In Search of White Gold
There really is nothing quite like a day travelling through snowy mountains with your snowboard.
March 2017 - Full shaka stoke On the Pemberton Ice Cap
I will fiercely argue this point with any rock climber, mountain biker, kayaker, surfer, Buddhist monk, raver, NFL quarterback, rock star, porn star, or Gang Starr. I have not had the experience of holding my own child in my hands, but to be honest, I’m quite suspicious of that experience as well. My snowboard has never shit itself, kept me up at night crying, nor will I ever have to worry about an older greasy drug dealing snowboard trying to date it.
But I have to admit that I cannot definitively say to a parent that they were wrong about little Thomas, and that they foolishly wasted decades of their life better spent snowboarding. Though for now, I’ll keep assuming I’ve made the right choices so far.
Skiers have a decent case, but sorry gang, snowboarding is just more fun. You can remind me I said that when you happily ski past me wallowing in the snow, stuck in the flats. At least I’ll have all that extra time to sweat and think about what to write about in my fucking blog…
December 20th, 2019 - Squamish - A late start to the season had things looking very green in the valley
Same day, higher elevation
The 2019-2020 Winter Season started out with the worst run in recent memory. The positive spin was that the dry clear weather made for great Autumn mountain biking, and I was so busy with work clients that I didn’t have the chance to get stressed. But by the time we were into late December, I was starting to get a bit squirrely. An short mission up Brohm Ridge, provided a good opportunity for early season gear adjustments. We were blessed with just enough of a break in the clouds to get a fun little sled roop in very deep and heavy coastal snow, beneath the imposing massif of Garibaldi-Atwell, overseers of Squamish and the upper reaches of Howe Sound.
Dylan looking for the next front coming in to fill in the early season conditions. Mount Garibaldi lurks behind.
Fortunately, only a few days later, we managed to catch that beautiful alignment of sunny skies and fresh snow. The pack was still very low, but with the help of our trusty snow ponies, we were able to get up into Tricouni Meadows to quickly farm a number of 200m runs in the morning before the warming sun baked our south facing treasure.
Garibali-Atwell - Lords of Squamish. Brohm Ridge from a few days prior snaking down off the front side.
Following a break for Christmas, and some time spent in Squamish waiting for conditions to improve as the Coast just kept getting more wet, I decided to take a proactive approach to setting up a base camp in a more northerly and cooler clime. Picking a clear day on the roads, Nootka and I dragged Winston the Argosy up to Pemberton for the season, and met Brian T. from Calgary, who had continued down to the wet coast from Revelstoke just to drag my sorry ass back to that very same interior town days later when conditions on the just were not lining up.
Winston feeling quite small under the gaze of the Pemberton’s resident bad boy - Mt. Currie
Greasy Snoot, attempting to warm up in Winston on a chilly evening.
After a cold night in Winston, and a late morning recovery sleep, we made an attempt to get a half day ski tour in at Hanging Lake, just south of Whistler. The conditions looked very sub-optimal, with wet snow and minimal coverage at the base, so we opted for a short hike around Alexander Falls, also in the Callaghan area.
You know you’re an obsessive dog parent when you have 15 good photos of your pup on a walk to a waterfall, but none of the waterfall itself.
With the coastal forecast continuing to look grim, and what looked like an entire province worth of white fluffy stuff condensing around Revelstoke, we decided the best course of action was to head inland. Brian’s patience with my next-level faffing during this week is deserving of a medal. In my defence, I was single parenting a 1 year old hyper-social Goldendoodle, and my life was rather in a state of turmoil. After a heavily medicated 9:30pm crash on New Years Eve fighting a cold, I welcomed in the next decade with a series of fever dreams and an early alarm wake-up, swinging through North Vancouver to collect Mike M. for the journey eastward.
The masses hiking the recently opened sub-peak at Revelstoke Mountain Resort
As the avalanche danger was sitting quite high, my single parent status with the pup, and the fact that I had never visited the ski hill, we opted for a day at Revelstoke Mountain Resort. We found some pow stashes in the trees, good times were had slashing up groomers and jumping off things, and I appreciated the fact that lift tickets were a “reasonable” $109 instead of Whistlers $185, alongside comparably minuscule lift lines.
It snows a fair bit in Revelstoke. We got to see that first hand. Taking things slow with the significant avy risk, we spent a day shovelling out the house of our gracious hosts, Lucas and Robyn. I took Noots cross country skiing, where a minor altercation with one of the staff with respect to Nootka’s manners on an off-leash trail escalated to us making a somewhat early departure. Didn’t think I was still cool enough to get kicked out of places like a Nordic Centre…
The next day we ventured out in search of our real objective of the trip: steep and deep backcountry skiing and snowboarding. The ski out was a bit grim, but boy was it ever good up high. A true bucket list tick for me, touring among ancient massive cedars in majestic primary forest. The large spacing between these sentinels of time creates a cathedral-like open atmosphere when moving up the skin track. I’ll likely say this many times here, but there is a magic to the mountains in winter, covered in clean white lines, deathly quiet.
Days like this really help relax about a winter season that can be consumed by an obsession to get out and charge every possible moment you can. Friends, work, partners, responsibilities, personal hygiene, all take a back seat when the Mad Pow Disease strikes. I’m working hard on my “modified Buddhist” approach, where I try to push away the desire to constantly search for the next rush, the next hit, the next adventure, and be present in the moment. Paradoxically, happiness is something I’ve really struggled with over the years, primarily due to the angst-ridden existential crisis that is my brain. Avoid focus on the past and future, instead being content with what you have now.
But this addiction runs deep. It’s snowing again, and like I said, there really is nothing else like quite like it.