An ice place you have here

Climbing up Cypress under blue skies, we pass a signposted trail warning of avalanche country ahead - a reminder of the threats that accompany even day trips into the back country.

After huffing our way up a long, snowy ridge, we're greeted with an only-in-Vancouver view: hundreds of metres below, half-hidden by shifting clouds, a cityscape of glass towers cascades towards the grey-green waters of the Pacific. Plumes of vapour billow into the air as we catch our breath.

Abandoning the trail, the group crunches along to a nearby clearing flanked by pines buried to mid-trunk in snow.

Harding's second in command, 31-year-old Steve Santelli, fresh off a week-long expedition to the 5500-metre mark of Denali in Alaska, unloads a threatening arsenal of steel shovels and snow saws with serrated teeth.

"There's something about being in the middle of nowhere, in the freezing cold, miles from help," he says, meditating on joys of winter camping to which I can't really relate. With a telescoping metal probe, Harding tests the snow, prodding for rocks, trees and buried hazards with the delicate touch of a surgeon. The pole sinks down - one metre, two metres, three metres - before sounding bottom. When a cold wind picks up, he spreads the gospel: "Even if it's howling outside it can be completely silent in the igloo. You'd never believe it."

Harding, in fact, has good reason to be enthusiastic. Traditional winter dwellings of Canada's Inuit, igloos are engineering marvels. Their precision-carved blocks curve inward and upward in an elegant, self-reinforcing spiral.

The dome itself is a miracle of resiliency, strong enough to support the weight of a grown man after freezing over. And they're marvellously efficient at trapping body heat. Even in polar conditions, the interior stays a relatively balmy zero degrees. Not to mention that all the building materials are right at hand.

Construction starts with a dance. Still strapped into snowshoes, we trace a circle two metres in diameter in the snow and begin stomping. The idea is to compress layers of powder, slush and ice into a uniform pack, from which we'll quarry blocks for the igloo.

We stomp on for a good 10 minutes, circling in a snowshoe-clad jig while my Vancouver friend Peter Walter, also new to the world of igloos, peppers the guides with questions. "So, how about campfires inside the igloo?" he asks. For many good and suddenly obvious reasons - melting snow, smoke, suffocation - they strongly counsel against it.

With the packing done, Harding shovels out a small, knee-deep cubicle in the snow and jumps in. Flashing his saw, he carves out a block with a series of practised strokes. Efforts by the rest of the team leave a little more to be desired. Blocks crumble frustratingly and shear off along fault lines. But by the end of an hour, sweaty and sucking air, we've got our material: 50 or so glittering snow bricks. It's time to build.

With impressive speed, blue skies dim down to a threatening grey. A thick mist creeps in. A light drizzle starts, clinging to our clothes and exposed skin, wicking away warmth. And the building has only just started.

The first blocks are critical. To get the classic dome shape, they have to lean inward like teetering towers of Pisa. I plant one down with a satisfying thud as Harding spreads a mortar of loose snow with a gloved hand. Other blocks follow, custom cut with the snow saw for a smooth fit and nestled edge to edge.

As we build, bundled-up couples in snowshoes and families out for a winter hike swarm the growing dome like paparazzi. Children peer inside, desperately wanting to help. A parade of dogs in sweaters sniffs the perimeter and threatens to yellow our masterpiece. "There's something magical about building a little house in the snow," Harding says. "People love it. It's so simple and so beautiful."

By the third damp hour of construction, however, spirits are low. My hand-me-down gloves and ski pants have soaked through and my hearty breakfast of muesli and mixed fruit is hardly holding me over. Santelli, meanwhile, is regaling the group with a real adventure tale about the time he got crippling altitude sickness only metres from the 3286-metre summit of Mount Baker. Nose running shamelessly, I man up and labour on.

A flask of hot tea is passed around and now, with merciful speed, things come together. Walls rise, the dome arches higher and, finally, there's just a single skylight in the roof left to be capped.

Buoyant now, Harding eyeballs a block, shaves it down and extends it to waiting hands poking through the hole.

The result is impressive: a tidy dome of uniform blocks rising from a field of white. But it's what's inside that counts. For Harding, a day of braggadocio - of igloo warmth, comfort, superior construction - all comes down to this. I've got my doubts. Wriggling down the entrance tunnel in my wet gear, I'm expecting something like a dark, cold tomb.

Hardly. The interior is radiant, flooded with light tinged blue by the dome of snow above. It's roomy enough to turn around and nearly stand up in, nothing like the claustrophobic confines of a typical tent. The sounds of the wind blowing outside are indeed muted to a whisper. Overhead, layers of snow and ice crystals meet at intricate angles, like some baroque ceiling painting. I'm an instant igloo convert.

After a precious few minutes of sanctuary, I slip back through the tunnel and out into the wet Vancouver afternoon. The winter light is fading. It's time to push down the trail.

Sadly, because the igloo might get snowed over and pose a hidden hazard for skiers, we have to demolish our creation. A few kicks to the white walls send the new dome tumbling down, a desecration to be sure. But, Harding promises, others will rise.

Trip notes

Getting there

Delta Air Lines flies from Sydney to Vancouver, with a stopover in Los Angeles, starting at about $1600 return.

Staying there

The Fairmont Waterfront hotel (900 Canada Place Way, Vancouver; +1 866 540 4509; fairmont.com/waterfront) in downtown Vancouver has rooms from $C230 ($220).

In the mountains, the Nita Lake Lodge (2131 Lake Placid Road, Whistler; +1 888 755 6482; nitalakelodge.com) is a chalet-style boutique hotel. Suites start at $C140.

See + do

Michael Harding's Westcoast Adventures (1150 Burnaby Street, Vancouver; +1 604 662 7209; westcoast-adventures.com) offers day-long igloo-building experiences for $C150 a person (minimum four people). It also hosts multi-night expeditions for the "pampered" igloo camper, including chef- made meals from your snow kitchen, dog-sledding and igloos decked out with sheepskin rugs and tea candles ($C1092-$C2625 a person, minimum four people).

For a more rigorous introduction, Canada West Mountain School (47 West Broadway, Vancouver; +1 888 892 2266; themountainschool.com) leads the popular overnight snow-camping and igloo-building workshop ($C255 a person).

Campers ski or snowshoe into the Vancouver mountains for lessons in igloo and snow-cave construction, as well as training in essential winter survival skills and avalanche safety.