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In Arthur's footsteps — exploring Blackcomb's high country trails

"When we tire of well-worn ways, we seek the new. The restless craving in the souls of men spurs them to climb, and seek the mountain view." - American poet Ella Wheeler Wilcox It was a beautiful afternoon. The air was warm, but not uncomfortable.
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Mountain Hiking could be playing a much bigger role in attracting tourists to Whistler. Photo by Robin O'Neill, courtesy of Whistler Blackcomb

"When we tire of well-worn ways, we seek the new. The restless craving in the souls of men spurs them to climb, and seek the mountain view."

- American poet Ella Wheeler Wilcox

It was a beautiful afternoon. The air was warm, but not uncomfortable. Big, bumbling cumuli kept forming and dissipating — some would spin around Blackcomb Peak for a few minutes and play hide-and-seek with the sun — creating a kind of chiaroscuro effect that transformed everything on the trail into a dreamlike fusion of shadow and light.

"This is so cool," said my guest. "So very, very cool..." I smiled. Nodded in agreement. "I'm so grateful for this," she continued. "Getting up into the high country was exactly what I needed today. This place — this trail — is exactly where I want to be right now." She sighed with pleasure. We kept on walking.

A gang of grey jays suddenly picked up on our passage. Loud and territorial, they serenaded us from the branches of a storm-ravaged hemlock. Krwak-Kwrak-Kwrak, they cried. "Friend or foe? Friend or foe?"

A fat marmot — its winter coat ragged and near fully-shed — waddled across our path and into the adjoining stand of juniper. Didn't even look up at us, so intent was he on his next bite. We followed his progress as he munched his way though the shrubby conifers all the way to the far edge of the patch. It was almost too funny to be real.

"You arranged for this to happen, didn't you," said my guest. And we both laughed. Indeed — I couldn't have choreographed our mountain adventure better if I'd tried. We were on our way up to Decker Mountain, on the Blackcomb trail system that Arthur DeJong and his intrepid band of alpine elves have been hard at work creating/improving/updating over the last four years. And my guest was having the time of her life. As for me, I was getting serious host-points. Yeah baby!

"I never realized just how beautiful this place was in summer," said my guest. "I mean, it's not like I'm a Whistler newby. I've just never hiked here before. What a revelation..."

According to Tourism Whistler statistics, "nature and scenery" remain the number one draw for Sea to Sky summer visitors. And it leads the other categories by quite a margin. Which is no surprise, really, given the width and breadth of our physical plant. Alas, until very recently, there were few ways to access our alpine wonderland in summertime... unless you were core enough to create your own trails and hike your own lines. But DeJong wants to change all that.

Manager of "All Things Green and Progressive" at Whistler Blackcomb (WB), DeJong is on a mission to bring mountain hiking to Whistler in a big way. And he wants to do it in a manner that invites participation from a wide range of fitness levels, social backgrounds and physical abilities.

"I believe that North Americans are finally becoming aware of the importance of physical fitness in their lives," says DeJong. "People get it. They understand now what exercise is all about." He grins. "Hiking's going to become the new eating..."

But seriously. DeJong's big hairy goal for the next few years is to apply the principles of what he calls "nature-based tourism" to WB's summer hiking plans in a way that enhances visitors' outdoor experiences while, ultimately, connecting seamlessly with that incomparable treasure chest of mountain adventures, Garibaldi Park.

"I define nature-based tourism," explains DeJong, "as non-motorized, focused on environmental education, and with a limited-footprint design." A pause. "And I firmly believe that's where we need to go as a resort and a mountain community if we want to remain successful over the long-term."

Indeed. But wait... there's more. DeJong, you see, is nothing if not thorough. "I've done a bit of research on this subject," he says in his classic understated style. "I've travelled around, asked a few questions, checked out a bunch of different locations." He stops. Lets a beat go by. His eco-preacher's smile grows even bigger. "And I've come to quite an astounding conclusion. Given our physical and climatological conditions, I believe Whistler can compete successfully with any nature-based experience on the planet!"

He pauses for a moment — as if he's waiting for me to disagree. And when I don't, he goes on. "I really mean that, you know. I'm truly convinced that we could become a world leader in the field. Truly."

DeJong is not an "exclamation" kind of guy. Au contraire. Grounded is more his style. But get him talking about Whistler and its potential to become a leader in this nature-based mountain tourism thing and the guy gets almost giddy. The stakes are high, he explains. "As the world becomes more physically degraded and polluted, those tourism destinations that can manage to protect their natural environment will prosper. Those that don't..." He shrugs. "What it comes down to, essentially, is learning how to build experiences inside ecosystems rather than changing them."

Sounds good, right? I mean, this is all apple-pie and motherhood. In fact, I would argue that DeJong's nature-based vision for the high country is precisely what Whistler needs right now. As he so succinctly put it himself: "Although the Whistler community is very environmentally focused, it has yet to successfully embed this principle into the guest experience."

But it goes even further than that. "I'm convinced," continues DeJong, "that optimizing the Fitzimmons-Spearhead Range (the necklace of peaks linking Whistler and Blackcomb) as a nature-based experience will actually enhance the Whistler Resort brand. I'm also convinced that if we do the job right, it will also enhance the BC Parks brand as well as the Tourism BC brand."

See? DeJong is a guy who refuses to think small. And he also works with a sense of urgency. "Whistler's greatest natural asset," he contends, "is its alpine zones — whether in summer or winter. It's the vastness and beauty — the sheer drama — of our high country that sets us apart from most of our North American competitors. That's why we need to take so much care in how we develop our trails and infrastructure now. More than anything, we need to be good stewards of the land."

DeJong defines the role of "steward" as: "someone who adds real value to assets placed under their control." And he takes that role very seriously. "It's all about leaving a place in better shape than what it was before you came. I ask myself that about everything I do here." He shrugs again. "And I'm more successful with some initiatives than I am with others."

While he's the first to admit that WB could be doing more on the environmental front — "Is there still a lot to be accomplished there? Absolutely!" — DeJong also thinks that the corporate ship is moving in the right direction. "We're making progress all the time," he says. "Maybe we're only making baby steps. But we're still making a difference."

The bottom line? DeJong simply wants to share his mountain playground with others. "I want to show people just how beautiful the high country is in summertime. The feedback we get from people who actually do come and hike is overwhelmingly positive. I just need to find ways to get more people up here so that they connect directly with this unique environment."

Well, we certainly connected. My guest and I have been walking for an hour now; the trail has meandered over and across and around the edges of timberline. But the effort's been worth it. The afternoon is still beautiful. The air calm... almost valley balmy. The clouds have all but disappeared. Hard to believe we're two thousand metres above sea level. "Where are all the people," asks my guest. "I mean, it almost feels like we're the only ones here right now." She smiles. "It's not like I'm not enjoying the solitude. I am. I'm just surprised that this trail is still so little known."

We crest a small rise and suddenly the horizon opens up before us. We're right above Singing Pass. Across the valley looms Fissile Peak, dramatic in its near-vertical aspect — almost stark in its patchy, snowless state. To the left is the vast frozen domain of Overlord Glacier. Fissures and cracks and yawing crevasses — almost like a giant's knife cuts — score the glacier's surface from head to foot. I'm not sure if it's a trick of the light, or just my imagination, but it almost feels like I could reach out and touch its timeworn snows. It's been that kind of a day.

"Oooh," intones my guest. "This is lovely." She lets her eyes wander over the alpine tableau. "Stunning, in fact. You really know how to impress an old-school mountain gal." And she grabs me 'round the waist and gives me a whopping big hug. I make a mental note to thank my friend Arthur DeJong.