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The end of the season – then and now

"Every day is a bonus." - Jim McConkey It's not easy being on the sidelines. Especially when the days are clear and the late spring snow is "cornaliscious" (as local scribe Les Anthony described on his Facebook site last week). It's not fair.
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"Every day is a bonus."

- Jim McConkey

 

It's not easy being on the sidelines. Especially when the days are clear and the late spring snow is "cornaliscious" (as local scribe Les Anthony described on his Facebook site last week). It's not fair. I should be up there too!

Cornaliscious. What a perfect word to describe that magical snow surface born of cold crisp nights and clear cool days. That ephemeral moment when the snow is grippy but still firm. When your edges throw off frozen diamonds into the air. When you can ski in your shirtsleeves and shorts and feel just right. Cornaliscious. It doesn't happen all the time. But when it does, man, what a blessing it bestows on those who get to ride it.

It's hero skiing at its very best. Where time stops. Where perfect turns are made. When you fall in love with sliding on snow all over again. And maybe with your partner too. It's in the air. You can't help it.

Were you up there recently? Did you take the time to feel the buzz of spring skiing? If not, you should have...

Indeed, looking up from the valley during that stretch of deliciously bluebird days we experienced last week, I couldn't help but wax nostalgic. Here I am, with a new knee and a questionable skiing future and all I can think about is sliding down Whistler Mountain making hero turns in perfect corn now and feeling like a twentysomething again. Of spending lazy afternoons under an alpine sun, hanging out with buddies and swapping stories about steep chutes skied and impossible lines attempted. Of just being in a snowy environment when everybody else is stuck in the valley shedding clothes and thinking of the beach.

Know what I mean? I love skiing in May. I love the mix of seasons at this time of the year. I don't know why. I guess I'm just hard-wired that way.

As I hobble around my house - making the transition from crutches to cane, from total helplessness to becoming self-propelled again (such a lesson in humility) - my mind can't help but return to my formative years at Whistler Mountain. To those magical winter seasons in the early 1970s when it was a point of pride among locals to ski from November until May without missing a day.

And I mean a point of pride. I remember skiing in blizzard conditions on Victoria Day, snow up to my knees and zero visibility; I also remember down-climbing from mid-station in lean years, discovering new ways for blisters to form under my squeaky boots. Sure, conditions weren't always great. But we still felt pretty smug about our situation.

Let's face it. It's not everywhere that you can ski in May. Not everywhere, at least, that boasts so much snow in the mountains at this time of the year.

And so accessible. In the old days, late spring skiing defined the Whistler Mountain experience. People came from all over to live the last two months of the season here. Ski instructors and pro patrols and shop rats and ski bums from other resorts. From Vail and Aspen and Mont Ste Anne and Killington. From Camp Fortune and Collingwood and Marmot Basin and Elk Valley.

And slowly but surely the community grew. In fact, it never ceases to amaze me just how many residents ended up settling down here despite themselves.

But that was then. This is now.

Speaking of which, I received a text last Saturday from my friend Cathy Jewett. A keen student of Whistler culture - and an über-engaged member of the community - Jewett never hesitates to send me "head's-up" messages when she spots interesting new trends in the valley.

"As I dropped (son) Max and his friends off for the first time of the season at the Bike Park this morning," she wrote me, "I couldn't help but think of the contrast between Opening Days. First of all, the spring skiers were getting ready to upload the Excalibur, while the mountain bikers milled around the bottom of the Fitz. It certainly wasn't as insane (as Opening Day back in November), but it had all the excitement of a new season."

Max Horner, as regular Alta States readers might remember, is the local 17-year-old who spent the night camped out with his buddies in front of the Express last November while their moms ferried hot chocolate and cookies to them. Their goal: putting down the first tracks of the season on Whistler Mountain. It turned out to be quite an adventure, recounts Max, but they were ultimately successful in their mission.

"It was insane," recalls the Whistler High student of the first day of the ski season. "It was so agro. It was like being in this crazy race and we were leading. By my second or third run I was skiing alone." He laughs. "I'd lost all my friends..."

Opening Day at the Bike Park, he says, was way mellower. "People didn't really show up until noon," he explains. "Nobody was in much of a rush, I mean, it's not like you're gonna be ridin' powder." Still, Max had to deal with his own demons.

As a new recruit for the northshore-based Bryson Riding Clan (one of the more progressive cycling teams in the region), Horner was keen to head up the mountain and sample the goods. But the coach of the B.C. Team (of which Max is also a member) had other ideas. Along with his teammates, Max was expected to spend the first few hours of Saturday morning sitting on the patio at the GLC listening to a sports psychology lecture by noted local speaker Greg McDonnell.

"Some of the guys were okay with it," says Max, "but for me, it was torture. All I could hear was the sound of rubber on gravel. All I could think about was my first tear down A-Line. I couldn't sit still." Another staccato burst of laughter. "It was like, enough talkin' man, let's go ridin'..."

To say that Max is keen on riding is akin to saying Paris Hilton likes attention. The guy is mad for his two-wheeled steed. Still, I'm sure he had a good ski season too. Didn't he?

He takes a breath. "You know, I got excited for skiing back in November. Really excited. But by December I was already over it. In fact, I never really skied after Christmas."

Say what? "I've been riding my bike all winter," he admits. "I saw a great training opportunity and I just took it." A smile spreads across his face. "I mean, we were riding trails on Cypress in February that are usually under a metre of snow. It was awesome. Really good riding. That's why we put so many miles in."

So he's feeling strong then. "Absolutely," he says. "We're going to Quebec this weekend for the first big race of the year." Another deep breath. "To Mont Tremblant," he says. "It's the first Canada Cup of the season. It's also the qualifier for the World Cup races. So it's really important that we do well there..."

Given all those winter miles, I muse, shouldn't he and his B.C.-based teammates have a big advantage over their weather-challenged rivals from the east? Max doesn't answer right away. He sighs. I know something is not right.

"Well," he says. "I crashed pretty hard on the weekend. The doctor looked me over and said I shouldn't do anything too strenuous for the next few weeks." He stops speaking. A bubble of laughter finally escapes. "But I'm still planning on racing this weekend. I mean, what does he know. He's just a doctor..."

As you read this, Max and his B.C. riding mates are flying across the country towards Montreal. In a few hours they'll be unpacking their bike-bags in the mosquito-happy haven of May-time Mont Tremblant. "I just couldn't pass this one up," admits Horner. "It's just too big a race." He grins. "Sure, it'll hurt some. But I'll just have to tough it out. I mean, there isn't a guy on the circuit who isn't nursing some kind of injury."

Ah, springtime at Whistler. So many activities. So many different things to do. Today, you can ski, ride, cycle, golf, windsurf, paddle - whatever - it's all there if your wallet is big enough and your free time allowance generous enough.

Still, give me a steep slope and a cool, clear morning and I'll be happy skiing corn till the sun turns the whole thing to mush. Cornaliscious, you say. Sounds marvelous to me. I guess it all comes down to what you're used to...