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Ptor Spricenieks: A special seeker in a special place

I'd heard he was back from Kashmir. The rumour was that Ptor was living in the village of Ventelon, just above La Grave, and was getting ready for a big spring of mountain touring. I hadn't seen the legendary adventurer in years.
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Ptor Spricenieks Photo by Nicolas Joly

I'd heard he was back from Kashmir. The rumour was that Ptor was living in the village of Ventelon, just above La Grave, and was getting ready for a big spring of mountain touring. I hadn't seen the legendary adventurer in years. I'd heard he'd gotten married to a woman of Austro-Belgian roots; heard he was even speaking passable French now. So I decided to seek him out.

For those who've never been to France's La Grave, it's a hard place to describe. Think of a 16 th century mountain village dwarfed by a glacier-draped peak jutting 3,900 vertiginous metres straight up from the narrow valley floor. That's La Meije, a gnarly massif of ice and snow crowned by a nearly perfect pyramid of summit rock.

Maybe that's why La Grave never became a conventional resort town. The lifts (if you can call the antique multi-linked gondolas a lift) were built in the mid 1970s to service a growing summer touring and hiking business. For the hardy adventurers willing to brave the nasty, stomach-twisting road south from Grenoble, the new facilities offered 2,000 vertical metres of seriously steep alpine terrain to play in. Ski mountaineers were soon raving about the tantalizing lines accessed from the top lift-station. And slowly but surely the hardcore began trickling into the village.

Nothing much has changed in La Grave since the 1970s. People have come and gone - and come again. There are no cut trails anywhere, no snowmaking, no fancy PistenBullys to groom the slopes, and no avalanche control whatsoever. In many ways, La Grave is everything the modern mountain resort professional fears. What you see is what you get, baby. And what you get if you're not careful is big trouble. Avalanche transceiver, shovel, probe, climbing harness, carabineers, belay tool, rope, crampons - these are everyday tools if you're serious about skiing La Meije.

As for Ptor Spricenieks, he fits into the La Grave environment like a chamois does a high-mountain slope. "It's one of the only places in the world where I can live my philosophy to its fullest," he says with a nearly straight face. "This is a magical place, man. It's a truly powerful spot."

We're sitting outside Le Castillan sharing a morning coffee. The usual suspects are about and everyone, it seems, has a "bonjour" for the big Canadian. It's understandable. He's only been back a week and people are truly happy to seem him. "I couldn't wait to get back from India," he admits. "It's funny, but I really miss this place when I'm away."

Although Ptor left an indelible mark on Whistler during the nearly two decades he spent trying to figure out whether or not he wanted to live here, current residents may be more familiar with his eightysomething mom, Astrid Spriecenieks who retired to the valley several years ago.

"If you're going to do a story on me," the 41 year old tells me, "you've got to mention my mom." And his sun-browned face bursts into a mile-wide smile. "She's the best, man." A pause. His eyes twinkle like the stars above la Meije on a clear night. "And she's also at the root of my ski-bum lifestyle."

Meaning? Before starting her career as a high school phys-ed teacher, Ptor explains, Astrid took a couple of years off to work and ski in Quebec's Laurentians. "I think that's so cool," he says. "Think about it - I'm a second-generation ski bum."

Over the next few days, Ptor and I will spend a lot of time together in and around La Grave. We'll experience some epic descents in perfect Oisan powder, ski-tour up to some beautiful local peaks, share meals and conversations, exchange adventure stories and commiserate over lost friends. But I still can't say I know him.

I'm not sure anybody really knows him...

Happy, friendly, keen, enthusiastic, supportive - and totally unpretentious - Ptor is like a big friendly dog with not a care in the world. But make no mistake: this guy has done more on skis in the world's biggest and nastiest mountain ranges than just about anybody I can think of. He's suffered huge, ventured far off the beaten path and has had more close calls than is generally healthy for a human being his age. In La Grave - where macho guides and globetrotting skiers are a dime a dozen - he gets the kind of respect reserved for only the top echelon of mountaineers. Yet through it all, he's remained the same humble-minded seeker I first met back in the late 1980s when he and fellow mountain prankster Troy Junger were just beginning their adventures.

