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Homecoming – Glimpses of a new Whistler

Compromise. Not an easy concept to master for a hard-headed sports-warrior intent on his own adventures.
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Compromise. Not an easy concept to master for a hard-headed sports-warrior intent on his own adventures. But pair him up with a just-as-stubborn female (whose earthy wisdom regularly trumps his bad-boy cleverness), and suddenly compromise, as opposed to out-and-out defeat, doesn't look so bad...

I never planned on living in Vancouver full-time. My community - the place where my friends, my activities, my interests converged - was Whistler. Had been since the early 1970s when I first moved here to teach skiing for Jim McConkey and pursue my own high-mountain dreams. At best, I was only semi-civilized. Give me a good bushwack or a long climb into the alpine or even a tough ski tour on my own and I was happy. Sure, I could handle people. But only in small doses. My heart yearned for wild places; my soul called for backcountry epiphanies.

Whistler, with its lofty peaks and old logging trails - its easy alpine access and seemingly limitless big-mountain terrain - was just the place for a guy with my particular proclivities. Within moments of leaving the village I could doff my human skin and let my bear nature take over. Whether on my skis, on my bike - or even on-foot - there were adventures to be had around every corner here. I looked forward to growing old among my Whistler funhog buddies. Looked forward to being the little ol' guy you catch sight of occasionally on the local summits.

And then I met Wendy.

Sporty, smart, and sexy as all get-out, my fourth-generation Vancouver vixen had her roots so entwined in the rich soil of the Fraser River delta that I knew right away it would be near-impossible to cajole her north to live full-time at Whistler. A skier since she could walk, Wendy wasn't opposed to spending lots of quality time up here. She just felt too constrained by the narrowness of the valley to make it her permanent home; felt too hemmed-in, she said, by the incessant rain and clouds of winter to consider settling here for good. So we decided to compromise. At least I thought it was a compromise...

For one of Wendy's many gifts was her ability to make you think you'd come to a joint decision when in fact you were simply acceding to her wishes. Still, we both bought into it. As long as I travelled the world, as long as I pursued my adventure-writing career in far-off places like Greenland and Patagonia, "we" decided that home base would remain Vancouver. Though hard for me to get my head around it at first, it was a decision that I could live with. Our kids would benefit from the best schooling available, Wendy would be able to pursue her academic adventures at nearby UBC, and the airport shuttle would remain a short one for me.

Besides, I loved this woman to distraction. From the moment I set eyes on her, I knew Wendy was the one for me. Interesting, eh? Love or location? For me, it was a no-brainer. I knew I was a better person for having Wendy in my life. So what if I had to live in the Big Smoke and deal with endless rush-hour traffic and throat-scratching pollution and killer commutes to the mountains? With time, I figured, I could gently hack away at her Vancouver-holding roots. With the passing of the years, I was convinced I could eventually cajole her north to my community.

Few people truly understood our relationship. Wendy had her world - field hockey and consulting work and her Old-Vancouver social circle - and I had mine. We didn't live in each other's pocket. In fact, we were quite independent. But we still had much in common. We both believed in "healthy mind in healthy body"; we both were committed to the concept that the whole is always greater than the sum of its parts.

And it worked. It wasn't always smooth. And it wasn't always merry. But Wendy's good-humour and sensible decision-making prevailed. For 28 years, the Ladner-Beaudry alliance flourished. Our daughters grew into strong, healthy - and dare I say beautiful? - 21 st century versions of their mother. It seemed like we had found, if not the conventional path to success, than its imaginative, and much more satisfying, alternate route. Despite all the doubters, despite all our missteps, we were making it happen.

That, of course all came crashing down last April when someone decided to murder that bright ray of sunshine called Wendy Ladner-Beaudry. And now, here I am, stuck in Vancouver and wondering if it's too late to make the move back to Whistler where I belong...

For despite those three long decades - despite my travels to some of the most beautiful mountain settings on the planet - my one true community remains Whistler. My friends, my activities, my interests: they still all converge at this place. And I wouldn't be me without that connection.

My critics (and they are legion!) have bashed me for years for having the arrogance to comment on Whistler life without being a full-time resident here. And I understand their concerns. Still, to them I say: Ich bin ein Whistlerite! Always have been; always will be. A Whistlerite in exile, to be sure, but a Whistlerite nonetheless.

My complicated love for this place all came rushing back when I finally returned last weekend to lead a seminar at the Whistler Readers and Writers Festival. Last time I was up was for Shane McConkey's memorial at Dusty's; by the time I got back to Vancouver the next afternoon, my wife was dead. Think about that for a second. With no suspect on the horizon - and the hapless RCMP still in the dark as to motive or opportunity for Wendy's killing - leaving my daughters behind in Vancouver was one of the hardest things I've done in my life. But leave them I did.

And I was blown away by what I experienced. From the moment I negotiated the new stretch of highway above Horseshoe Bay - environmental blight or not, the "reveal" of Howe Sound on this section is truly impressive - I knew something was up. The incessant snake of cars driving north was another clue. Back in the day, September was just about the deadest month of the year at Whistler, a time where most local business owners took their holidays - or else reprised their annual plea to the bank for a little more leeway to pay off their loans...

But not now. Like a longstanding reno hidden under protective sheets, Sea to Sky country is finally being revealed in all its new pre-Olympic majesty. And people seem to like what they see. The village parking lots were full this past weekend. True, with everything going on around here - from the month of pain races and the Westside Wheelup to the aforementioned Readers and Writers Fest (not to mention the unseasonably warm September sun and hiker-friendly alpine) - that's not so surprising.

But what's surprising is the fact that long-time locals tell me most weekends this summer were just like this past one.

"This summer was the turning point as far as visitors go," says my Pique backpage colleague G.D. Maxwell. "We had more people visiting here this year than I've ever seen before. There was a real positive buzz in the village this summer. The place felt alive ."

His words were echoed by W/B bosses Doug Forseth and Dave Brownlie. Over an al fresco lunch at Portobello's, watching the hordes of armour-clad riders stroll by with helmets in hand and another vertical adventure in mind, both waxed positive on the growing sustainability of Whistler's summer business. "Sure, yield is a concern in the summer months," says Brownlie. "And there's no question that our summer traffic is different from our winter visitors - and poses some serious challenges in terms of pricing and brand positioning. But it's clear that village businesses are getting traction now in July and August. Some are even making good money." He laughs. Then quickly gets serious again. "Just watch," he says. "I think summer is going to play an increasingly positive role in Whistler's economic life."

But the buzz I felt this weekend wasn't just about summer. From the highly-anticipated public showing of the new athletes' village on Sunday (and the promising resident housing legacy there), to the new locals' neighbourhood rising out of Rainbow, it seems like another threshold has been finally reached at Whistler. "This new pool of affordable homes is going to make a really positive impact on the community," says Forseth. "Now young families can seriously consider living and working here for the long-term. It's going to bring a whole new social dynamic to the valley."

It felt good to come home. Felt good to see my friends who've been so supportive during the Hell-trip I've been on of late. Most importantly, it felt good to know that "community" still means something at Whistler. As we celebrated the birthday of local ski-and-cycle diva Cathy Jewett the other night at her house, I couldn't help but smile at the sight of Mayor Ken decked out in T-shirt and shorts walking from room-to-room picking up dirty dishes and taking them back to the kitchen for cleaning. How many other Olympic mayors, I wondered, still do busboy duty in their friends' homes?

Whistler style indeed...