Alta states 

Jason Worby: Setting down roots for the future

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  • Columbia River

“If things got any better, heaven would be a lateral move…”

– Jason Worby

All he wanted to do was work for Mike Varrin. Didn’t matter that he already had a job at Whistler. The GLC was where he wanted to be. Unfortunately, Varrin didn’t need him — at least not at first. “I must have told him ‘no’ a hundred times,” remembers the Dark Prince. But anyone who knows Jason Worby also understands that “no” means absolutely nothing to the guy….

“He finally just wore me down,” admits Varrin. “He’d come by after work every day and he’d say ‘Put me in coach. I’m ready.’ I figured if somebody wanted to work here as badly as Jason did, I might as well give him a chance and see what he could do.”

And like a man possessed, Worby stepped into the breach and delivered on his promise. “I wasn’t going to let an opportunity like that slip through my fingers,” he explains. “I wanted Mike to see what a great decision he’d made.”

For Jason, it was a dream-come-true. Living at Whistler, working at the GLC, playing hockey with the guys, skiing every day of the winter: it was everything he’d hoped for. And everything he’d banked on when he suddenly pulled up stakes and left London, Ontario for a new life on the West Coast. “It was my buddy, Shawn Chipchase, who finally pushed me over the edge,” he explains. “The day I turned 30, he phoned me up from Whistler. I think it was like 4 in the morning. ‘Get your butt out here’, he told me. ‘You belong on the West Coast!’ So that’s what I did.”

The year was 2000. And Worby remembers the drive across the country all too well. “It was mid-November and I was all alone,” he recounts. “Somewhere in Saskatchewan I came upon this massive meteor shower. I stopped the car and got out. I was so tired I thought I was hallucinating. It was absolutely stunning! And I thought to myself, if this is a sign of things to come, then I’ve definitely made the right move…”

But the trip wasn’t all lights and epiphanies. “I was driving this little Ford Escort,” he says, laughter bubbling through his words. “And it was filled to the brim with skis, hockey gear, a mountain bike and a well-stocked beer fridge. By the time I stuffed everything in there, the car was probably less than three inches off the ground. Not too bad for the flat stuff, but I certainly learned a lesson when I tried to go over the Duffey with my wheezing car and crappy tires…”

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