One thing Ben and I definitely are not is skiers, something which was shown up within an hour of splitting. Progress was slow as we laughed at each others’ face plants and slipped, slid and spread-eagled our way up the hill, but after a while we got into it – just as well since we’d invested a lot of time and money in this project.

Those clean expanses of freshies were now within reach, and when we finally began storming our first lines on homemade boards the stoke levels reached capacity. The hike was all but forgotten, replaced by smiles and woops, and the crash test was complete. We now felt ready to tackle our first proper bit of backcountry – which is how, a short while later, I came to be sliding backwards down a sheer wall of ice…

Winter apparently has no respect for the ill-equipped and inexperienced. In hindsight, purchasing an ice axe and crampons would have been a good call, but I improvised and somehow managed to arrest my fall by ramming my board’s edge into the face. I was still laughing until I saw the huge drop below and the blood drained out of me. It turns out splitboarding has a bit of a learning curve, and I had been lucky. Thankfully it doesn’t take long to recover from a near-death experience – especially when in the next breath you’re fully buzzing from hitting your best ever UK line. Pandora’s Box was now wide open.

After a few more outings we quickly began to amass some ‘experience’ and developed a few golden rules, which were learned the hard way. Start by ensuring you’ve got all the correct kit to be out in the middle of nowhere during winter – we’re talking avy gear, maps, G.P.S. and first-aid kit, plus warm layers and grippy stuff. Without these items, the lack of a familiar ski patrol or café will ensure you’re screwed before you begin.

Second, it might seem obvious but to gain a few metres of elevation over a short distance you should always split it. An easy-looking walk is always slower and more exhausting than you’d think. Third, check what’s under foot and make a good route choice. No matter how well frozen that patch of water looks, walk around it – the ice will crack and you will fall in. This was more Ben’s rule after an unplanned water splash, but I stuck to it because of how cold and pissed off he looked.

Carry some spare parts and tools to bodge things – it’s worth the extra weight. I snapped a pole and the day was only saved by my pocket multi-tool and a persuasive rock. Next, pack that spare pair of gloves, goggles and a hat, as mountains often have an evil wind and things suddenly disappear. Strap’em down while you’re at it. Finally, take that second glance back at the car in the morning, as it’s a feeling of dread when you return knackered at the end of a day to find you left the lights on.

This splitboarding malarkey had appeared so easy on YouTube and there were no books to tell us otherwise. We really hadn’t anticipated the effort it takes to get up a mountain in snow and ice, or how risky things get when you become fatigued. As the season progressed however, new knowledge began sweeping in. Beards became pretty reliable altimeters, always freezing at a height of 900m. Lunch sizes grew, and we were easily drinking our two-litre Camelbaks of water without a piss all day. We developed clothing layering strategies to account for the very noticeable temperature changes experienced at each stage between the bottom and top of the hill. We were glued to mountain weather reports, OS maps and avalanche forecasts. Lots of things were changing and the days of rocking up at a resort, slapping down your thirty quid and shredding seemed a long way away.

Before we started this adventure, I remember looking at websites saying, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure a grade one ice climb shouldn’t be a problem.” I soon learned otherwise, and we quickly learnt to be flexible with our objectives in general. “Have fun, but make it home in one piece” was the order of the day. Knowing when to admit defeat and adapt the plan was vital. Soon, we were making some serious route decisions for ascents and descents in difficult terrain. We were no longer two independent shred rats, we’d become our own micro team. What one decided to do would always impact on the other. Out here the car could be hours away, so messing up wasn’t an option – and we weren’t about to find out how quickly the mountain rescue can find your pal’s frozen bones. Above all, we developed a true respect for the mountains.

Last season was icier, windier, harder and scarier than either of us could have ever anticipated. Saying that, we scored the best lines and had the most fun either of us had experienced in this country. It opened our eyes to the massive potential splitboarding has to offer at home in the UK. This is snowboarding in its raw adventure form. So much of the time the grass seems greener elsewhere and we want to disappear for trips abroad; last season, I was able to fully appreciate what is on our doorstep. Water the grass under your feet and see how green it grows: build a splitboard.