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A Whistler state of mind

By G.D.

By G.D. Maxwell

In a week when I’ve frozen in minus 20 degree sunshine, been pelted by snow falling so hard and so fast it inflicted body blows on anyone unfortunate enough to have to walk thorough it, basked in heat of such ozone-challenged intensity I could actually hear pallid, winter skin start to sizzle like bacon on a griddle, skied freshies and spring sandpaper crud on the same run, been rained on, blown on, snowed on and shone on, I can’t help being amused when someone walks into where I work and innocently asks, "What’s the weather going to be like for the next few days?"

I’m certain they wonder why I have to think about that question so long before answering.

"Biblical," comes immediately to mind. And a plague of locusts or a flood would pretty neatly round out that picture.

"Variable," though a comfortable old standby just doesn’t fully grasp the magnitude of what someone from, say, Mexico City who’s experiencing snow for the first time must be going through.

"Does it really matter?" is probably too smartass. But for someone who has travelled several thousand miles and dropped a couple of weeks’ wages to come slide here, it undoubtedly comes closer to capturing their reality.

"Sunny and cold," is a favourite lie. Makes the customers feel good and who can blame me if the weatherpeople screwed up again. Of course, some people don’t believe me when it’s raining outside and I say that so I fiddle with my computer and feign calling the weather line then smile at them and say, "Yep, sunny and cold," with even more authority in my voice.

"The weather is a sinister and unknowable plot controlled by military-industrial terrorists. If I told you what it was going to be like, I’d have to kill you," seems too delusional even though it captures the spirit of these troubled times.

Breaking into the song from Annie about the sun shining tomorrow just plain scares people. I think it’s my voice. They get that look on their faces; you know the one. The look you see when a crazed street person won’t stop following someone.

What can a poor boy do? The only real answer is "Beats me. Whatever it is, enjoy it."

’Cuz you see, regardless of what the calendar says, regardless of the telltale metallic warble of Varied Thrushes, regardless of the Easter pilgrims, regardless of the throngs of Spring Break revellers, spring in Whistler is a state of mind, not exactly a time of year.

As a state of mind, spring works in explicable and profound ways on those who ski and board. It is the Silly Season.

For example, people suddenly show up at the resort who haven’t been here all season long. I’m not referring to the throngs of tourists who pop in for their annual visit. I mean folks from the Big Coo, just down the hill and around the sound, semi-locals as they like to think of themselves, who bought passes and actually own skis manufactured sometime in the last decade but who haven’t bothered to show up until the third week of March. You may refer to the Alien Pod theory espoused several columns back to explain such behaviour or you may simply chalk it up to the dumbing down effect of the Silly Season.

It’s true. Spring has a negative intelligence effect on people. The dumbing of spring explains why people who’ve passionately slid down the mountain all season long suddenly stop coming and start swinging golf clubs, of all things. It explains why people who are smart enough to cover their skin to protect it from frostbite for three months can’t remember to slap on sunscreen to avoid third degree sunburns on their cheeks and scalps.

For those of you – okay, mostly tourists but some locals I know will recognize themselves – who are suffering from the dumbing of spring, here’s Max’s top 10 reasons to keep on doing what you’ve been doing since December.

10. It’s not golf. Say what you will, golf’s still a stupid game. Mark Twain pegged it when he referred to the "sport" as a fine way to ruin a perfectly good walk. Besides, golf courses are so off the sustainability-o-meter I’m surprised fervent Natural Steppers haven’t ploughed them back into wetlands.

9. You get to wear fewer clothes. Spring skiing means T-shirts under fleeces, shorts under ski pants, sunglasses instead of goggles, ball caps instead of toques, light gloves instead of mitts. The freedom of movement – not to mention the refreshing feeling of unzipping pant legs and letting the breeze play over bare skin – is definitely worth the wait.

8. Corn snow. Unless you’re a rank beginner, corn snow is easier to ski than fresh snow. Yeah, it ain’t powder but it sure is forgiving. Ski steeper slopes, carve faster turns, generally hit over your weight. It’ll make you feel like a local politician in that regard, hitting over your weight, that is.

7. Late powder. You can make book on it. There will be late dumps and powder days in April, maybe even May.

6. Goggle tans. Or sunglass tans, your choice. Until you take the rest of your clothes off, you’ll look like you’ve spent lots of idle time on some exotic beach. Best not to undress in front of a mirror though.

5. Weather. There’s something really satisfying about ignoring the light drizzle falling in the valley and getting up through low clouds into blazing, warm sunshine for a day’s skiing. It makes you feel godlike. And the views are psychedelic. Or was that the mushroom omelette?

4. Bikinis. Yep, sooner or later you just know you’re going to see one. Hopefully, it won’t be on someone who has taken a high speed fall and discovered what corn snow has in common with sandpaper.

3. The Roundhouse deck. Now that the Mothercorp owns both hills and has fixed the lifts on Whistler, the right mountain gets to stay open late into the spring. Where would you rather be on a sunny day than the Roundhouse deck? Watching the pepperpeople slide down Glacier Bowl. And drinking….

2. An ice cold beer. Sure it’s refreshing during the winter, but oh baby, does it taste good in the hot sun-cool snow of spring. Après at Dusty’s or Black’s to reprise the experience.

1. No crowds. Regardless of the persuasive validity of the previous nine reasons, you’ll own the mountain. Habit is a hard thing to overcome and as sure as spring follows winter, most skiers will put their boards away and do something other than what they love by the time April turns into May. Losers.