Pique'n Yer Interest

The May Long Weekend is coming, and with it the usual hand-wringing about how the resort is going to respond to the annual influx of thousands of young people, many of them newly minted high-school grads, who come to Whistler every year at this time

In the summer of 2010, I was enjoying my first fulltime sportswriting job with the Fort Frances Times in northwestern Ontario.

When I first moved to Whistler nearly six years ago, I continued to tromp around in my footwear of choice: leather Madewell boots with a chunky, three-inch heel. At least, for about two days. It only took 48 hours to realize I had it all wrong.

Living in a ski resort can give one a sense of security that few other places can rival. Surrounded by mountains and likeminded people, it's easy to feel comfortable, removed from the darker, more challenging bits of humanity.

Outwardly at least, I present the image of a cultural connoisseur with finely honed tastes. I tend to pick the arthouse film over the Hollywood blockbuster. The hole-in-the-wall over the cookie-cutter chain restaurant.

Like a lot of people in town, I have two jobs. To no one's surprise, a part-time reporter's salary barely covers my rent, so I spend a couple of days each week serving at a popular après bar.

Like a lot of people in the late '90s, I moved to Whistler to snowboard. There were other reasons, but dragging knuckles through powder was pretty much the biggest draw.

Each and every athlete at an Olympic Games has a goal he or she hopes to reach. For many, it's a medal, ideally gold.

One of the more astonishing things about Whistler's previous council was that, over the term spanning 2011 to 2014, you could count the number of dissenting votes on one hand.

When I moved to Squamish last fall, I was certain about a few things: the Sea to Sky Highway was about to become my worst enemy, I would encounter a lot of clueless tourists driving with summer tires, and skiing on weekend mornings would be entirely