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Beyond the lifts – Finding a little soul at Sol

"Are you ready for some powder skiing?" Aaron Cooperman's daily morning greeting. The silence is near total. All I can hear is the soft swish of my ski skins against the snow.
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"Are you ready for some powder skiing?"

Aaron Cooperman's daily morning greeting.

 

The silence is near total. All I can hear is the soft swish of my ski skins against the snow. Every now and then the faint beep-beep of my transceiver imposes its electronic pulse on the local soundscape. But nothing else intrudes on my solitude.

I stop and take a deep breath. Let the view entrance my eyes. Up ahead a fairytale peak, almost perfect in its pyramidal geometry. Beyond that, in the distance, a miasma of un-named summits, steep, snow-pasted and remote. Nearer, a scrum of balsam, hunkered together against the forces of winter. And on and on and on and on. It's beautiful.

I can feel my heart beating solidly against my chest. Feel the good ache of legitimate effort in my muscles. Another half hour of climbing, I remind myself, and I'll be standing on my first summit of the day. My face slowly spreads into a smile of pleasure. I've arrived. Peace descends upon me.

Backcountry skiing. Earning your own turns. Climbing for your powder. For some, those words evoke a fate worse than death. What? Ski without a chairlift? No way! Climb all day just to get the vertical you might get in two full-mountain runs at Whistler? Never! Break into a sweat before you even descend? You gotta be crazy...

But for a growing subset of snoweaters, the self-propelled ski-trip model is the only responsible way to go. And it's a no-brainer for most. Featuring a more balanced cocktail of endorphins and adrenaline - and a contemplative aspect that is hard to resist once you've experienced it - 21 st century ski touring offers one of the most fun ways to explore a mountain place in winter without leaving a huge ecological footprint behind.

And its appeal is definitely spreading. From baby boomers to millennials, from casual bike racers to hardcore triathletes, the list of backcountry skiers is expanding faster right now than any other segment of the ski and snowboard industry.

Surprised? You shouldn't be. Ski touring is real, man. You can't fake it. At the end of the day, you've either climbed enough to soothe your downhill habit - or you haven't. It's all about self-empowerment. And desire. And curiosity of course. But mostly it's about fitness... the mental and physical fitness it takes to step up and take responsibility for your own upward journey.

But modern ski touring has more going for it than just its return-to-basics philosophy. And with the proliferation of commercial mountain operations springing up across the province in recent times, the range of self-propelled adventures available out there has never been more diverse - or enchanting.

Take my stay at Sol Mountain Lodge recently. Poised on a sun-kissed plateau on the far western flank of the Southern Monashees (almost exactly halfway between Vernon and Revelstoke), the four-year old lodge is the dream project of ACMG guide Aaron Cooperman, his wife Sabine and their partner and friend Dave Flear.

But let's listen to Cooperman tell the story.

"When we first explored the region," Aaron tells me, "we were a little let-down. Where were those classic 2000-foot faces that we needed? Where were the monster peaks that we could use to attract people here? The terrain just didn't seem big enough back then."

He stops. Smiles. "But we had nothing to worry about. You see, the more we hiked and skied and flew around the proposed tenure - the more it divulged its secrets - the more we realized the place offered the ideal layout for the kind of operation we envisioned."

Indeed. Consider the placement of the lodge. "We looked at a lot of different spots," explains Cooperman. "But in the end we went for sunshine and views." No question. Nestled in a grove of fir trees, right in the interstice between alpine meadow and subalpine forest, the lodge inhabits a unique geographical zone. It's a place esteemed landscape architect Eldon Beck calls an "ecotone," a sector of overlapping influences that features a more richly textured environment than either of its compositional parts.

I don't know all the theoretical work behind it -  and I'm sure there are countless papers written on the subject - but it certainly works at Sol. The morning light at the lodge is spectacular while sunsets are entirely magical. Just sitting in the yoga room stretching and grokking on the local scenery is an exercise in pleasure. And whether or not Aaron and his partners did it on purpose, the result of all their hard work is a lodge experience that just feels right in its day-to-day functioning. "I tell my guests all the time," says Aaron, a quick grin flitting across his visage, "this place is overflowing with feng shui..."

I bet. Just cresting 40, Cooperman is a perpetual motion machine of positive energy. Always up, always keen for an adventure, the boyish-looking mountain entrepreneur mostly looks like he doesn't have a care in the world. But don't be fooled. He and spouse Sabine have bet their family's future on the success of Sol Mountain Lodge.

With two young kids in tow, Seth and Josee, the challenge of keeping all their different business balls in the air is daunting to say the least - especially given the high risks inherent in this kind of venture. But to see the couple in action at the lodge - the way Aaron handles his clients' needs and wishes with a joke and a smile; the way Sabine quietly (and competently) manages the lodge's day-to-day issues - one would be forgiven for thinking that the place had been in the family for generations...

"This has been a dream-come-true for me," continues Aaron. And then he laughs. "I'm a total ski bum at heart. My goal has always been to fit as many powder turns into my day as possible. And this job suits me perfectly. As I tell my wife all the time: 'It's the only thing I'm certified to do, honey...'"

But then he gets serious again. "When we built our first lodge back in '04, we didn't know if the terrain could even support a week's worth of ski touring. But we decided to invest $100,000 in the project and go for it anyway." He pauses. "The lodge was pretty basic back then. But our operational philosophy was very simple: 'We want our guests to never want to leave.'" He laughs again. "And we did all we could to make sure that's exactly how they felt by the end of their stay."

It must have worked. And there must have been adequate skiing. For two years later, in the summer of 2006, the partners embarked on the building of the "real" Sol Mountain Lodge. "It was a huge job," explains Cooperman. "But it came together pretty nicely. We now have sleeping accommodations for 16 guests. And enough room at the lodge to keep everyone comfortable for a week."

Another little-kid grin. "But the big surprise," he says, "has been the terrain. We never realized just how much diversity we had in our tenure. It's been the icing on our cake..."

Still, it's not an easy business to succeed at. From becoming experts in land management issues (and government negotiations) to handling mountain safety concerns (and guests' health problems) to dealing with stratospheric helicopter transport bills (he says it costs him about $2/pound to bring things in and out of the lodge), the risks associated with putting together a backcountry program like the one at Sol Mountain are stratospheric.

But Cooperman is not the kind of guy to be intimidated by the merely challenging. "I think we've turned the corner now," he explains. "We've got a pretty good reputation with our clients and we're getting lots of calls from newcomers. People realize what we have here now. They know our terrain kicks ass. They're confident we'll take good care of them." He stops. Sighs heavily. "It's still frustrating though. On the one hand the provincial government talks about wanting to double and triple the size of tourism in this province. On the other, they keep raising our fees and increasing our taxes. That's certainly not the way to financial success...."

That's neither here nor there however. For I have just reached the crest of my climb. Below me is 1,200 vertical feet of untouched powder. The slope dips and doodles and dances down the fall-line like a vertical poem written just for me. Steep and rolly and inviting as all get-out.  It kind of reminds me of Whistler Mountain's Gunbarrels in the old days - or the back of Crystal Chair after a big dump. Only way more open; way more Kootenay-ish in spirit. The snow is soft here, almost thigh-deep when I step out of my skis, but dense, quasi-bouncy. In other words, it's going to be one heck of a fine descent.

I strip my skis of their climbing skins, switch my bindings to "descend" mode, pull my goggles over my head and take another deep breath. I wonder what the lift skiers are doing today...

 

For more information on backcountry adventures see www.solmountain.com