Iceland punches way above its weight when it comes to cool. Bands such as Sigur Rós and the Sugarcubes (whence sprang Björk) hail from the North Atlantic island, and the capital Reykjavik’s clubbing scene is second in Europe only to that of Ibiza. So I was a bit worried that nobody had heard of the hip new sport I had flown north to try out.

The laid-back receptionist at my small, designer hotel certainly hadn’t. For me, this was a first. Rather than puffing along behind a bandwagon as it veered over the hill and past the sign marked “so five minutes ago, daaahling”, I was (so it seemed) in front of a trend... for once.

“Snowkiting” is the new kid on the ice block. Find some snow, strap yourself on to a pair of skis or a snowboard, launch a large but lightweight and powerful kite (about ten square metres) that hooks on to a harness you wear like a nappy, and then whizz across, down, and even up the slopes. What could possibly stop me from making this sport my own with just a few hours’ practice? What indeed, except lack of fitness, coordination and an inability to do something simple like strap on a pair of skis while holding two bits of string on top of a glacier.

I was on Langjökull, Iceland’s second-largest glacier, having driven the two hours from Reykjavik in the mother of all Land Rovers. With me were Robert Brown, 30, from Gloucestershire, and his Icelandic business partner, Einar Gardarsson, 31 — construction company director and IT administrator respectively, but both enthusiastic snowkiting devotees and guides.

Iceland is perfect for the sport, which has developed only in the past five years. The country’s landscape is like a huge curve, with few mountains to obstruct steady winds.

“I just love the freedom,” said Brown, unfurling a kite. “It liberates skiing or boarding from the constraints of a lift. Once you have the hang of it, it’s so easy to pop the kite out of the bag, cruise off on your own with your GPS and packed lunch.”

My first task was to master the kite in what felt like a mini-hurricane. No easy feat. “The number one rule,” said Brown, “is to know what your kite’s doing. I sense from the feeling of the bar what’s happening above me. I don’t even have to look.”

Having got the kite off the ground, the next trick was to learn to add power by looping it left and right and when, just as I thought it would smash to the ground, to coax it up and swoosh it to the opposite side, pulling me forcefully several metres through the snow. Now I just needed to add skis.

Gardarsson and Brown made it all look easy, of course. They had no problems launching the kite, and controlling it so they whizzed across the slope.

Maybe it was beginner’s luck, but when it came time for me to launch the kite (with skis), I wasn’t too bad, picking up speed for several hundred feet, stopping (miraculously) before a pile of rocks, and then going in the opposite direction before getting cocky and losing control of the kite, which made me faceplant in a soft pile of snow.

“In three days you would be quite proficient,” said Brown as I plonked myself in the snow, trying to catch my breath after walking back up hill.

I could see how people become addicted. Freedom is the key, just you and the wind. This is a sport that can only grow. For once I had got there first.

Need to know

Will Hide travelled with Black Tomato (020-7610 9008, www.blacktomato.co.uk). A one-week snowkiting trip, including five nights in a self-catering cabin near Langjökull, Icelandair flights from Heathrow, Glasgow or Manchester, transfers, guiding, equipment hire, and two nights’ B&B in Hotel 101 in Reykjavik, starts at £1,799pp. Set dates in May, June and July apply, although alternatives for groups of four or more can be arranged. Three-night snowkiting trips with B&B at the Hotel 101 start at £1,299pp (minimum of four needed).

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