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Heliskiing in Kamchatka is about much more than simply scything down powder fields that may be more than two vertical kilometres from top to bottom. It’s about an adventure travel experience that starts from the moment you step out of your hotel door.

This vast peninsula in Russia’s northeast corner is so remote that many of its mountains are yet to be officially named. And those that are have generally acquired a moniker because they’re big, high and volcanic - in fact one of the peaks we skied, Mutnovski, last erupted only five years ago.

Indeed, Kamchatka is one of the most active volcanic regions on Earth. It’s also home to the world’s highest concentration of grizzly bears (which you may just spot whilst skiing since the season here runs into May, when the bears are awaking from hibernation), and it has without doubt some of the most awe inspiring landscapes on the planet.

Even getting to the start of your first ski run is an unforgettable adventure. The coach journey to the heliport takes you from the grim streets of the city of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky, a throwback to Cold War days when the majority of inhabitants were military personnel, and beneath the smoking summit of 2751-metre Avachinsky Volcano. Don’t worry if you fail to get a good view - you’ll be skiing down it later.

At the heliport the smell of aviation fuel and the thump of the massive rotor blades of the distinctly utilitarian Mi-8 helicopters in which you’ll be flying creates an immediate frisson of excitement. Clamber into the back with twelve fellow riders and your guides, then settle back for the shuddering thirty minute flight into the heart of a World Heritage site that Unesco describes with studied understatement as being of ‘exceptional natural beauty and diversity’.

It’s impossible not to notice the distinctly minimalist interior of the craft, which makes Ryanair’s offerings seem luxurious. One of the helicopters we used was literally held together in places by string – very strong Russian string I’m sure, but string nevertheless. There are no seat belts to the hard bench seats, and the fuselage is big enough that you can get up and wander around during the flight and even open the porthole-like windows to stick your head out for a better view.

And it’s some view - to the east the cobalt blue waters of the Pacific lap against a snowbound shoreline, whilst in every other direction range upon range of snow shrouded mountains lay in a powder blue haze beneath clear sunny skies, banners of smoke and steam rising here and there where cracks in the crust extend all the way down to the Earth’s core.

Each run will start with skiers and boarders tumbling out of the chopper and cowering close to the ground in a blizzard of rotor-whipped snow until the machine has clattered away to meet the group later in a valley some 2,000-metres below. Once the snow has settled and silence returned to the mountains it would be quite easy to stand and stare all day at the awesome panoramas on view, were it not for the magnificent sight directly below - an untracked powder field the size and length of which no ski resort in the world can match.

Marco Gaiani, our Chamonix-based UIAGM mountain guide has us wait whilst he leads the way. Having skied with guides before I’m used to seeing them skid to a halt a few hundred metres downslope to hail the rest of the group to follow, but the terrain here is so vast that by the time Marco stops he’s but a tiny speck in the distance and has to call his partner Andrey by radio to tell us to set off (Andrey will be bringing up the rear – this is not the place for anyone to get lost).

There then follow two minutes of floating through shin deep powder, soft, light and deep and quite clearly the very elixir of life – how else to explain the wide grins and whoops of joy from every skier and boarder in the group? But it’s not just the snow that brings this feeling of utter exhilaration – it’s also the vastness of the landscape, the absolute wilderness in which we’re immersed and knowing that there isn’t another skier for several thousand miles in any direction.

We pull up beside Marco, and then repeat the process several times over until thoroughly exhausted but happier than a fat lad in a bun shop we eventually glide to a halt beside the helicopter. It may be waiting for us in a valley where a small stream meanders aimlessly across a wide snowy flood plain; it could be tucked beside steaming hot springs where we can slide into the water and ease tired muscles at day’s end; or, my favourite, it’ll be waiting on a pebbly beach which gives us the unique opportunity to ski to the sea and go skinny dipping (very briefly) in 4ºC water.

On our first day in Kamchatka we skied a massive 11,570-metres of downhill on the flanks of the dormant 2,175-metre Viluchinski Volcano, and with the weather holding clear and sunny for the following four days we never did less than 8-9,000 metres of ‘vert’ each day. On one of those days we even skied into the crater of Mutnovski Volcano and beside hissing vents and bubbling thermal pools.

It’s demanding stuff since conditions on the slopes can vary considerably due to Kamchatka’s maritime location, but the guides are adept at finding the best snow, from smooth and creamy ‘spring snow’ on sun-warmed afternoon slopes to unforgettable evening runs on north facing pitches where the powder is still soft and deep and the ‘rooster tails’ we kick up in hard turns glitter in the sun’s golden glow.

I guess this may be how the early days in the Alps were – just a few friends skiing empty slopes in spring sunshine, although they wouldn’t have had the forgiving powder skis we benefited from, nor, of course, a mighty helicopter to take them back for more at the end of each run. And more is what you want, however tired you become, because nowhere else will you find skiing that compares with Kamchatka.

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