Ten winter adventures beyond the ski piste

Ski resorts have a monopoly on nobody. Beyond the piste map lies a whole winter of things to do standing up, sitting down and occasionally dangling from an axe — most of them quieter, cheaper per thrill and considerably better for dinner-party anecdotes than another red run. The Nordic countries do this best, having treated deep winter as a playground for centuries, but the Alps have their own dark arts too. Pack proper layers, embrace the 3pm sunsets and remember that cold is mostly a wardrobe problem.

Standing on the runners of your own sled behind six howling, ecstatic huskies, silence falling the second they launch — dog sledding is winter's great conversion experience. Around Kiruna, operators run everything from two-hour tasters to multi-day expeditions between wilderness cabins, and mushing your own team beats riding as cargo by miles. December to March is the season; book a morning slot for the pink Arctic light. The dogs accept your affection as rightful tribute.

Iceland's twist on the aurora hunt is doing it at speed: evening snowmobile tours cross the Langjökull glacier or highland plateaus, engines cut at intervals to let the green curtains perform overhead in silence. No experience needed — you follow a guide in convoy after a short briefing, and full thermal suits are provided. September to April offers skies dark enough. Book a tour with a free rebooking policy; the lights answer to nobody's itinerary.

Rjukan sits in a Norwegian valley so steep the sun misses it all winter — historically grim for residents, glorious for the two hundred frozen waterfalls that result. It is Europe's most reliable ice-climbing venue, and beginner courses put you on real ice with axes and crampons on day one, top-roped and encouraged loudly from below. No prior climbing needed, just average fitness and warm gloves. January and February give the fattest, most dependable ice.

Snowshoeing is walking with better PR — strap on the tennis rackets and the winter Dolomites open up: silent forests, frozen lakes and the pale pink towers above Cortina with the crowds gone home. Guided day hikes from Cortina d'Ampezzo or the Alta Badia villages need only ordinary hill fitness, and many finish at a rifugio serving extremely serious hot chocolate. January and February bring the deepest snow. Rent everything locally, but bring your own gaiters.

Every winter in Jukkasjärvi, artists rebuild the Icehotel from scratch using river ice and snow, so no two years' art suites ever match. Sleeping at minus five on a reindeer-skin-draped ice bed, zipped into an expedition bag, is genuinely comfortable — the hot lingonberry juice delivered at your bedside is the morning badge of honour. Do one ice night and one warm night, which is what the veterans book. December to April; each spring it melts back into the Torne river.

Norwegians treat cross-country skiing the way the British treat queuing — a national practice absorbed in infancy — and Sjusjøen, in the hills above Lillehammer, is the gentlest place to join in: 350 kilometres of groomed trails rolling through spruce forest and open fell. Lessons get complete beginners shuffling happily within a morning, and the workout is sneakily enormous. February has the most reliable snow and forgiving gradients. The trailside waffle huts are not optional; they are the point.

Each autumn, meltwater carves new caves beneath Europe's largest glacier, and from November to March guides lead small groups inside — cathedral spaces of rippled, glassy ice glowing an implausible sapphire blue. Every cave is different every year, which is half the romance. Tours run from the Jökulsárlón glacier lagoon in super-jeeps; crampons and helmets are provided and the walking is short and manageable. Book a morning slot for the best light, and pair it with iceberg-spotting on the lagoon.

When Lake Louise freezes, staff clear a rink on the lake itself, and the result is regularly voted the world's most beautiful: emerald ice underfoot, the Victoria Glacier dead ahead, an ice castle for a centrepiece. Skate hire is at the Fairmont on the shore, ability is irrelevant — shufflers welcome — and hot chocolate is administered rink-side. Mid-December to early April is the window, weather depending. Come at dusk, when the floodlights come on and the mountains turn blue.

Where huskies sprint, reindeer amble — a sled ride through the snow-cushioned forests around Inari or Rovaniemi moves at the speed of falling snow, antlers swaying ahead, nothing to do but burrow deeper into the blankets. The best trips are run by Sámi herding families and end around a fire in a lavvu tent with stories, smoky coffee and warm berry juice. December to March is the season. Ask for a late-afternoon departure; the polar twilight turns everything violet.

Switzerland takes sledging seriously enough to have the world's longest run: 15 kilometres from the Faulhorn summit down to Grindelwald, with the Eiger's north face glowering across the valley as you career past. The catch — and the badge of honour — is the two-and-a-half-hour winter hike up from First to reach the start, sledge in tow. Rent a proper wooden sledge in the village, go on a weekday after fresh snow, and accept that braking technique is learned empirically.