The baptism for this year’s very different ski season begins when I pick up my pass at Guest Services in Creekside. Because, of course, you can’t go into Guest Services anymore. Instead, the lengthy pas de deux that typically takes place in front of a zigzag lineup indoors is now transacted outside at ticket windows. The only real difference in this brilliant set-up is the foot-stamping in the lineup—now less about impatience than exposure, as not all came dressed for the occasion. But I am ready, dressed properly, here early, and at the front. As I get the wave to approach from a masked service dude hermetically sealed behind plexiglass, another one steps forward to spritz my hands and wipe the metal counter. This leads to two thoughts: 1) Ski area ticket windows are perfectly engineered for a pandemic; and 2) standing at them feels a lot like placing a bet—which in many ways it is.
Of course, with COVID-19 raging through Whistler—including staff housing—all bets are off. But that doesn’t deter from: 1) the dude expeditiously getting me sorted; or 2) the next day being one of the best openings of the 20 I have now enjoyed.
The morning starts with my partner and I scanning social media from the comfort of a warm bed, analyzing live photos of base lineups. Creekside looks lengthy at 8:30 a.m., but given how physically distanced everyone is, we think it’ll spin through pretty quick. Indeed, when we rock up at a leisurely 10 a.m., we stroll directly into a gondola all to ourselves while chatting up the amiable and helpful staff loading the lift. As we take in the sights of the familiar ride up, two things are clear: 1) There’s plenty of snow with good coverage; and 2) there’s no shortage of human guinea pigs packing down the ski-out to the valley. The mental needle that began at ambiguous starts moving toward stoked.
Red Chair, bane of the Creekside upload, sees people spilling from the corrals on both sides and lined up the hill. But: 1) they’re reasonably spaced; and 2) the lift is moving fast without a fully loaded cable. It takes less than 10 minutes and we’re on. A quad chair for two? Thank you very much.
As per opening day orthodoxy, I’ve brought my ancient rock skis, patched together with duct tape and Stop Harper stickers. They will prove unnecessary (the skis, I mean—the stickers are still talismanic conversation-reminders that: 1) cookie-cutter HarperCons like Andrew Scheer and Erin O’Toole have not improved the brand; and 2) the latest unhelpful contribution to Canada’s COVID-19 crisis by conservatives has been Trump-lite conspiracy and persecution theorizing.
The first run of the year from the top is practically mid-winteresque, a yeoman’s job by Whistler Blackcomb (WB) staff having paved the way with a solid base over which we shred the occasional patch of pulverschnee back to the lift. Here we join two friends, forming a box with two-metre sides to work our masked way through the now-much-faster lift line; adhering to the abundant clear signage, everyone else follows suit save a small group of Covidiot snowboarders doing the two things you shouldn’t do near other people: 1) Having your mask down; and 2) spewing aerosolized droplets by shouting at the top of your lungs to friends some distance away.
Back at the top, we skate over to Emerald for a longer, more open line. The upper meadow is cruisy, the base solid everywhere, and, surprisingly for this time slot, more untouched snow. As we drop into Green Acres, an even weirder thing happens: humans virtually disappear, and we swoop all the way down to the road, hundreds of turns in excellent conditions, with no one ahead of us. This is: 1) amazing; and 2) really amazing. But it gets better: Olympic isn’t officially open but sure looks like it is as we discover completely packed-down coverage, an army of snow guns blazing to top it up, and only a modest array of the punters the run usually attracts. The skiing is even better than it often is mid-season, with no slick, icy sheets underpinning the snowmaking skiffles. This is a dream, I think, as we ski right through the corral and directly onto an empty Garbanzo Chair. But it’s real, and good enough to warrant a second attack from the Raven–Ptarmigan route, which is: 1) also most excellent; and 2) about all we have time for on this side, since some of us work in the afternoon.
As we ride Garbanzo for the last time, the plan is clear: Death before Download, as lower mountain hazards appear to be nothing more than step-arounds this year. We start at the top of Dave Murray, shoot through Bear Cub, cross over to Franz’s below Red Chair base, which sports knee-deep pow, back onto Dave Murray, tip-toe around the breakover, chatter across the flats, and arc through the buttery snow of the final pitch. Other than an occasional ditch or hole to mind, pretty much a normal descent for experts (*beginners and intermediates should still download).
So, for Opening Day 2020, I’ll: 1) score Mother Nature a solid 80 per cent for her effort; but 2) score Whistler Blackcomb a well-deserved 95 per cent.
Leslie Anthony is a Whistler-based author, editor, biologist and bon vivant who has never met a mountain he didn’t like.
