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A real powder day Reflections on the ultimate form of skiing, and the man who popularized it

Our group crouched in a collective huddle on the exposed, snowy plateau.
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Our group crouched in a collective huddle on the exposed, snowy plateau. Gale force winds threatened to knock us off our feet and gloved hands clutched at toques and goggles which were in jeopardy of lifting off heads and being carried away to some undiscovered corner of the Blanket Glacier. The noise was deafening. Faces peaked from behind mittens, swirling snow slamming into exposed skin like rough sandpaper. Couldn’t be long now….

Within seconds all was quiet and serene. The great, silver helicopter disappeared into the mist, leaving behind a neat pile of skis and snowboards and 10 people, alone on the barren mountaintop, not a tree in sight, just great fields of fresh, untracked powder, a majestic view and deep silence.

In the valley between the Selkirk and Monashee mountain ranges, the flowers were blooming in Revelstoke. However up here, winter still reigned supreme. Like a magnificent white blanket the snow cloaked the peaks and plateaus, and a palpable vibe of excitement and nervousness permeated our small group: A few first timers, some intermediates and a seasoned guide, we strapped and clipped into our equipment of choice, the slope’s virgin snow beckoning.

Hans Gmoser could be considered the father of heli-skiing. An Austrian mountaineer who immigrated to Canada in the early 1950s, Gmoser built Canadian Mountain Holidays, or CMH, from scratch. What has grown into the largest heli-skiing and hiking operation in the world began as a young man’s passion for the great outdoors and a desire to share it with others.

Gmoser began his mountaineering career in Banff, leading groups of hikers and skiers on mountain treks in the Canadian Rockies. In 1959 he formed a small company and CMH was born. It wasn’t until the mid-60s, however, that he had a brainstorm of epic proportions, a new and daring idea whose success has resonated through the decades that followed: Gmoser began using helicopters to access the virgin slopes of the Bugaboo Mountain range.

I would like to say that our first run down Geronimo was a smooth sail through virgin powder punctuated by whoops of joy, but the reality was the skiing equivalent of a train wreck. This was not a civilized resort powder day. These were “freshies” of epic proportions. Two feet of virgin white stuff requires a much different technique than the smooth groomers of the lift accessed mountain, and some of us definitely did not have our powder legs yet!

After a minor injury and a major excavation to recover a lost ski, we finally found ourselves at the pickup point waiting for the helicopter, our guide only thinly disguising his exasperation.

Shortly after the birth of heli-skiing, CMH began the construction of remote mountain lodges to accommodate its guests. Tucked away in B.C.’s majestic mountains are nine luxury lodges that have never seen a road, yet collectively cater to about 7,000 skiers annually. CMH utilizes close to 15,000 square kilometres of terrain, stretching across the Purcell, Selkirk, Monashee and Cariboo mountain ranges.

We crouched in a huddle as the great machine descended noisily beside our group, sending snow slamming into our faces. We were headed up for another go. We improved. We remembered how to float easily through the powder. Our tracks formed lazy, graceful turns through fields of fresh powder as we descended toward the tree line. Our guide led us expertly through a wintry forest ending at a small frozen lake, the next pick up point. By now, goofy grins were plastered on snow-crusted faces.

Up here, no comfortable day lodge or cafeteria offered respite from the elements. The toilet was behind any rock or snow feature that was deemed suitable for the purpose and lunch was carefully packed into bins, clear bags of nuts, cheese, cookies and sandwiches. A large thermos was full of hot tea, a welcome comfort at this frigid altitude. We had rejoined the other groups for snacks, close to 40 people lounging comfortably in the snow on a mountain that had never expected to see so much human activity. Blankets of white undulated in all directions. The sun made a brief appearance. Surreal!

The chopper descended noisily into the valley. Back in Revelstoke, burgers were on the grill at the Regent Inn, one of the local hotels that caters to CMH’s well-to-do clients all winter long. Our group had lapsed into a comfortable silence, reflecting on the grandeur of the day, and hungrily anticipating some grilled meat and cold beer. Heli-skiing is an elite sport available only to the well-off, and fortunately, the staff that cater to them. This was our day, on the last heli-trip of the ski season.

Following a cycling accident in 2006, the father of heli-skiing passed away. But in the graceful tracks descending a virgin slope and the tired muscles of happy skiers his legacy lives on. Certainly, the success of his small company and innovative idea back in the 1960s must astonish even Hans himself.