Scotland’s Glencoe offers an affordable way to ski without leaving the UK

"Where do you think we go now?” I shout into the thin, icy air behind me. The question was directed at my husband, Hugh, a few metres below me on the ski slope (though I'm not sure he heard it). I’ve just wrestled myself free from a button lift, so it can swing back round the pylon and trundle downhill to collect another skier. I've shuffled to one side, ski poles clutched in my left hand. As he arrives, Hugh looks just as unsure of our next move as I do – and so do the two snowboarders beside us. There are no signs, nor an obvious piste.

I'm at Glencoe Mountain Resort in the Scottish Highlands, prompted by a decent scattering of snow over the past few days. It's -1C on a slightly overcast Saturday morning in mid-January. After last winter’s lack of the white stuff – which delayed openings at several Scottish resorts until February – this season is already off to a better start. So much so that I decided to come on a whim, after checking Glencoe’s snow reports the day before. I was drawn in by the promise of opening the top of the mountain.

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Successful skiing in Scotland is all about flexibility. “The weather has been great this year,” explains Andy Meldrum, managing director and owner of Glencoe Mountain Resort. “There's plenty of snow at the moment with most uplift and runs open. In general, the weather has been good, with some great sunny and calm days especially over the festive period," he adds.

The ski centre is 2.5 hours from where I’m staying on the west coast near Loch Fyne, and is both the closest of Scotland’s five resorts to me, and the oldest – first opening in 1956. Even before skis are involved, the journey here feels cinematic. Driving through Rannoch Moor, it stretches out in rust-coloured peaty moorland, dotted with glassy lochans (small lochs) reflecting the snow-tipped peaks of the surrounding munros that make up this ruggedly beautiful landscape.

It's a route many will recognise from Skyfall, which was filmed on the nearby A82. Excitement builds as we near the ski centre and Hugh says he can’t wait for an Irn-Bru and a scotch pie at the top of the mountain. As a proud Scot, I know he's not joking.

On the mountain, after taking that first button lift – armed only with a half-remembered piste map – we pick our way across what I think is a green run towards the single-seat Cliffhanger Chair. We follow tracks in the snow towards it. The snow is draped over long soggy grass, with little streams (known as burns in Scotland) trickling through paths which others have clearly skied over. So, I follow suit – bouncing over hidden mounds and dodging stony patches. It’s not steep, but it’s unforgiving, and I suspect many skiers used to manicured European runs could struggle. I quickly realise it's a little more rough and ready here.

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To reach the next lift, and to avoid taking off our skis, we push hard across a flat, side-stepping up a small ledge to the bottom of a T-bar – another novelty for me. Designed for one or two people, the bar tucks under you and drags you uphill while you’re left clinging to the pole in between. I concentrate intensely on not wobbling too wide, falling off and embarrassingly stopping the lift. Mercifully, we stay upright.

At the top, which is about 1,108 metres, visibility drops. It’s not a white-out, but enough to narrow everyone's focus. All the skiers ahead funnel right towards the blue run, named Happy Valley.

There are some excellent skiers here, threading confident lines. I follow Hugh, sticking to the safest-looking tracks. We struggle to see the coloured poles marking the piste, alternating between powdery sections and rougher patches of thin snow and obstacles (though no ice – it's not cold or busy enough).

Halfway down, the cloud lifts just enough to reveal the real reward: the surrounding munros, including the unmistakable pyramid of Buachaille Etive Mòr, rising dramatically above the glen. Continuing, again, a bright orange mesh sign pushes us to the right, so we are unable to ski down into the Wall Crossover red run.

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After a few runs, I’m ready for a break at the cafe on the slopes, and I'm craving the fluorescent sugary taste of Irn-Bru – the closest I'm getting to apres-ski. Here, there's no fondue or tartiflette. This is Scottish fare: morning rolls stuffed with bacon, egg, black pudding, tattie scones or lorne sausage (a traditional square pattie made up of minced beef, pork, rusk and spices). Hugh’s dream of a scotch pie is dashed, as they're already sold out before we reach the front of the queue, so second best is the sausage roll and beans. I go for lentil soup, a roll and that can of Irn-Bru, which proves a vital energy boost for tackling Glencoe’s flat sections (along with a stashed bag of wine gums).

Inside the cafe, the crowd is local: Glasgow and Edinburgh accents dominate, and not everyone is here to ski. Sledging is in full swing nearby, as kids slide down in plastic toboggans cheerfully.

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Fuelled up, we head back to the T-bar lift and do several runs, though each descent is unintentionally slightly different to the previous, but still fun. Before coming, I thought we'd spend most of the day on reds, and wanted to try the infamous black run – the Flypaper, the steepest in the UK with a 40-degree slope. But with low visibility and slightly trickier conditions, I decided against it.

As the day begins drawing to an end, we think about heading back down to base, though that was easier said than seeing how to do it. “Which way are you going to get back down?” I ask two skiers next to us, who look a bit more clued up. They point into the near distance, reeling off run and lift names with ease in Scottish accents.

After a few moments gesturing and trying to decipher exactly which lift and fence to ski around, we decide to just go for it. We follow a small wooden fence and glide gently towards the main chairlift. It turns out to be the Low Road, a long green run and a perfect finale – not something I'd expected to say before coming.

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For a day of skiing, it's exhilarating to clip into skis and hit the slopes within the UK. For those fairly nearby, it's an excellent facility with local season passes. I had my ski jacket and trousers already, and for £85 (hiring skis, poles, boots and helmet and a day lift pass) it was a fantastic way to spend the day. Especially when comparing it to European resort prices, where day passes alone can cost over £85.

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There's likely a good few months ahead to try it, too. "We expect to remain open for skiing until early May. Glencoe has deep gullies and drains which, once they are filled in, ensure the snow lasts long into spring," explains Meldrum. If I lived in Scotland, I'd certainly be back many times in the season. On a day with perfect blue skies, it would be cracking.

Glencoe isn’t the Alps. The lifts are more basic, the area is fairly small, the signs are sparse and the snow can be unpredictable. But that’s exactly the point and it’s all part of the adventure, especially for those dipping their ski boots into the snow for the first time. There's no commitment to a week-long trip, flights and hiring or buying skiwear.

Skiing in Scotland is affordable, accessible and wildly beautiful. So, like the Scots say: if you can ski in Scotland, you can ski anywhere.