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Pique n' your interest

Take a time out

Although it’s probably there for safety reasons, the sound of the bell that rings every time a chairlift starts up always reminds me of the opening bell of a boxing match.

When said chairlift is all that stands between you and 30 centimetres of fresh powder, the boxing analogy is even more appropriate. The battle has begun.

Last season was unusual for Whistler in that the powder days tended to happen at all at once, and were separated by long dry stretches. When we did get snow, high winds and low visibility often kept the alpine closed for days at a time.

The result was an elevated state of skier and snowboarder anxiety, verging on the edge of panic. People waiting for buses and congregating in lift corrals knew they only had a matter of hours to gorge themselves on powder before all the best lines would be tracked out. The stress was palpable.

That anxiety triggered a thinly veiled form of powder rage that would sometimes boil over. Angry words and nasty looks were exchanged. Snowballs were thrown. Friends turned on friends like the tribe turned on Piggy in Lord of the Flies.

It’s an interesting and sometimes frightening phenomenon, and though I’d like to pretend that I’m immune to the mass hysteria that gives birth to powder rage, I’ve found myself muttering under my breath on more than one occasion, wishing everybody ahead of me in line would disappear.

Rather than focusing on the positive, e.g. a veritable s–load of new snow to play in, I focused on the negatives – e.g. the lift lines are too long, somebody poached my favourite line, and it’s all going to be tracked out by noon. Negative statements were usually followed by idle threats to move to the Interior, or empty promises to invest in some backcountry gear.

Simply put, powder is an addiction. There’s no other way to explain why so many people are willing to sacrifice so much time and money, risking life and limb, just to ski or ride a few lines of fresh stuff.

Some guys move to small ski towns in the middle of winter knowing full well that the ratio of men to women is 2 to 1 or worse, and they’re in for a long and lonely winter. Why? Because powder is better than sex.

Some of those ski towns are found in the state of Utah, which means powder is also better than drugs, alcohol and fast dancing.

The worst thing about this powder addiction is that there doesn’t seem to be a cure – not that anybody would take one if it existed.

We can, however, try to control the symptoms, mastering our anxiety and the rage that turns ordinarily good people into selfish jerks.

The first step is to admit you have a problem.

How do you know if you’re a powder addict?

Easy. You’re a powder addict if you’ve ever lined up more than two hours waiting for the alpine to open.

You’re a powder addict if you’ve ever complained about the crowds poaching your best lines before you even got to the lifts.

You’re a powder addict if you’ve ever gone out of bounds to Khybers or Peak to Creek on your very first run of the day.

You’re a powder addict if you’ve ever raced someone up the steps to Spanky’s Ladder or up the road to the Blackcomb Glacier.

You’re a powder addict if you’ve ever abandoned a friend, lover or family member because they were holding you back.

You’re a powder addict if you’ve ever ignored the download stations in early/late season to cut a few powder turns in the "Ski at Your Own Risk" areas, only to have to walk most of the way down.

You’re a powder addict if you’ve ever contemplated joining ski patrol just because they get to open the alpine areas.

If you wake up to the avalanche bombs on a powder day more panicked than excited, you’re a powder addict.

If you’ve ever worn your thermals to bed to save precious seconds changing in the morning, you’re a powder addict.

If you’ve ever skipped breakfast, lunch and badly needed washroom breaks because you didn’t want to miss a second of a powder day, you’re a veritable powder junkie and at greater risk of dehydration, low blood sugar, and wearing Depends for the rest of your life.

To deal with your powder addiction, I recommend taking the following steps.

1. In the morning, while you’re waiting in the lift line, close your eyes and try to picture where you would be if not in Whistler – probably waiting in a line of cars somewhere, and the only powder you’ll see all day is the coating on your jelly doughnut.

2. Give the people ahead of you some space. Contrary to what you might believe, riding on the backs of their skis and snowboards will not get you up the lift any faster.

3. Talk to the folks in lift-lines and on the chairs. You’ll soon realize that they are real people just like you, and not just annoying obstacles to your enjoyment.

4. If coaches and ski instructors move to the front of the line using lift line priority, resist the urge to throw snowballs. Console yourself with the fact that the poor bastards spend the majority of their powder days riding the Magic Chair.

5. Don’t be jealous of ski patrollers, and push away suspicions that they’re keeping the alpine closed so they can get a few more runs in. There’s no conspiracy there. They get the odd fresh line, sure, but most of the time they’re putting up fences, marking hazards, doing avalanche control, and testing slope stability. Once the lifts open, the injuries will start to pile up, and they get to spend the rest of their day pulling toboggans around the mountain while you ride and ski safely.

6. Make peace with your addiction. Whistler-Blackcomb is one of the top mountain resorts in the world and it can get busy here. We also attract a large number of highly skilled ski and snowboard enthusiasts that are more than capable of riding the same terrain as you. The sooner you come to terms with that concept, and the idea that no secret stash can stay secret forever, the sooner you’ll start to enjoy yourself.

At the end of the day, the only thing we can really control up there is our attitude. We powder junkies have one hell of a monkey on our backs – let’s make the most of it.