By G.D. Maxwell
Well, the good news is it’s finally stopped snowing in Colorado. Poor devils have only gotten about two inches the past week. Had to cut back the open terrain at some of their mountains to, oh, 97 per cent or so. Sure would like to see two inches fall around here. That’d just about double our base.
The buzz around town is getting more palpable. Worried looks are creeping onto normally optimistic brows. "It’ll come, sooner or later" is still the preferred salutation but there’s less confidence in the voices carrying the message.
So the only sane thing to do is go skiing. See for myself. After all, it’s not every day you can rise to the challenge of skiing every open run on both mountains… before noon.
My confidence was shaken a bit at the base of Blackcomb. Bob Dufour – mountain manager for life – ambled by while I was trying to remember how to put my boots on. Would’a helped if I hadn’t left those Hot Chilis inside at the end of last season.
Bob was dressed in street clothes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Bob dressed in anything but skiing clothes between opening and closing day. Days off included.
"Goin’ up?" he asked.
"Gotta see for myself," I replied. "How is it?"
"It’s okay."
Okay? The word chilled me. Okay? Bob Dufour thinks conditions are okay? This was far worse than I could have imagined. For years now, I’ve never heard Bob use any word milder than "excellent" to describe conditions on the mountains. I’ve seen Bob, at a time any sane person would think of as the end of the season, mud-spattered from the knee to the cuff of his ski pants, kicking his skis off at the base of the mountain long after the most die-hard glissehead had given up and downloaded at least the last lift, picking pieces of shale the size of fingers out of his bases with a Leatherman and proclaiming the ski-out conditions "excellent." Okay?
Riding up Solar Coaster, the sky was full of clouds the colour of new bruises, mottled and folded over onto themselves, relaxed, not roiling. Sun oozed through a seeping suture like liquid fire. Everything above the monochrome landscape said "Snow." But no snow fell and none has since… can’t remember when. No snow up the Wizard. None up the first usually mogulled pitches of Solar. Finally patchy, crusted centimetres started to cover the colours of late autumn. The lowest swaths of snow bore clear tracks where crazy boarders had pushed the envelope of the possible and made their own contribution to the local economy – springing hard-earned dough for base repairs and flaming crayons of p-tex.
It was shocking. More summer hiking than winter sliding. I half expected to see marmots and bears foraging a prehibernation snack. The dominant features were foliage, stones and crusty ripples where ever-optimistic groomers had packed what little snow there was onto the fall line of Springboard in hopes of building a base next time it snowed… or next time it got cold enough to hand-craft snow.
The jibbers were out in force, riding rails, smoking joints, hanging out. Most wore staff passes. All of ’em seemed to be having a good time. Many new voices opined that what lay in front of them – the run formerly known as Choker – limited though it may be, was still bigger than anything they’d otherwise be skiing in the Old Country. Ontario. If, that is, Ontario had snow. Which it doesn’t. Neither does Quebec. Judging from pictures on the nightly news, only the Maritimes has gotten plastered. Waste of perfectly good snow. The fish are already frozen.
The run down to Jersey Cream is nostalgic. Reminds me of skiing back East. Too little real estate; too many people; not enough snow, patches of ice. If it was minus 40 the illusion would be complete.
Except for the view up valley toward the Pemberton Icecap. And the view west to Tantalus. Low clouds pool in deadend valleys, bouncing off exposed rock and unladen trees. Earthtones wrestle with white for colour dominance. Earthtones are winning.
Too soon I’m riding back up. Sharing the chair with a liftie from downundda – all stereotypes have a basis in reality – I ask about his season. He’s stoked on the riding, hopes to be shredding the whole mountain soon, and is noncommittal about his lack of work. "Only had two shifts so far," he says matter of factly. "But I came with a pretty good bankroll so it’s not hurting too much yet." Still, he’s heard the grumbling in staff housing. Some people are teetering on the edge, staring into the precipice, thinking the unthinkable: only thing to do when the money runs out is go back home to Mom and Dad. Poof! The dream vanishes.
Popping over the edge, I see people sliding around the corner, coming from the direction of 7 th . Sure enough, those hardworking boys and girls have pushed enough snow to make a trail from the top of 7 th back to the Rendezvous. Quick run back to Glacier Express and my legs begin to remember what this skiing thang is all about.
The ride up Glacier is sobering. All rock, all the time. Ullr, you fickle bastard. We need metres, not inches. Someone’s poached tracks in Secret Bowl. Can’t see where they walked back up to the T-bar so they musta picked their way back down gingerly, posing the question: Just what do you call those skis that aren’t good enough to be rock skis? Re-Use-It centre must be doing a great business.
Showcase to the ridge. Hardcore huckers riding the windlip back in Blackcomb Glacier. Big scar where snow was scraped up to fill the crack that had to be patched to get Horstman T-bar open. Good riding down from the ridge but lots of blue ice to pick a path through.
Verdict? Slidin’s slidin’. It’s all good. It’s a bit like getting used to a missing limb but there’s still lots of fun on the mountain. For now. Intrawest must be taking a bath keeping one mountain open let alone both, not that you can call the two runs on Whistler an opening, more a peep show. But I’d go back up tomorrow and the day after that. Because that’s why I live here. Strip away all the bazillions invested in making this place a WC – world class, not water closet – resort and it’s still two funky mountains.
I’d skin up if that’s what it took.
But I’m sure glad there’s a film festival this weekend. Not everybody coming up agrees with me.
