Ibrahim has grown up climbing the mountain and tells me that he lost count after his 100th ascent. He is dressed more like a skater than a mountaineer: trainers, jeans and a flat peak baseball cap don’t inspire me with confidence, but nothing in Africa is ever quite what it seems. He walks the first stage of the trip in this get-up, but once we begin to hit higher altitudes he dips into his bag and slowly exchanges each item for climbing kit and Gore-Tex.

Ibrahim and his porters climb the mountain three to four times a month, and the porters are very much used to hauling tourists’ kit in their overflowing, battered rucksacks. They are confused as to why I insist on carrying my own. I try to explain that I’m happy to, but they just looked at me baffled – and slightly concerned that they are going to lose out on their tip.

“My guide is dressed more like a skater than a mountaineer, but nothing in Africa is ever quite what it seems”

A dormant volcano, Mt Kenya rises abruptly out of the African continent. From the base, its massive central rock face looms overhead, with various pinnacles glinting in the sun. It’s a mountain straight out of Mordor, the most insane lunar landscape you could ever imagine, and enough to put some doubts in my mind about the task ahead.

It takes two-and-a-half days of solid climbing to get to the top, an elevation of 4987m and temperatures well below freezing. And as if that wasn’t surreal enough, there are several plant species native only to the mountain, including forests of lobelias that cling to the side of the afro-alpine slopes – some look like giant pineapples on stilts, others resemble Cousin It from The Adams Family. Giant rat-like creatures called hyraxes run around the mountainside, adding to the otherworldly feeling.

I drop in for a quick test run. The ice is bumpy as hell, and my edges struggle for grip. The only route through the top section is to twist and turn around boulders and crevasses, but eventually the terrain clears up, offering a wide slope perfect for sweeping lines.

I carve out a nice big toeside turn just before the glacier meets the rock, and my heart is pounding out of my chest. You do everything slowly at altitude, but you can’t afford to react slowly in these conditions. It’s mid afternoon, and I want at least another two runs, so I start slowly trudging back up the hill. The full effect of breathing such thin air has now set in.

Each run gets faster and harder. A voice inside tells me to keep going, to push my limits. It’s that same voice that I hear when riding in Europe and North America, but this isn’t the West. Ibrahim is still on edge, and for good reason: if something goes wrong here, there is no official mountain rescue or emergency services to come and get you. He’s told me that you can get a helicopter to come out, but it’s expensive and hardly an established route. After three fun but challenging runs I decide not to push my luck any further.

“You do everything slowly at this altitude, but you can’t afford to react slowly in these conditions”

As we are leaving, I turn to Ibrahim.

“Do you want to try?”

“Me?” He replies, surprised. “No, I can’t do it.”

After putting him at ease, he agrees to try once. I assure him I will be in complete control. He has seen skiing on TV, but never snowboarding, and between him and the rest of the porters and guides none had ever seen anyone ski or snowboard on Mt Kenya.