We’ve all been there… Sitting on a chair lift and your phone rings from somewhere deep inside your multitude of technical layers. The race is on. It could be important. It could be Kate Moss returning your call! At this point a delicate operation begins and it is one that is fraught with danger. Who will hold your ski poles? Which pocket did you put it in? How far to the top of the lift? How long can your hand survive without protection from the elements?
The battle begins; the gloves are off. You find the vibrating pocket and carefully open it. You answer the call only to find out it isn’t Kate Moss – it’s your mum checking you are having a nice holiday. Still, mission accomplished and the phone is soon safely back in the warmth of your pocket. Two minutes left to the top of the lift and you grin at the accomplishment as you take back your poles from your ski buddy. But then… disaster strikes… your celebration is short-lived as one of your 120 euro North Face gloves plummets off the back of the chair and sails down to what will be its final resting place. Perched on the north face of an inaccessible rocky crag. Now you know what those hand loops were for. The ones you cut off your expensive gloves so you didn’t resemble a child in primary school.
It sometimes seems like ski resorts are repositories for lost and lonely gloves, rather like launderettes are repositories for single socks, separated savagely from their twins. And, funnily enough, the rest of this story is about a sock…
One evening I had been discussing the merits of heat moulding your ski boot liners with the aid of a sock, some rice and a microwave. The next day I was skiing off-piste and came across a lonesome (and slightly grubby) sock. More as a joke than anything else, I though I’d give the sock to my friend so he could fill it with rice. When I picked it up I noticed it was heavier than expected, like a Christmas stocking. To my surprise I found a telephone inside.
Being a good samaritan, I turned the phone on to see if anyone had tried to call it or whether I could find someone in the contacts to notify. However, the phone was locked and so was the SIM, although the GPS seemed to still be on. I decided the best course of action was to take it to the tourist office, thinking the owner would be able to track it accordingly. As it turned out, no one claimed it, so if the phone is yours, please get in touch and explain to us why you couldn’t at least use a clean sock. My advice to anyone else who sees a stray sock lying around a ski resort is to pick it up. You never know what you might find inside.