I’m not good with heights. As I climb, I bury my head into my chest and concentrate on my footing.

My ski boots dig into the rock, one foot after the other. With my skis slung over my shoulder I struggle, stumbling as I ascend the jagged slope.

I can’t help but wonder what I’m doing hiking, for gondolas and chair lifts provide a much easier way to get up the mountain.

They also give you an opportunity to rest before the fun part, descending, riding down manicured runs or heading off-piste next to the groomed parts.

But I’ve done that all week, and even though my legs tremble, weak from exploring the 150km of pistes in Sölden in the Tyrol region of Austria, today is the last day of my trip and I’ve decided to try out something a little different.

Finally I reach the top of the precipice. The height is dizzying. I have an unobstructed 360-degree view of the Austrian Alps.

I feel giddy as I survey two snow- capped peaks, spearing through the clouds; yes, they’re at eye level.

I’m on top of the world!

So far I’ve been lucky, because even though it’s March, rather late in the season, there are so many reasons to be in the Alps at this time of year: warmer weather, uncrowded pistes, empty lifts and the strong possibility of fresh powder… which is what I’m searching for today.

I’m now high on one of Sölden’s Big Three peaks, 3,000m above sea level.

Fixing my goggles, I scan a long stretch of white in the distance. I start to forget about my vertigo, and if I were not in ski boots, I’d jig with excitement, for there it is: deep, fluffy, reliable snow.

What else did I expect from a resort with not just one, but two glaciers?

Hearing voices muttering, I glance at the two guides leading the group I’m with.

There are nine of us powder hounds waiting for their instructions, all hungry for the good stuff.

The idea is for these local guides, familiar with the terrain, to take us to back country, finding fields of untracked snow, keeping us safe the entire time.

This experience, riding unchartered territory, is vastly different from thetraditional piste skiing lessons I’ve had all week. For this is not a lesson with one of the first rate instructors from one of Sölden’s excellent ski schools.

The guides today are focused on mountain safety and free-riding down the mountain rather than detailing us with instructions on how to improve our skills on the snow.

Guiding is supposed to be fun… and it will be if I can overcome my anxiety.

Seeing my companions get ready I hastily buckle my boots into my skis and try to clamp down on my fear of heights.

I tighten my helmet and prepare. I take a sip of water and silently thank myself for heading to bed early last night; no one wants a hangover when skiing off the top of a mountain.

Since I’m strapped to my skis, there's no more climbing to be done, and I can see one obvious descent down, skiing into the white fluffy powder below.

It’s going to be amazing! But blocks of ice break from the mountain peak.

Blood drains from my face as I witness snow gathering speed and tumbling down the mountain, collecting anything in its path.

I have avalanche equipment with me: a transceiver, airbag, probe and shovel. But I didn't expect to actually see the beginnings of an avalanche.

This isn’t a sport for the weak hearted and I wonder why I wanted to push my comfort level again.

I’m frozen to the spot, my heart races. Fear creeps into my mind.

This is my last day on the snow. Perhaps I should have skipped the back country?

I think about all the things I could be doing instead of risking my life for a few brief moments of adrenalin.

For instance we just passed a mountain restaurant offering local Tyrolean produce, including fondue, schnitzel, marinated ribs, cured hams and cheese from the region.

Blood drains from my face as I witness snow tumbling down the mountain, collecting anything in its path

Sölden has 35 mountain huts like this, complete with sun lounges and thumping music, all accessible from the pistes.

I skipped lunch. Perhaps I can tell the group I’ll catch up with them later? They'll understand, won't they?

Strudel is nice, safe and there is no better reason than to have a last lunch with an amazing view of the Austrian Alps.

Or, perhaps, I could see one of the international DJs, or bands, performing for après ski, on the mountain, before the gondolas close at five. Since November 2014, warm-up acts (no pun intended) have been gearing up for the epic Electric Mountain Festival, a two-day mountain party held in April. But it’s too early to après ski.

Or, even better, I could be at one of the wellness centres in the town.

The five-star resorts in the centre of Sölden invite tourist inside, and for a small fee it’s possible to relax in one of the thermal spas or use the sauna facilities.

It’s my last day and I’m sore all over. I deserve a massage, don't I?

The safest option still, I could return to my chalet and recoup for the inevitable partying after the slopes shut, considering it’s the last night of our stay.

I’m staying in Paul Gruner chalet, which offers half-board accommodation and unlimited wine.

The chalet is operated by Ski World, a budget travel company employing enthusiastic staff who couldn’t have been more helpful with recommendations of how to enjoy our holiday.

The chalet staff has put on pub quizzes and even arranged a local pub crawl starting at one of the resort's 85 après ski bars, where we sampled a range of beers, Jägerbombs and schnapps shots.

At 2am the other night I even saw a laser robot in the nightclub, Catapult. At least I think I did.

I'm hypnotised by the minor avalanche, but then a thick Austrian accent interrupts my train of thought. This region is a no-go. We must all traverse an icy ridge and follow the guide’s tracks and not disturb the mountain any further.

I understand now why Sölden’s beautiful yet adventurous terrain is the set for the new James Bond movie.

My companions head off one by one and then it’s my turn. My stomach climbs into my mouth as I push off.

As instructed I follow the guide’s tracks. My skis scratch along the icy ridge like nails being dragged down a blackboard. I reach the rest of the group and am pleased to see both guides smiling.

They point down the mountain, explaining the safe route they've found to a field of powder. There’s a distinct whoop of excitement and I realise that it’s mine.

Throwing caution to the wind, we launch off and ride the powder as if we’re kids at a playground. My skis feel like they are gliding over clouds and with so much adrenalin pumping through my body, I feel truly alive.

Once at the bottom, I’m covered in snow and panting.

Hours later, after three more challenging mountain descents into unchartered territory, I can’t wait to head back up the mountain again.

This reminds me of the fact that Sölden has two glaciers, where pistes are open until June.

The possibility of a weekend getaway just might be too alluring – and I realise I’m hooked.