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Pique n' your interest

11 hours to freedom

I had a revelation on the mountain the other day. I was standing on the top of a ridge, checking out the untouched powder field below me and enjoying the silence while I buckled into my snowboard. There was no one else around except for the people in my group, and there were plenty of nice lines to go around.

This, I said to myself, was how things ought to be.

And there I was – in-bounds, a mere five minute skate from the top of the chairlift, and I was having a backcountry moment. Nobody was going to steal this from me.

The only catch was that it took 11 hours of driving to get to this place, the distance from Whistler to Nelson in rain and foggy conditions. It’s a long way to go, but worth it for a few powder runs.

Powder is the greatest substance in the world, and it’s as important to some mountain people as air and water. Sometimes it feels like there’s not enough to go around, and that’s when the Whistler powder hounds panic.

The Whitewater Winter Resort is just a small valley with two ridges serviced by a pair of old two-seater chairs. One of these chairs is the old Olive Chair from Whistler Mountain, and my girlfriend was excited to see it again.

She has been coming to Whistler her whole life, and remembers when a powder day actually lasted a whole day, long before the mountains had, or needed, an hourly lift capacity for 50,000.

The good ol’ days that misty-eyed locals all tell you about aren’t gone, they just moved inland.

Both chairs access long ridges, and a lot of different types of terrain. There were steeps, chutes, rock slopes and tree runs that are reminiscent of Khyber’s Pass, as well as huge features to huck yourself off at almost every turn. All runs lead back to the two chairs, where our longest lineup of the day was about five minutes.

It was a Saturday with close to 20 centimetres of snow over the 48 hours, and there were maybe 500 people there by the early afternoon. In the morning there was almost no wait at all.

My girlfriend and I were with a couple of locals who really couldn’t understand why we were so ramped up that morning. They were calm, and took their time getting ready. Instead of staring down the other skiers in the lift line, they said hello to them – and meant it! Didn’t they comprehend that there was fresh snow out there?

There was powder in the morning, and there was powder in the afternoon. After one snowfall, they said they can ski powder for a whole week if they want, with a little traversing and light hiking. There was no rush simply because there is no rush.

It was a forgotten experience for both of us. They almost didn’t believe us when we explained to them how a typical powder day works in Whistler:

You wake up early, and get in line at least 15 minutes before the lifts open. The avalanche bombs add a sense of urgency to the morning, and the other skiers almost look as if they’re in pain – like junkies who are going to start screaming in a minute if they don’t get their fix.

You have to have a plan because the snow goes fast. While you discuss your options with your friends, you talk quietly so you don’t give the others in line any ideas, and increase the level of competition. When the lifts open, you watch the line carefully to make sure that nobody butts in front of you. And if any of your friends are late, fall down, or get stuck it’s soyanara – the first rule of a Whistler powder day is that there are no friends on a powder day. It’s cruel, but they’d do the same to you.

When you finally get up the mountain, you go as fast as you can on your first run to get an early start on the crowd for your second run. Once again planning is key.

After a couple of runs, you wait in line for the alpine to open unless things are too rough up top to expect that. A regular weekday crowd can lay lines over the entire alpine area in less than an hour and will completely track out most areas by the end of the day.

To find powder on the day after a power day, you have to go out of bounds or into some really tight trees. I know of a few stashes, but I’d rather die than reveal them.

The last time I went up for a powder day on Whistler, a week ago Thursday, the group I was with rode the T-bars until the alpine area opened up. After our third run, I noticed looking over the ridge that the Harmony Chair was turning.

"Hey, Harmony’s open," I called out to my friends.

"Shut-up!" said one.

"What, are you new here?" asked the other. Then they turned away in disgust.

I felt like pointing out that every single person in the T-bar line would see for themselves that Harmony was up and running once they got to the top, but I understood where they were coming from. The people in front of them in line might not have noticed for some reason, and might wind up creaming us out the next run. I apologized and was appropriately humbled for my gaff.

Up top we noticed that the Peak Chair was also turning, so we bee-lined straight down to get into line. While we were moving through the gates, the first skier came over the edge of Shale Slope. It was spectacular. He made two long turns coming down the face, spraying a plume of fresh snow behind him.

Some people in line whooped with joy at the sight. Then someone yelled out "bastard!" – it might have been me actually – and everyone started laughing. Laughing bitterly. By the time the 10th skier was down Shale Slope, people were already grumbling.

Part of us was genuinely happy for the first skiers down the slope, but part of us hated them, too, and wanted to see them faceplant.

We took a lap of the front side, then made plans – on our second run of the Peak Chair no less – to go under the rope and out of bounds. We were not the first group to have this idea, so we raced as fast as we could into the trees, where there was nothing but powder.

As we were doing a bit of hiking to get to the top of a ridge, I saw a group pull up behind us. We had maybe a minute head-start on them.

"Move!" I yelled, and we buckled up in record speed.

It was a fantastic, but rather than enjoy the moment with sweeping powder turns, we pretty much straight-lined our way down to the point where our lines once again merged with others.

Powder days are stressful in Whistler, but then they have to be if you want to ride the fresh powder.

It’s sad but true, but the best day I’ve ever had here was in December of 2001 when a blizzard closed the highway and kept the day-trippers and tourists in Squamish. I wish that kind of thing would happen more often.

So what have I become?

I asked that question in Nelson, but nobody knew the answer.