I’ll address the headline right off the bat: I didn’t come to Whistler until I was 27 and, to be crystal clear, it’s not meant to be some vain grasp for coveted local status.
Not that the next few hundred words won’t be vain, or at the very least, a little bit navel-gazey, but as my time with Pique comes to an end, I feel it’s worth sharing a few reflections on the past six-and-a-half years.
My first thought is how incredibly fortunate I was when I made the trip west from Manitoba in October of 2014. Not only did I land in the most talented and fun newsroom I’ve ever been part of, but I felt welcomed right away as editor Clare Ogilvie was also kind enough to view lodging options on my behalf (I would absolutely not, a month before Opening Day, have secured my own space with wonderful landlords, thereby keeping my sanity, without her help.) Not to mention how generous athletes—Olympic gold medallists, up-and-comers, and everyone in between—were with their time.
The Whistler tale told over and over is that skiing, boarding and/or general outdoor recreation won the day over everything else and you have no idea what your liftie or bartender aspired to be in a previous professional life. There’s a set of stories with diverse outcomes that start that way.
But it’s admittedly a little weird to post up here when your job is the reason you came. You do have the temptation to Peter Pan it a bit by enjoying all the resort has to offer: both in the village or on the mountain in some way, shape or form.
Ultimately, I feel that Whistler was the best place for me at this time in my life. It was incredible to be in a truly fun locale while also progressing up the ladder. I feel I grew my abilities immensely while with Pique and, for the past year, as a pinch hitter down in Squamish with the Chief. I was far enough away from the life I knew that it was a bit more of a sink-or-swim situation socially than I’d ever experienced. Hell, I even got on stage and acted for the first time (co-directed by colleague Brandon Barrett, no less). No matter who you are, you feel the innate need to tap into your sense of adventure in some way while you’re here.
I started dating my now-wife long distance before my siren song (well, more likely the marmots’ call) wooed her out west, and we got married here in the resort in 2018. That evening marked perhaps the most noticeable change: I arrived a landlubber who wouldn’t touch any seafood; the main course at our reception was the most delectable salmon ever and a heaping helping of lobster mashed potatoes.
It’s time to head home to Winnipeg, though. It didn’t take all that long to realize that our life in B.C. was not going to be sustainable in the long term. My wife’s skill set is better suited to jobs in Vancouver, and while I was not exactly keen to leave an incredible opportunity here to begin with, the ever-shrinking Lower Mainland print journalism scene didn’t seem to promise much in the way of pastures, let alone greener ones. We seemed destined to be locked into horrific commutes for life when office life resumed. Couple that with some major family changes during the pandemic and the pull of home got more irresistible.
We’ll miss plenty about Whistler: the good friends made over the years; the locals’ hootenannies at The Point; the world-class dining; and, of course, the natural beauty. The pandemic made it near impossible to fully enjoy those benefits for the past year, and it’s hard to say when we’d be comfortable to make the most of it again in the future.
We’ll lack re-connection with family and friends in Winnipeg for the foreseeable future, too, but with that joy on the horizon, as well as the practical factor of a lower cost of living, returning to the flatlands is the right move going forward.
I’d be remiss to end without acknowledging you: the reader, the supporter of local journalism. Obviously, the last year has further shaken up an evolving industry and your readership is more important than ever. Whether you’re in the resort for good or for a shorter spell (or keep up after you’ve left), thank you for letting me into your life each week.
I’m honoured to have been trusted to capture and share what’s special about this place, and I’m already looking forward to a visit when it’s safe.
