Labour Day. To most Snoweaters, the last weekend of the summer always offers something of a bittersweet flavour. True, the long warm days of July and August have passed — and so too have the activities they engender. But with the coming of cold nights and chilly mornings, the promise of frost and the first tidings of the oncoming winter, skiers and riders around the world can’t help but start counting the days until the mountain lifts start running again and snow covers their favourite runs.
And nowhere is that more true than at Whistler — or at least that was the way it was in the past. For nearly 40 years, local businessmen would sigh with relief at the arrival of Labour Day. “We eked through an another summer,” they would say. “Now we can start preparing for the money season.” While young hounds would begin their frantic search for new gear, the valley’s pioneering entrepreneurs would once again assure their bank managers that they could make it to Christmas without missing too many payments.
But even here, the changing face of Whistler — and the growing clout of its summer business — has very nearly flipped the old model on its head. Or so it seems…
While the final reports will take some weeks to tabulate still, it is widely acknowledged that this summer will probably turn out to be Whistler’s most successful to date. Rumours are even circulating that the town recorded its busiest day in history this past July.
Mountain biking and the Crankworx festival have certainly played a huge role in putting Whistler on the international summer tourist map. And the coming of the Olympics has clearly brought out the curious. So too has the town’s plethora of restaurants and shops and ridiculously affordable accommodation. Still, it makes me wonder how long the resort’s summer success will continue — especially if Whistler is keen on retaining its mountain town flavour.
Let me explain. There is no question that the Sea to Sky corridor has become one of the great mountain biking destinations on the planet. With its groundbreaking trail-and-access work, Whistler-Blackcomb has also taken a leadership role in the cycling industry — and regularly exports its expertise to other interested resorts around the world.
And other resorts are certainly interested. From Tignes to Cortina, by way of Aspen and Mont Ste Anne, countless ski resorts in Europe and North America are quickly adapting the Whistler model to their own slopes. And given the fact that none of the white stuff is required for success, a lot of hitherto moribund ski hills could easily be resurrected as very desirable mountain bike playgrounds.
Chances are, then, that Whistler’s near-monopoly of the off-road cycling destination market will be tested in the upcoming years. Considering just how flat the global mountain biking business really is (hard to believe given Whistler’s inordinate popularity with the “young and wild”), it’s not too difficult to predict a time when there will be more infrastructure than customers…
So what to do?
I’m always struck by the way Whistler summer tourists are different from those of other high-end mountain destinations. With the exception of the helmeted and armoured two-wheeled hordes, it strikes me that few people visiting the place in the summer really care if there are mountains around or not. And to me, that’s a very disturbing sign.
“I went up Whistler Mountain with some guests on the busiest day of the summer,” a long-time resident told me recently. “We had to fight our way through the crowds in the towncentre. It was so congested we could barely move. But once we got the top of the mountain — once we started hiking into Burnt Stew Basin — we never saw a soul all day. It was wonderful…”
This is what disturbs me. Unlike Chamonix or St Anton or Jackson Hole — or even Banff for that matter — Whistler attracts few true mountain aficionados in summertime. Know what I mean? People with backpacks and hiking boots and ropes and climbing axes. People who are heading off into the backcountry for more than just a photo opportunity…
Indeed, Whistler’s summer tourists are overwhelmingly urban — and surprisingly unphysical. They come here to shop and party and drink and eat. But hike and climb in the mountains? Forget about it.
Yet it’s not like the Sea to Sky corridor doesn’t boast some impressive alpine destinations. For nearly a century now, local adventurers have trod across some of the country’s most beautiful and rugged mountain scenery. Whether members of the Alpine Club of Canada or UBC’s Outdoor Club (or just adventurous individuals on their own), they’ve pioneered new climbing routes and opened up once-inaccessible terrain throughout the Coast Range. But you’ll rarely see them spending a day — or even a night — at Whistler….
I can already hear some of the local business people dismissing my argument. “So what’s the big deal,” they say. “We’re busy, we’re making money. We have zip-trekking and bungee jumping and a climbing wall and all sorts of other amenities. Who cares what kind of people we do business with? Besides, it’s not like climbers are big spenders anyway.”
But they are missing the point. For all the “attractions” they cite are not predicated on a mountain setting. And in the end, isn’t it our setting that sets us apart?
Over the years, I’ve made it my business to visit countless mountain towns. I’ve also been lucky enough to go touring in some of the most delightful alpine terrain one could ever wish to visit. For me, spending the night on the mountain (and not in the valley) has always been hugely appealing — whether in summer or winter. And if I’ve had to hike or ski to them, then all the better.
I’ve stayed in sumptuous French huts and simple Swiss chalets, cosy Norwegian cabins and Chilean huts so stark that it was hard to consider them “accommodation”. But at no time have I ever felt sorry for spending the night up-high…
Whether located in the Alps or in Alberta’s national parks, Scandinavia, Italy or even Russia’s Caucasus, the mountain world’s various hut-to-hut networks offer an intimate entry into the self-propelled adventure of high-country travel. No matter how jaded, no matter how cynical, it’s very difficult to remain unmoved when you wake up at 8-10,000 feet with the rest of the world at your feet.
So why the heck don’t we have anything like that in the Sea to Sky corridor?
One of Whistler’s least-acknowledged assets is its gateway role to Garibaldi Provincial Park. A truly unique chunk of alpine real estate, the park lies literally on Whistler-Blackcomb’s doorstep. In many ways, it’s like Chamonix’s Mont Blanc — impressive, remote and dangerous to all but the most knowledgeable. Yet access to this wonderful piece of public property is as difficult today as it was when I arrived here 35 years ago.
Imagine, if you can, leaving the peak of Blackcomb for a week’s trip across the Spearhead Traverse. Each night’s stay is at a different hut kept by a welcoming hut-master who has dinner — and a warm bed — ready to soothe your tired body. By the time you reach Whistler Peak, six or seven days later, your life has changed. You’ve skied pristine glaciers, hiked across narrow rock corridors, viewed the kind of wildlife you’d never before imagined seeing. Even the way you relate to others has been altered…
Now I don’t know about the rest of you, but the new peak-to-peak Ferris wheel — er, I mean gondola — really doesn’t turn my crank. With all due respect to the Moneyseekers at Fortress, spending $60 million on an alpine ride that further urbanizes the mountains seems to me like a woefully short-term strategy. As for the additional 5 per cent of business the number-crunchers promise us will be attracted to Whistler because of it, I also have my doubts. Think about how many clear days occurred this summer. Now think about how many people would pay good money for a ride in the fog. See what I mean?
Recently the provincial government put out a call for new accommodation/resort proposals for the many parks it manages. Justifiably, B.C. mountain enthusiasts went ballistic. After all, few of us would be comfortable with a new Chateau Garibaldi at the foot of Fissile Peak. But this is where Whistlerites and Fortress (through its Intrawest subsidiary) could take the lead once again. Imagine if the Whistler municipality (in conjunction with its partners, W-B and Tourism Whistler) put a proposal to the government to create a simple, ecologically-sensitive, four-season hut-to-hut network in Garibaldi Park. Think about the publicity. Think about the potential market — in summer and in winter. At the very least, you’ll get to see a lot more people traipsing through town in hiking boots…
Glorified shopping mall or unique mountain town? Over the next few years, the battle lines will be much more clearly drawn at Whistler. Which side do you want to be on?
