Thredo vs Mt Hotham

I have mentioned to various people lately that we recently had a week in the snow at Hotham. They have all immediately piped up and asked, "Why go to Hotham and not Thredbo? Isn't it more sensible for a Sydney resident to go to Thredbo?"

For a weekend, yes, it is more sensible to go to Thredbo. If you don't meet any traffic and make minimal stops, you can get from our front door to an apartment in Thredbo in 5.5 hours. It took us more like 10 hours or driving to get to Hotham - that is out of the question for a weekend.

But we went for a week, so a few hours extra driving is not an issue.

I came to the conclusion three years ago that Hotham is so much better because the village is at the top of the mountain, rather than the bottom (like Thredbo). In itself, that might seem like a silly reason, but consider this: skiing consists of zooming downhill on two planks and then catching a chairlift or T-bar back up to repeat the process.

Now I love skiing early in the morning when the air is crisp and the snow is crisp and there is no other bastard on the mountain to get in my way. You can do that at Hotham - you simply walk to the top of the Big D (a major chairlift) and ski down the run. That can be done at around 8am when most people are still in bed and most of the lifts aren't operating. The sensible thing is to wait for the ski patrol guys, then follow them down.

When you get to the bottom, almost always an obliging liftie will let you get on the lift (even though it does not officially open for another 30-45 minutes) and travel up to the next peak. You can then get first tracks wherever you like. It's heaven. It is far and away my most favourite skiing time.

Now consider Thredbo. You start the day by getting in a line at the chairlift at the bottom of the hill, and stand there impatiently for half an hour waiting for the bloody thing to open. It always opens late. By the time you get to the top for your first run, your legs are cramped, your blood pressure is up and 500 people are tearing up the snow in front of you.

Screw that.

I'd happily never ski at Thredbo again for the continual opportunities to ski at sparrow fart at Hotham. I've figured out what makes me happy, and if I have to drive a few hours more to get to it, so be it.