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Alta states: Getting back to basics

Re-evaluating the 21st century ski experience
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"We've shrunk the mountains..."

- Paul Mathews, president of Ecosign

 

As you read this, I'm sitting in my room at Vancouver General waiting for the surgeon to replace my flesh-and-bone knee with a new plastic and titanium one. Being somewhat of an old-school guy I can't say I'm excited about the exchange. Trepidatious would be more accurate. But I have no choice. The original joint is way past its "sell-by" date.

You know that old adage "pain is pleasure"? Well that pretty much defined my ski experience for the last few years. And I was able to fake it for a surprisingly long time (being a lapsed Catholic, I felt right at home with the pain=pleasure concept). Besides, I had one good leg to work with plus five decades of on-snow experience to fall back upon. I figured that was enough. I mean, if Phil Chew could do it, so could I.

There was still the matter of that dragging left leg however. A less-than-functional outrigger with the annoying habit of getting deflected by anything in its path, my sinister ski was nothing but a nuisance now. Funny right? Yeah, like a three-legged chamois on a narrow alpen ledge. Aw-aw-awkward.

My mountain friends tried not to wince (or giggle) when they rode with me. Sometimes they couldn't help themselves though. "Dang," blurted an old-time ski buddy one particularly flat-lit day, "you're making me hurt the way you're charging those turns. It looks so bloody painful. Why the hell are you still up here anyway?" I just grinned and grit my teeth even more. How could I tell him that this was the one place on the planet where I felt safe right now? How could I explain to him my raging need for downhill bliss? So what if it hurt physically. It was soothing my battered soul.

But it couldn't last. My angst-fuelled mountain frenzy this past winter pushed the pain factor way over the edge. Pleasure had disappeared. The moment had come. Banzai...

So here I sit in VGH, a reluctant patient at best. Contemplating my future. Wondering what the heck the next chapter will bring. Is this the end of my skiing vocation? Am I embarking on a completely different journey now? And what about Whistler? Would I still want to live in the mountains if I couldn't slide on snow anymore?

I know. I know. Everyone tells me I'll be back on skis in no time. That my life will be better and more enjoyable and fun again once I start living without pain. I'm getting testimonials from all sorts of Alta States readers. "It's the best decision I ever made," says one hip-replacement survivor. "I'm skiing better now than I ever have."

Still, I worry. What's it going to feel like when I make that first big powder turn to the right? Will the new hinge be able to handle the stress placed upon it by a funhog like me - even if I radically moderate my lifestyle?

You see, no matter how positive the outlook, these fancy new knees are only designed (as one surgeon put it) "to help 80-year-old men get to the toilet without too much pain." Alas, they haven't yet conceived of an all-terrain model for us younger geezers...

And the kicker, dear reader, is that I still have to replace the damn thing in a decade. But that's only if I'm reasonable. If I play too hard, my surgeon warns, that time period could be much shorter. Yuck. What a prospect.

Which brings me to the subject at hand. As a mid-1950s baby, I sit smack-dab in the middle of the loudest, most indulged generation of modern times: the baby boomers. We also make up the biggest proportion of skier/riders in the history of snowsports. Indeed, if it weren't for us, the "ski industry" would still likely be a mom-and-pop business dominated by floppy-hatted mountain enthusiasts and muesli-munching snoweaters. Which, in retrospect, perhaps wouldn't be such a bad thing...

But my generation did happen. And we moved in like fleas on a mutt's back. Raised in the wild-west economy of mid-20 th century America, we were the recipients of more free time and more play opportunities than anyone before or since. We didn't wait for an invitation to get involved. We just figured all that fun was ours by divine right.

As for Whistler, the place was virtually colonized by boomers. Look around you. From Hugh Smythe to Paul Mathews, from Barrett Fisher to Brad Sills, Drew Meredith to Ken Melamed, the movers-and-shakers in this valley have overwhelmingly been post-war born.

