To reach the top of the Waldspritz sledding run above the village of Grindelwald in the Swiss Alps, I hiked 90 minutes into the backcountry, dragging a small runnered sled by a rope to roughly 7,400 feet.

Above the tree line, the snow — a brilliant fondant whiting out granite ledges and filling meadows — lay deep on either side of a 4-foot-wide sledding path groomed in perfect corduroy. When I reached frozen Lake Bachalp, I turned around, straddled the sled and dug my heels into the unyielding snowpack to keep myself from ripping down the mountain. I took a last look at the panorama of milky-blue glaciers clinging to skyscraping peaks, then braced myself for the more than 6-mile descent. Releasing my heels, I immediately rocketed toward a blind turn and rolled my ride into the depths off-piste to keep from sailing off the mountain.

Sledding — a recreation I had previously experienced as walking briefly uphill, sitting on a plastic saucer and letting gravity provide a laugh — never struck me as a skill. But sledding in Switzerland, where it is called sledging in English, is different. Here, locals heading to ski mountains tote lightweight, ash-framed minisleighs on trains alongside those with skis, snowboards and trekking poles. For visitors, ski shops rent sturdy touring versions to access ski areas that maintain networks of sledding-­specific runs often classified for their difficulty, like downhill ski slopes.

Although sledding is an old tradition here — exhibits in the Grindelwald history museum trace its development in the 19th century as both transportation and entertainment — the pandemic gave the activity new life.

“During the pandemic, everyone wanted to come to the mountains, but not everyone knows how to ski,” said Bruno Hauswirth, director of Grindelwald Tourism. “So they tried sledging.”

Today, the activity attracts families, aging skiers and winter enthusiasts like me seeking variety during their ski holiday.

A sledding hub

I first encountered the joy of Swiss sledding many years ago on a ski trip to Les Diablerets in the western Vaud region on a tipsy descent from a mountainside chalet after a dinner of fondue and Swiss wine. Wearing a headlamp, I wiped out repeatedly, finding myself on my back surveying the stars on a run to the village.

In February, I returned to Switzerland’s central Jungfrau region to visit Grindelwald, which claims the longest sledding run in the world, the more-than-9-mile Big Pintenfritz, named for a 19th century mountain hotelier known to sled to town.

After a 30-minute climb by train from Interlaken, my husband, Dave, and I arrived in Grindelwald to find peak-hugging glaciers surrounding the village of roughly 4,000 residents. Chalets lined the main street, which takes about 15 minutes to walk end to end.

Above the town looms the infamous north face of the 13,015-foot Eiger mountain and other giants, including Wetterhorn and Mettenberg. Nineteenth century climbers popularized the region, begetting mountain resorts and, in 1912, a railway that, in a feat of engineering, tunneled through Eiger to reach Jungfraujoch, a glacier-filled saddle between the peaks of the Bernese Alps. Reached via Europe’s highest train station at more than 11,300 feet, it remains the region’s biggest tourism draw.

On the far end of town ­opposite the Fiescherhorn peak, we checked into the new Hotel Fiescherblick, a classic chalet with Swiss-­modern decor run by fifth-generation hoteliers, brothers Matthias and Lars Michel. Blending tradition and innovation, the Fiescherblick attracted the local yodeling club one evening for drinks and spontaneous singing and, on another, served elegant shaved beet salads and trout in pea-miso sauce in the Nordic-chic restaurant.

Exploring by sled

The surrounding mountains host three ski areas — Grindelwald-Wengen, Grindelwald-First and Murren-­Schilthorn — collectively known as the Jungfrau Ski Region. Grouped on one pass (75 Swiss francs, or about $84, a day), they are mapped with both skiing and sledding runs and connected by bus, train and tram lines, all included with the pass.

Reaching the runs at ­Grindelwald-Wengen is a thrill all its own aboard the 26-seat Eiger Express tram that sails toward Eiger’s north wall from town, part of a $470 million investment by Jungfrau Railways that opened in December 2020.

From the tram’s terminus at the Eiger Glacier, sight­seers transfer to the electric train that leads to Jungfraujoch-­Top of Europe for stunning views over the nearly 14-mile Aletsch Glacier. Skiers and sledders begin their descents just below the craggy ice.

Dotted trails on the resort map, often paralleling the ski runs, marked sledding paths that web the mountains, providing vertical thrills and touring routes to remote villages, including Wengen, famous as the end of the Lauberhorn World Cup ski race.

With a rental sled from the ski shop Intersport (17 Swiss francs), I left the tram station, set off on an intermediate slope and panicked straight into a snowbank. Plenty of accomplished sledders — including a woman with a pug in her lap and a grandmother with two toddlers aboard — whizzed by confidently.

Following their leads, I righted the sleigh, jabbed my heels — serving as both brakes and rudders — in the snow and learned to yank on the reins to pull up to a stop while throwing my weight right and left to bend around curves. Hazarding the occasional transit of ski runs where the trails intersected, I trusted the snow to cushion my crashes.

As a means to explore, sledding in my warm, pliable Sorel boots was more comfortable than in ski gear. Setting a course for Wengen, I coasted through forests and fields, walked on flat stretches and shared the trail with occasional winter hikers in the hour it took to reach the car-free village.

There, a gondola conveniently returned me to Mann­lichen, another mountain within the rangy ski area, and I closed the loop by plunging from the summit back to Grindelwald in time for an apres-sled Eisbier (ice beer) at the tram terminal.

If sledding isn’t thrill enough, Grindelwald offers a higher degree of difficulty in the velogemel, a bikelike vehicle with wooden runners instead of wheels invented by a local mail carrier in 1911 to take the place of the bike he used in summer. Now, Grindelwald holds a velogemel world championship each February.

I met Peter Kaufmann, a Grindelwald local, piloting a velogemel as he trained for the competition. Loaning me his brakeless snow bike for a trial, Kaufmann cautioned me on speed.

“We don’t wear a helmet to sledge,” he said, “but we wear one to bike.”

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