I don’t think I’m alone in saying the past decade seemed to fly by. In 2014, Whistler had settled into its post-Olympic groove. The World Ski and Snowboard Festival (known colloquially as “Telus”) was still kicking ass with impressive live music, world-class freestyle ski and snowboard competition and a full 10 days of arts events. Vail Resorts’ purchase of Whistler Blackcomb was still two years away, and while the cost of living in the Sea to Sky corridor was rapidly climbing, it was still a far cry from today’s post-pandemic overinflation. And you could still ski right into Whistler Bowl through its main entrance, right up until closing day.
At risk of being one of those crusty locals who thinks everything used to be better in Whistler, I’ll refrain from saying everything used to be better. Let’s just say things were a tad simpler.
It was two years earlier, some time around the summer of 2012, when I signed on for what would be the biggest mountain expedition I’d ever attempt: crossing the Fedchenko Glacier in Tajikistan and hopefully returning home with some photos of skiing in what is one of the most remote regions in the world. Ten years ago in May 2014, me and four other adventurous souls went for it.
The trip took months of planning and preparation, including writing more than a few grant applications to help fund it. Our party of five ski-town locals could not afford a six-week expedition on the other side of the world, so we needed support. With funding grants from MEC, Polartec and the Alpine Club of Canada, the biggest costs of flights and ground-transport logistics were (for the most part) taken care of. While we were lucky enough to get some clothing and equipment from other sponsors, we still needed to invest in the specific gear you need for surviving for weeks on a high-altitude glacier—like a -30 C sleeping bag and a 130-litre duffel bag (strapped to a lightweight toboggan) to haul food and supplies for four weeks.
In late April of 2014 we flew into the former communist capital of Dushanbe, gathering the extra food and fuel we needed for our stoves and driving two days along the border of Afghanistan to reach our starting point. The first eight days of the expedition were brutal. Warmer-than-usual temperatures that year meant much of our approach to the glacier was without snow. So instead of dragging our 90-kilogram duffels, we had to separate the contents into smaller packs and hoof it up rugged alpine terrain.
The last five days of the trip—the exit from the glacier to our pre-arranged pickup—were similarly difficult, though at this point we had eaten or discarded any excess food and fuel. But our bodies were in a much less capable state, with everyone having their bouts of acute mountain sickness and losing a substantial amount of weight.
The best parts of the trip were those 17 days between the arduous approach and exit. Apart from the day we had to dig one of our crew out of an avalanche (he was fine, but we were all rattled). That sucked. Even with the rotten snowpack of Central Asia kiboshing any real skiing on the trip, traversing the largest non-polar glacier in the world (at the time) was a defining experience.
I gained a lot from that trip. It was where I learned how to live in a real base camp, which I could pack up and move at a moment’s notice. It’s where I learned the physical limits of my body are a mental challenge, provided it has sufficient hydration and nutrition. It’s where I learned to travel at high altitude with brutally cold freezing temperatures at night, and managing dangerously strong solar radiation and heat during the day. When you’re that far away from civilization with efficient emergency rescue not necessarily available, all the little things with your equipment, your camp, your health—it all requires meticulous management in order for you and your party to succeed. Traversing the Fedchenko Glacier is the hardest thing I’ve ever done and will likely be the most ambitious backcountry trip I ever do.
A decade on, I’m no longer at the point in my life where I need or want to undertake a ski mountaineering trip of this scale. I’m OK with roughing it a few nights in the backcountry for good skiing. I’m OK doing the regular vacations where you have a comfortable bed, good food and a good drink at the end of the day. But if you’re inspired to explore the mountains of this world where few people have set foot, it’s certainly a challenge worth pursuing. Even if you’re a one-and-done guy like me.
Vince Shuley would like to give a heartfelt shoutout to Squamish ski guide Holly Walker, one of his teammates on the Fedchenko. Her planning made the trip happen and her moral support during the hardest days was inspirational. For questions, comments or suggestions for The Outsider, email [email protected] or Instagram @whis_vince.