And that's what made its charm in the early years. The people who ran Whistler were young. They were bold and irreverent and passionate and fun. And that's what drew so many newcomers to this community. It was a social experiment worth getting involved with. A wild and crazy mountain adventure in which to partake.

And what an adventure it became. Riding the seemingly endless wave of boomer demand, developers cut up this valley like junkies at a shooting gallery. New lifts, new homes, new hotels, new restaurants: more was always better. Growth was everything. You didn't get it if you didn't support more development at Whistler. You were a Luddite. Or worse, a whining tree-hugger.

But now the adventure needs a re-write. The Baby Boomers are getting old. They're tired. Looking for mellower buzzes, they're dropping out of the sport like lemmings off a cliff. Even die-hard snoweaters like me are having to revise their plans in regards to future mountain play. Unfortunately, there's no one behind to pick up the slack.

So where does that leave this grand behemoth of a monument to boomer culture - this place we call Whistler? Well, that's the million-dollar question, isn't it?

Too big and too industrial to really connect with the boomer's children (the so-called "Millenials") - and never really a solid hit with gen-X'ers - Whistler still depends largely on those ageing 40- and 50-year-olds with the still-deep pockets and Peter Pan attitudes. But it's only a matter of time...

So what's the solution? Re-invent the experience, I say. Dare to think dangerously. Whistler Blackcomb still boasts an incredible physical plant. There are few places in the world, in fact, that are so well-suited to mountain play. But its current management is stuck in Boomer thinking. And I fear that conceptual constipation is going to kill this place unless something is done about it soon.

It's a fascinating paradox. The more stuff we build on the mountain, the more we overwhelm the distinctive magic to be found there. Yet "progress" is always associated with building "more stuff." Especially at WB. Why is that?

I'm just riffing on a theme, you know, but wouldn't it be fun if progress here became associated with taking stuff down instead of building stuff up?

Remember the days when you had to hike to make turns in the alpine? Remember when everything above timberline was fair game to those who climbed for their powder? Seems like so long ago now. But it's not, really. Some of my best days this past winter were spent hiking up Whistler Mountain when storms shut down the upper lifts.

You know, those days when the wind is swirling madly around you and visibility is just past your nose? When your skis slide silently between the sheets of the new storm snow, so clean, so effortless, that it almost feels like you're dreaming standing up? And you can't help but smile at the shadow of yet another rider who chooses to hike for her turns. Can't help but nod in her direction as she disappears into the storm. Aren't those the days that stick in your memory best? Aren't those the truly memorable moments?

So what would happen, I wonder, if some of our upper-mountain lifts suddenly disappeared one day.

Say what? Shut down the alpine lifts? Sounds crazy doesn't it? And no, they haven't started my morphine drip yet. Just park your scepticism for a moment and listen. Imagine a Whistler experience without the Peak or Harmony Chairs. You want to go ski bumps in the alpine? No problem. You can hit 7th Heaven and Glacier Chair to your heart's content. Nothing has changed over there. It's business a usual.

But on Whistler Mountain, it's a whole other story. The chairlifts stop at timberline. If you want to go further, you have to climb. Which means that if you're willing to hike a mere 1,000 feet of vertical (less than 300 metres - doesn't even sound that far), you're pretty much assured of hitting fresh tracks on just about any incline you point your board towards. More importantly, you also get to experience the subtle pleasures of walking uphill in a stunningly beautiful alpine setting.

Sounds counter-intuitive, doesn't it? After all, most snowsport resorts are still desperately trying to stuff as many uphill transportation devices on their mountains as they can. But that's the point? Whistler has always distinguished itself by marching to the beat of its own drum. Whistlerites have never been afraid to set their own agenda.

And now is definitely the time to be different. Maybe WB can even start a new trend by being the first mountain resort to decommission lifts for "socio-ecological" reasons. Who knows? Stranger things have happened...