Risky Business
“The two great risks are risking too much but also risking too little. That's for each person to decide. For me, not risking anything is worse than death.”
Legendary climber, photographer, and filmmaker, Jimmy Chin
I can safely state that appropriate and calculated risk taking has been one of the major catalyst for success and happiness in my lifetime. Many great experiences and professional achievements all come weighted heavily with a fear of the unknown, and the potential for failure. In countless cases over the years, through bad decisions or bad luck, those fears are realized and lead to failure. But even in many of these cases, learning and growth from these mistakes lead to a positive net change that help facilitate better decisions in the future.
I agree with Jimmy, that one of the scariest risks is not taking chances and opportunities now that lead to regret in the future. Opportunities that could have been taken were passed up, and since we only get one shot at life, those chances are forever lost.
My professional career path started with a giant risk undertaken at the incredibly naive young age of 17, when I made the decision to travel to Vancouver from Michigan to attend university at Simon Fraser University. Travelling that far away from home, from a sheltered suburban existence to a major city, considering how bad my decision making was at the time, was quite the gamble, and one I’m honestly somewhat surprised I survived.
Circa 2002: In 2021 I still haven’t figured out how to drink out of a wide mouth Nalgene without spilling all over myself
19 subsequent years of existence have seen many intense crossroads pass by. Good decisions were made, and many terrible ones too. But fortunately, the big risks have paid off, and I’m pretty stoked on the results.
Home Sweet Home
One recent major risk was taking on a massive house renovation during a global pandemic, and putting all of my life in a storage container in the driveway, and moving Winston up to the Whistler RV park for the winter as my primary living space. I guess I never really like taking the simple road…
Fortunately, it was a gamble that came with a pretty decent view from thenew digs.
Existence was a bit wee lonely at times, cooped up in 80 square feet of living, but I had good company, a healthy stream of Rusty Nails to stay warm on cold nights, and plenty to keep entertained.
At the same time, the entire planet was undergoing an unprecedented experiment in risk management strategy. Governments across the globe were attempting to find an appropriate balance of health and safety focused restrictions, while maintaining economic standards. “COVID fatigue” had set in hard by this stage, though with vaccines on the way, there seemed to be a faint light at the end of the tunnel. In harsh contrast to this hope and anticipation, moving through the Fall and into Winter brought with it the anticipated “2nd wave” of cases, and forced a corresponding wave of additional lockdowns.
Individuals and families were forced to constantly analyze their own risk tolerances, and determine what activities and movements constituted “essential”. Political messaging on this topic, especially in British Columbia, was extremely vague and wrought with holes and mixed signals. It was a “say one thing, but mean another” tactic, putting the ball in the hands of the general public to follow these loose guidelines. Strict 14-day quarantine tracking for returning international travel was mandatory and “enforced”, though of course it was clear many were violating these rules. And “essential travel” domestically was an extremely vague concept, open to the individual’s interpretation.
This was especially clear here in Whistler, which received an intense amount of scrutiny throughout the pandemic, where the guidance on winter recreation was to “stay local”, and explicitly provided examples for lower mainland residences to keep to the North Shore mountains. Yet based on the regular traffic jams on 99 North heading into North America’s largest ski resort, it was clear that many felt this statement was open to interpretation.
I found myself regularly in that position, trying to determine a fair and reasonable balance of lifestyle and mental sanity, while reducing my own exposure.
Fortunately, in a dark and lonely November, habituated in my Whistler RV park residence, optimism was elevated, resting on the accumulations of delicate white snowflakes arriving with the changing season to blanket our beautiful surroundings. Signifying a fresh start, moving forward, and, more importantly, splitboarding.
It’s the most wonderful tiiiiiime, of the year: November 25th, 2020
The season kicked off with an obligatory sled-splitboard up Brandywine Meadows, testing out some new gear. I had finally made the move to a splitboard hardboot setup, which is essentially snowboarding in modified ski boots, a rather embarrassing concept, to be told. Maybe a more pragmatic man would have switched to skiing ages ago, but in a rare contrast to my typically over-analytic brain, clinical rationalism has been overwhelmed by the soul elevating ecstatic joy that is powder snowboarding.
And so I carry on the endless journey in search of gram-saving efficiencies in single plank backcountry winter travel.
Above the clouds
Big props to Mike Holmes for upping his post-shred truck hosting game, during a unique season of limited capacity apres venues
With the Rossland Renegade back in town, plenty of opportunities for outdoor shenanigans presented themselves throughout the winter season. We managed to have an absolute banger of an early season day up Metal Dome, complete with a morning two-stroke meadow roop, and an afternoon of quality splitboarding. A full value day; one that reminds oneself why the snowmobile really is a useful money pit, albeit noisy/smelly/sensitive/expensive machine.
Unfortunately, reckless snowmobiling in early season conditions pours on a heavy dose of risk, of which I hit head on, literally, as shown in the video above. Thin coverage over rocks and trees lead to some surprises lurking under perfect fields of white magic, lulling into a false state of confidence. I found one of those lurkers which lead to a magnificent front flip with a stomped landing, coming away unscathed. Sadly, my humble steed was not so lucky, and it would take 6 weeks and a hefty repair bill before my snow machine was back in action.
