February 13

‘Windchill of minus 25 in the alpine’ screamed the headline on the Big White website. There it was in bold letters surrounded by red on the top of the page. It was a warning, a caution for those that feared the biting cold. I texted my neighbour Brad and wondered if he had taken his two sons and headed to the mountain.

His answer was no. Too cold for his kids.

I told him the Gem lake chair was closed for the week due to the sub-zero temperatures. The possibility of fresh snow snuck into our minds. Would it be as cold as they warned? We could dress for it…

Both Brad and I have spent many winters riding the slopes of frozen ski hills. My friend grew up skiing Powder King in Northern BC and I learned to ride the frigid slopes of the Alberta Rockies. Minus 25 C didn’t seem that cold, especially when we dressed for it.

By ten in the morning, we were on the road and headed to our mountain paradise. With extra clothes and a sense of adventure, we left kids and wives behind. A day skiing seemed a long shot better than the chores that hung over our heads. Brad cranked up the new Pretty Reckless CD and we rocked the road into the sky.

On the drive to the hill, it became clear most sane people had heeded the warning from the experts and STAYED HOME.

Some people take the safe way in life and stay indoors when the temps dropped into the minus twenties. Brad and I looked forward to a chance at fresh tracks and no lines.

We were rewarded.

At eleven in the morning, we pulled into the half-empty parking lot. We backed up to a spot in the front row right beside the quad chair that services the West Ridge part of Big White. No one was in line and we felt like we had arrived at our own private ski hill.

I have been spoiled over the years having a condo to ski from, but this weekend renters were in and I was out. It was a good chance to relive the old times when we would drive to the ski hill and change in the parking lot. A one-hour drive was a lot better than the adventure of driving two hours from Calgary to Lake Louise in a snowstorm on the Trans-Canada Highway. Back then we were fighting traffic and watching for cops. It was a race track road until someone lost control. Then it became a lot longer drive, usually on the way home.

With excitement and some amount of trepidation, we slid straight onto the chair. It is always suspicious when there is no line on a Saturday. Even back in the day at Sunshine Ski Hill, there was a line for the chair on a Saturday, no matter what the weather.

Memories of ski adventures past disappeared from my mind as we crested the last hill and entered the alpine of Big White. The wind buffeted us and I felt like an explorer seeking the peak of some high mountain. We held on for the last five minutes on the lift as the blast of cold air threatened to sap the heat from our bones. Fortunately, we listened to the warning sign on the website and I was cozy inside my gear. It was one time that I was happily wearing a mask.

We arrived at the top of the chair and the wind was blowing so hard it pushed us towards the Sun Ripe Bowl; no poling required. Visibility was great and I felt an energy course through my body. It is a power that always fills me when I feel the connection of the skis on my feet with the snow beneath.

The wind-scoured slopes at the top were fast and treacherous. Once we dropped down into the bowl we found carve-able blooms of windswept lines. My knee immediately reminded me that it still was not fully healed from my early season crash. I held on and pushed back against the pain. As they say; no pain, no gain…

Our first run down the wind-blown slopes brought us below the tree line. That’s when we found what we were seeking. We pounced into fresh snow and dreamy lines. Blue Ribbon had been groomed and was still relatively untouched. On the outer edges of the run, there were boot deep turns in light fluffy powder. Brad ducked into the trees and I could hear him hoot and holler in excitement. After our first run, we agreed the drive was worth it and we continued on our day.

We decided to search more tree lines for fresh snow. But the alpine winds had beaten us to the untouched powder. It was like skiing on a crusty topping of frozen Ice cream. It was fast and it was hard. Lower down we found some fresh snow, lying tucked beside the trees. It was a magical connection with elusive turns in fresh snow. We rode the windblown slopes and searched for fresh tracks in the mountain wonderland.

While others sheltered from the cold, Brad and I lived for the day. In the Coronaverse sometimes it’s all we can do.