One of the most seemingly inflammatory columns I’ve written was about Whistler lift lines. More specifically, it was about people trying to justify cutting the lift line. Published quite a few years ago in the now-defunct Whistler Question, the column, titled “In the lift line, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,” incited equal amounts of celebration and opinionated opposition. To summarize, it recounted a story of some crusty Whistler local losing his shit at me when I told him he couldn’t join our group of three (and skip ahead of hundreds of people) waiting for the Wizard Chair to crack on a pow day. I did then what I would do now, and I sent the entitled jackass on his way.
A couple of phase shifts have happened with Whistler lift lines since then. Firstly, the lines went Epic. Vail Resorts has invested an impressive amount into lift infrastructure, making four-seater chairs into six-seater chairs and upgrading gondolas to swift-moving 10-seaters. Yet no amount of uphill capacity seems to be able to handle the peak season weekend powder day load that Whistler Blackcomb—and a lot of other North American ski resorts—are experiencing.
The second phase shift was the social distancing policies during the two years of the pandemic. All of a sudden, ducking the line to jump in with your “household bubble” of friends became socially acceptable. The seats were going to go up empty anyway, so what was the harm? Victimless crime and all that.
But like most things left to their own devices, lift lines have more or less reverted to their natural state. First there, first up. If there’s more than a handful of people between you and your crew when you’re late to the early-bird lineup, you’d better ask permission before cutting in front and joining your friends.
Not everywhere is like Whistler Blackcomb or the other North American mega resorts, though. Skiing a pow day at Whitewater resort in the West Kootenays a few years back, it was interesting to see how their locals managed it. With the two main lifts being old-school, fixed-grip double chairs, singles had to pair up to maximize upload capacity, much like a T-bar. Skiers would slide up and down the line yelling “single, single?!” until a pole would raise up and they’d shimmy into the line. Locals considered this standard practice, and for the number of people skiing at Whitewater, the pow-to-person ratio remained very much high.
I can imagine Whistler may have been similar to this at some point in the past, but it’s not anymore. With thousands of Epic Pass holders descending on our resort every week of the winter, no one should consider themselves above anyone else in the line. Wait your turn and we’ll all get along.
One of the last bastions of the entitled local was the drop-the-gear manoeuvre. You arrive early, put your skis or board near the front of the line, then go about your morning, staying out of the foul weather, grabbing a coffee and/or breakfast burrito… I’ve even heard anecdotes of some snowboarder who used to drop his board at the front of the Wizard line at 6:30 a.m. then drive home, walk his dog and return a few minutes before the lift opened.
The discussion of whether drop-the-gear is still socially acceptable popped up earlier this season when a local shared a photo of a new official Whistler Blackcomb sign that read “Please stay with your equipment to keep your place in line.” Proponents of drop-the-gear decried the sign as an erosion of ski-town culture or some such nonsense. Others, myself included, were happy to see this archaic—and to be fair, deeply inconsiderate—habit finally get dispatched to the annals of history.
But it’s not all black and white, of course. Need to go for a pee? Let your crew or neighbouring crew know you’ll be back in a few minutes. Sending one party member out for a coffee or hot chocolate run? Not a problem. Want to stand under cover out of the rain a few metres away from your gear? That’s fine, within reason. If you drop your gear at the front of the Creekside Gondola and then wait it out at Rockit Coffee or the Legends lobby, I’m sorry, but you don’t deserve to ski first.
Being early to the pow day lift line is all about maintaining a presence. Those who tough it out in the cold and the wet know who else is deserving of the first chairs. And it isn’t the folks who waltz in after dropping gear off early.
Then there’s the decades-old saga of the Spanky’s Dirty Line. But that’s a rant for another time.
Vince Shuley maintains a presence in the early morning lift lines. For questions, comments or suggestions for The Outsider email [email protected] or Instagram @whis_vince.
