Skip to content
Join our Newsletter

The Bums’ rush

By G.D. Maxwell That’s a wrap. The red carpets have been rolled up and put away for another year, the limos sent back to the garage for steam cleaning.

By G.D. Maxwell

That’s a wrap.

The red carpets have been rolled up and put away for another year, the limos sent back to the garage for steam cleaning. The beautiful people have all jetted off to wherever beautiful people go after a gala event, someplace warm and a whole lot dryer no doubt. Restaurants momentarily abuzz with the glitterati once more resemble the mess of the Mary Celeste, anxiously anticipating a ski season more retreating mirage than face shot.

But for five days, Whistler was the centre of all things film. For five days, the pale, the contemplative, the strong of spine and firm of bum were allowed a brief über-urban experience of wallowing in the heightened magic of darkness, taking what nourishment can be had from popcorn and jujubes, mesmerized by shadows and light flickering on The Big Screen.

Yes, Harry Potter came to town.

Just kidding. It was the world premiere, the debut, the coming out of the Whistler Film Festival. Five days and thirteen doses of life in the Great White North as seen through the squinting eye of delusional misfits who labour to capture their visions on celluloid and hope against hope somebody actually comes out to see them.

Being Whistler, the "stars" wore blue jeans and fleece and probably arrived in beaters or SUVs. The seating was far from plush, the theatre’s floor a bit flat and the sound system not quite as crisp as your average home theatre setup from London Drugs. But all good things start small.

Talk about strange people and strange movies though. There must be some really, really weird people living in the rest of the country if any of those films was really a slice o’ life.

Of course, we’re not weird here. In Tiny Town, we’re all ski bums. Ski Bums – John Zaritsky’s documentary of the same name – had its world premiere on Wednesday night and the joint was packed for both showings.

Stunning ski shots might as well have had CHRISTIAN BEGIN stamped in big letters along the bottom of them. No one else who makes snow films could possibly have made such beautiful pictures. I don’t know if the sky in those two shots was real, computer generated or simply acid flashback but no sky has looked like that since Scarlett returned to Tara after the Yankees burned Atlanta.

I’m looking forward to Ski Bums II though. Ski Bums was a little too typecast for this ski bum. With the exception of Crucial Mike who seems to be hard-core enough to still be a ski bum at a time in life when most of the people he grew up with are into Dockers and Viagra, and Johnny Thrash who, in a more enlightened society would simply be locked up in a pit with vipers and other extremely crazy people, the bums all fit under a fairly small bell curve, demographically speaking.

Where was the rich mosaic of ski bumness I’ve come to know and love? Where was the Rabbit? Most of the people I know in this town – even one realtor if I stretch the definition to its limits – are ski bums. Overeducated and underpaid, only a small handful earn their keep doing something they’re passionate about. The rest spend their allotment of passion on skiing, biking, climbing or some other pursuit eventually leading to the doorstep of one of Whistler’s physios, themselves mostly ski bums.

Don’t believe me? Try this simple test and find out for yourself whether you’re a ski bum.

1. What I do in Whistler to earn money is:

a) Exactly the job I trained and studied for.

b) Something for which I am so overqualified I lied on my resume.

c) Involves the words "Spare Change" and/or EI.

d) Indictable, but gives great pleasure to others.

2. The house I live in:

a) I own.

b) I rent.

c) I squat.

d) Has to be moved every four days.

3. At the end of each ski season, I:

a) Take my old, icky equipment to the compactor.

b) Lovingly repair and wax my boards before putting them away.

c) Sell what I have and wait for the K2 rep to send me new stuff.

d) Try and remember who I borrowed these things from.

4. I would describe my ski ensemble as:

a) Chic, new and fashionable,

b) Functional in a breathing waterproof way.

c) Still more Gore-Tex than duct tape.

d) Recycled, possibly without the knowledge of its original owner.

5. 8:30 am on a powder morning will find me:

a) In bed at the Chateau

b) At work on the mountain with my luck.

c) Lined up at the Creekside Ganjala.

d) Well up the mountains and out of bounds.

6. I get up the mountains on:

a) An unlimited season pass, of course, silly.

b) A staff pass.

c) A stolen pass.

d) Foot.

7. Lunch on the mountains is usually:

a) A leisurely affair at Christine’s.

b) A quick burger if the grill’s running at the top of Harmony.

c) Whatever I can beg or steal.

d) For wimps.

8. I’ve lived here:

a) You’re joking, right?

b) Since the fall.

c) More than a decade; less than a lifetime.

d) Since before your ol’ man got to third base with yo’ mama.

9. I still live in Whistler even though I am:

a) You’re joking, right?

b) Broke, disheartened and possibly crippled for life.

c) Now a famous movie star.

d) Over 50.

10. At the end of a good ski day, I look forward to:

a) A massage, hot tub and dinner at Araxi.

b) A beer at Merlin’s, a slice at Avalanche and schlepping back up to staff housing.

c) Going home, fighting with my roommates, discovering my food missing.

d) A fatty, another fatty and a final cruise down the west side with the light fading behind the Tantalus.

Okay, one point for every (a), two for a (b), three for a (c) and four for a (d) except for question 9 which is worth 10 points for a (d), you old fart.

If you score between 10 and 14, have a nice trip back to the city and drive carefully, the world really needs more lawyers and investment bankers. If you squeaked out between 15 and 24, congratulations, you’re well on your way. A couple more years without giving up and going back to Ontario and you too may be a ski bum. 25 to 34 and you’re definitely a ski bum, dude. Your parents still love you even though you’re throwing your life away and wasting your education. I’m in awe of anyone scoring between 35 and 46; you are the ski bum we all want to be when we grow up. If you scored over 46, you are Johnny Thrash.