The World Ski and Snowboard Festival is almost upon us and that can mean only one thing - the end of the winter season is in sight.
Alright, fair enough, it means more than one thing. It means great bands pumping music through the village streets. It means rock stars performing superstar tricks on the mountain. It means filmmaker showdowns, big air comps, pro-photographer searches.
And what it really means is that Whistler is set to go off for about 10 days.
BUT hang on a second, what the hell happened to the winter?
To be totally honest, I feel entirely cheated by the 2002/'03 season.
First of all, we got totally ripped off by the first month of winter when we waited and waited and waited for the snow to come.
All anyone talked about was how this was the worst start to the winter season in decades. It was depressing.
Moods turned sour as Mother Nature continued to be wholly unco-operative. Business owners started to panic with thoughts of empty stores over the Christmas holidays. Whistler-Blackcomb bought 10 new snow guns to fill in patches on the mountain, determined to get snow to the valley floor for the tourists they hoped were still coming to visit.
And then there were the hordes of young workers who descended upon Whistler with the promise of great skiing and riding, as well as the lure of jobs. They were slowly disappointed as the Whistler economy got off to a sluggish seasonal start, not to mention the fact that the beginners were nursing some sore bodies. Learning to snowboard on those early season conditions couldn't have been too much fun.
Every time I saw the first wipe outs of the season, I was thankful that I had puffy powder to brace my many falls in November 2001. Don't get me wrong, it still hurt like hell and I spent a good portion of December in a permanent daze and a strict regime of Ibuprofen, but I'm sure it was a lot easier than learning on ice or man-made snow of early December 2002.
So with aching muscles and bruised bones some of these newcomers from the Southern Hemisphere stared out at the office windows, wondering if they would see their first white Christmas. It seemed like a long shot.
Those were some bleak times leading up to Christmas 2002. Remember?
And then it happened. A day that's going down in my history books, Christmas Day 2002, as the day I finally figured out what powder was all about.
I'll even be as bold to say that those seven hours on Blackcomb that day actually made up for the previous three weeks of tense waiting around for the snow to fall.
And that just about sums up my season right there - long weeks of waiting for something good, finally getting something great, only to have it snapped away again.
There were some pretty crappy days getting soaked to the bone at the Emerald Chair or being buffeted around in gale force winds at the Roundhouse, punctuated by some truly memorable days of powder or shining sun.
Here's a perfect example. Just recently we broke the three-metre mark for our snow base and then soon after it rained to the top of the mountain. Where is the justice in that, I ask you?
There hasn't been anything consistent about the 2002/03 season.
And now it's April. And it rained all last weekend. And I'm ready to go mountain biking.
That's not to say I won't be getting some spring skiing in.
I'm looking forward to those days of sun wearing a sweatshirt on the mountain, goggles replaced by sunglasses, sunscreen plastered all over my face.
It's just that the mood around here has changed. There's a definite sense of things winding down. There's a pervading feeling that it's all ending for another year.
It's not just the WSSF, the festival of all festivals, marking the end of the season. All of the regular indicators are here too.
The good-byes gave already started. This is perhaps the worst part of the winter winding down.
Aussies, Brits, Yanks and Kiwis, who were guaranteed for a good laugh on the town, are packing up and shipping out. For many of them the adventure continues, or they're off to their "real world" back home, to settle down to "real" jobs and get serious. Their season on the snow is over.
Inevitably there are farewell dinners and too many farewell drinks. E-mails are exchanged and parents' addresses are passed around because, let's face it, most of them aren't going anywhere anytime soon, unlike their kids who never know where they may end up.
There are good-bye hugs and the promises to stay in touch get more and more vehement as the cocktails get tastier and tastier.
Sure, there's an upside. With friends all around the world, you know you've got places to stay.
But still, it's hard saying good-bye to close friends.
Another sure sign that winter is over is the complete change in conversation.
Tales of jaunts through Spanky's or Khyber's have been replaced with worries over finding the funds for new disc breaks or better armour. On top of that, people are already out there biking. One co-worker rode Trash on the weekend and by all accounts it was great.
I'm thinking about Loonie Races, Shit Happens, Train Wreck and River Runs Through It. I'm thinking about beers on the back deck. I'm thinking about camping trips.
I'm ready to say good-bye to winter. Now, if I can just get through the rainy shoulder season I should be alright.
