-like crust, until it softened further down into delightfully deep snow on steep meadows.

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We fixed touring “skins” – carpet-like strips that stop you from sliding backwards – to the bottom of our skis for the first ascent. Our reward was a second wonderful drop through pure powder.

“Can we have our packed lunch now?” asked Gabi, a 66-year-old Austrian whose natural elegance was mirrored by her neat powder turns.

“Are there any coffee stops?” I chipped in.

“Can we catch a taxi if we find it too much?” asked Ico, a fit 52-year-old Dutchman on behalf of his wife Annemiek, who was struggling with the descents.

To which Lisi’s answers were no, no and no. Of the five of us, only Bjorn, 44, a seasoned ski tourer from Bavaria, seemed unfazed.

We finally got lunch, albeit without coffee, at a deserted farmhouse on a hillside with lovely views over the rolling Nockberge mountains. Then we sweated it up to the top of the Schwarzwand, or “black wall”, from where I fancied we would ski straight to our spa hotel.

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But no. We battled for miles along an endless ridge against a bitter east wind that wanted to push us back to Katschberg. All that sustained me was the schnapps Gabi produced from her backpack. When we finally reached the resort of Innerkrems, the sun was already setting.

But our luggage was waiting as promised, and the spa was a fantastic antidote to 900 vertical metres of climbing. An oompah band in the restaurant was the final piece of the puzzle to liven us up.

The next morning, Lisi decided it was too risky to venture into the white-out, so she led us through orchards behind the hotel. By midday the fog was gone and we were bouncing in the powder back to the hotel, where, with our luggage, we all squeezed into a taxi to Turracher Hohe.

It was at this beauty spot, overlooking the frozen lake, that I was able to do a full-length spa-tour – trekking through the white-out of the steam-room, sweating up a storm in the sauna, before enjoying the icy thrill of the descent of water from an ice bucket over my head.

We all felt upbeat the following morning, but a few metres from the top of the lift we were skiing through dense forest, the heavy snow making sharp turns difficult. It looked like Annemiek would turn back, but we all made it down, with varying degrees of elegance, to follow a long, winding road up the mountain.

This time Gabi had a tot of red wine to fortify me at our lunch stop. And when, at 3pm, we saw the mountain we had to climb, I hit the schnapps again for strength. It worked, though by the time we made the saddle of the Steinnock the sun was low in the sky. Lisi gestured to the peak at 2,197m topped with a giant cross.

“Oh, we’re all happy to head down,” I reassured her.

“No,” she explained. “We have to go over the peak to get to the other side.”

So we fastened our skis to our rucksacks and hiked up, taking a few minutes to capture the rose-tinted landscape on our phones.

My legs were trembling with tiredness as we clicked back into our skis on the peak, but we had to navigate a ridge with steep drops either side, avoid a cornice, then pick up speed over another narrow section.

Tricky bit done, I thought – until I saw Lisi bashing her skis into the icy snow, shifting forward two paces at a time. She was creating two tracks so we couldn’t slip down the mountainside.

By the time we reached Falkert it was pitch black, but we had made it, and waiting for us was another superb spa at the Heidi hotel and more lovely Gruner Veltliner wine to toast our success over dinner, all followed by a cosy bed.

I had to fly back the next day, missing the last leg, but vowed to return. Sure enough, exactly a year later, I travelled to Turracher Hohe to complete the middle stage we had missed.

I warmed up with some decidedly soft adventures offered by the resort free to guests: a sunrise snowshoeing expedition to a mountain hut for breakfast; cross-country skiing; being shown around the runs of this small but intriguing resort (you can do a loop of all its 42km of steep pistes and 16 lifts, the last being a skidoo that drags you across the frozen lake).

But I was hungry to compete that second stage of the Nockberge Trail with my new guide, Florian. And he delivered, taking me to open pastures where I could trace my own squiggles in fresh powder. Our first climb took us past abandoned barns, their snow-covered roofs sparkling at us in bright sunlight.

Florian had a knack for finding fresh powder, and we skied down a gloriously snow-filled gully, before climbing anew. But now I was flagging and knew I couldn’t scale the fearsome Gregerlnock. What was wrong?

Of course! Where was Gabi with the schnapps?

We skirted the 2,296m peak – only to climb a forest trail that was so steep and icy even my skins couldn’t stop me sliding backwards.

He may not have had schnapps, but Florian did conjure a pair of crampons out of his backpack, which he attached to my skis. Giddy with exhaustion, I made it out of the woods in the direction of the hotel.

“Colin, you’re a fighter,” said Florian.

Maybe, but one who likes to spa as much as spar.

Colin travelled as a guest of Carinthia Tourism and stayed at the Seehotel Jagerwirt in Turracher Hohe.

The Nockberge Trail can be done in either direction between Katschberg and Bad Kleinkirchheim and for any number of stages. To do all four stages – with five overnights – costs from €998 (£836/$1,080) per person, including guide, half-board accommodation and luggage transport, excluding flights and transfers.

EasyJet flies from Gatwick to Klagenfurt (which also serves the resorts of Nassfeld and Schladming) from £20 return.