"That seems so long ago now," he tells me as we sit together high above La Grave on a sunny March afternoon. Below us is 1,000 metres of untracked snow - perfect corn. It will be tracked soon enough, but for now we're just happy to enjoy the view. "I still remember my first trip to Whistler almost like it was yesterday," he says. "In some ways, it was the true turning point in my life." And he launches into yet another story.

The year is 1988. Ptor is studying engineering at McMaster University in Hamilton. "There was this mature student in one of my math classes - a guy in his early 30s - and one day we start talking about cool places to visit," he recounts. "Right away he gets into telling me about this place called Whistler. He's so passionate about it that he really gets my attention..."

Up to that point, Ptor's idea of skiing is ripping up and down the modest slopes of Edelweiss, just outside his hometown of Bolton. But he knows already that the hills of Southern Ontario won't keep him satisfied for much longer.

Whistler, on the other hand, sounds like an interesting proposition. "I don't have a lot of money, so I decide to take the train from Toronto with a buddy," he tells me. They eventually get to Vancouver, transfer to a bus and finally get dropped off at Creekside. "I'm sure the bus driver has made a mistake," he says. "There's absolutely nothing here. What do we do? So we go to the Husky and call a cab." He pauses for a long time. A chuckle finally escapes his lips. "One look at us and the cab driver understands immediately. He takes us to Seppo's."

Drop-in centre, home for lost boys, crossroads of the universe - call it what you will, Seppo Makinen's house in those days was populated by a mishmash of young folk who'd washed up on its doorstep like cosmic flotsam and jetsam with nowhere else to go. Here's how Ptor remembers that moment:

"Well, I knock on the door and this young guy answers. 'Do you smoke hash and drink beer?' he asks in this very intimidating voice. So I say: 'Yeah. Sure. Whatever.' And the guy finally smiles: 'Come on in then'." Ptor stops speaking. Bursts into laughter. "Ten minutes later we're all sitting in the hot tub, drinking beer and smoking hash."

The laughter fades. Both of us are silent - neither one willing to bring up the spectre of Seppo's shocking death, alone, frozen in his camper in the day-parking lot. "You know," says Ptor finally breaking the silence, "it was Seppo who inspired me to get into ski touring in the first place. The guy was always out there walking in the mountains."

Although Ptor would cut his ski mountaineering teeth in the Coast Mountains, Whistler's incipient commercialism never sat well with him. It's a subject we've exhausted over the years; a theme we both feel strongly about. And while he still returns to visit from time-to-time ("Mostly to see my mother," he admits), it's evident that Ptor's soul is no longer fulfilled by what Whistler has become.

Fortunately, there's La Grave. "I first came here in 1994," he tells me. It was Troy Junger who'd first mentioned the place. Chamonix was getting too big and crowded anyway. Time to try somewhere new. "I took the train to Briancon and the bus to La Grave. I remember stepping off the bus in front of l"Office du Tourisme," he says. "I looked up. And there she was. La Meije. It totally took my breath away..."

Over the next few months, Ptor would be joined by Junger, who was shooting P-tex, Lies and Duct Tape with Greg Stump, Aaron Martin (who would later die on St. Elias), legendary hard-man Colin Samuels, "The Crimson Cowboy," and a whole host of other misfits and adventurers with whom he would share rooms, meals and new mountain lines.

"It was an incredible period in my life," he says. "It was learning and discovery and adventure every day." He sighs. "It really changed me. Really made me realize who I am."

Many mountain adventures (and misadventures) later - through the Alps, the Rockies, the Andes, the Himalaya - Ptor is finally ready to settle down. He's found the woman of his life - the wonderful Carinne whom he married last September - and they're planning to build a house on a south-facing terrace high above La Grave this summer. The view outside their window? La Meije of course. "I'm in a great space right now," says the legendary big man. "I've gone through some serious ups and down in recent years." A smile flashes across his face. "But now I feel like it's all behind me. I can't wait to start a family!"

Oh, and by the way, he says hi to all his friends in Whistler...