Trailer Park views don’t get much better than this… Whistler-Blackcomb with Wedge Mountain standing tall behind, catching the early morning light.
Christmas was approaching, and so I gathered myself, Nootka, and a case of wine, descending from “Sky” to “Sea” in the Southern Gulf Islands to visit my parents, who had remained steadfast in their seaside retreat waiting out the storm of COVID-19. Leslie held to her tight restrictions on visitations throughout the winter months following the rise of the second wave, and so it was just the three of us enjoying some relaxing cabin time around the holidays.
Winter followed me down from the mountains, which provided unique photo opportunities on the typically temperate Mayne Island
An acceptable reward for an early morning start returning to the mainland
Part 2 of Christmas holidays were to be spent back in the Sea to Sky, where Mike and Audrey had graciously opened up their bubble and their fancy new Squamish townhome to take me in for a healthy mix of great food, chill hangs, and some quality shredding. To kick things off, Mike and I had a banger day touring over to Cowboy Ridge in the Whistler slackcountry, checking out the gorgeous new Kees and Claire Hut at Russet Lake on the way.
Mike takes ski touring extremely seriously
Pretty sweet place for a “hut”! Built to near-passive standards, this is the first of the new Spearhead huts, eventually one of three in a circuit of the definitive South Coast Mountain haute route, The Spearhead Traverse.
Mike experiencing pure bliss following a quality Cowboy lap with a celebratory blue cheese charcuterie. i.e. “Mike’s happy place”
Back down in Squamish, we spent a lovely few days nomming delicious food, playing lots of board games, and romped up the Chief. Mike and Audrey were wonderful hosts, even offering up their Christmas ham on Boxing Day to Nootka, who graciously seized an opportunity of human complacence to pull it off the counter in the kitchen, sampling its delicious glaze hidden from view behind the kitchen island, before Mike’s ears perked up and decided to reclaim it for a pea soup instead. Needless to say, Nootka was extremely grateful for the holiday offering, but Mike ‘Scrooge’ Martinsen took more of a “humbug” stance on this particular event.
In Nootka’s defence, it was a risky move, leaving a giant hunk of glaze-soaked pork resting on the edge of the kitchen counter to discuss stylistic interior design components of the living room. Nootka capitalized on a delicious opportunity to drive home the point: such critical decisions should not be made lightly, and without proper consideration for potential catastrophic consequences.
It was time to put Nootka’s sage lesson on appropriate risk assessment to practice back in the mountains. This round: a Blackcomb slackcountry mission with some new/old faces. “Definitely local Whistler residents” Ryan and Blaze came along for some self-inflicted mountain torture, on their first day out dragging a heavy snowboard around the mountains for very minimal actual snowboarding in quite some time. Former Smash Mountain resident, Dan “The Man” Okeefe joined up for the mission, our first shred together in quite some time (him and his partner, Lu, were my first tenants at the Squamish house). And the one and only Doctor Mary Pines, now a true Whistler local, rounded out the crew; the start of rekindling a close friendship many years and what feels like several lifetimes ago.
Inaugural splitboard day with the lovely Ms. Pines
The aesthetics of ski touring and the marks it leaves on the land provide a beauty of its own. The Whistler-Blackcomb backcountry sees a lot of traffic, but still facilitates rugged exploration in an incredible setting.
It was great to reconnect with new Father Dan, who I’ve been absolutely abysmal at staying in touch with over the years. He was dutifully patient during a relatively slow paced day filled with gear problems and the like. We managed to get some solid turns in, bailed on our primary objective, and was treated to an incredible sunset on our decent out back into the ski hill. Blaze was new to skinning, and as such lead to a rather comical situation on a downward sidehill traverse where he didn’t quite make the turn. His body position and Ryan’s dismayed look made for pretty excellent “caption this” photo.
On New Years Eve, Mike and I decided to check out a local classic area that neither of us had been to in the winter: Black Tusk and Garibaldi Lake. Generally disenchanted by the relatively long approach up the Rubble Creek switchback slog, it had never made it to the top of my list, but I had always wanted to explore the area and capture majestic Garibaldi Lake in the winter. It turned out that the slog up the switchbacks was not nearly as bad as anticipated, and we had a quality day heading up towards the Tusk until rapidly descending cloud cover forced us into a quick transition and a sub-optimal line choice down the slopes below.
After a long flat exit across the meadows, and a heinous ski down the Rubble Creek trail, we were back at the truck. It was a beautiful, long tour, that put my new hardboot splitboard setup to the test, which performed admirably.
10/10 would maybe sorta consider that tour again!
A rather white Black Tusk
Is it frozen? Observing the South Coast Touring fb group meme in person as the clouds rapidly descend
I had purchased a “hot tent” setup for the winter, which involves a canvas wall tent combined with a portable wood stove, which ended up being a terrific example of poor judgement of risk (more on that later. Don’t worry, it didn’t involve fire), and so I was keen to explore some potential future winter camping sites. I convinced Mary to join me on the snow pony for an investigation of upper Hope Creek up the Hurley, and managed to get some rather steep and real deep turns after skinning up the Backcountry Snowcats terrain. The weather was gorgeous, the setting remote, and the company grand.
Riding roughly 40km each way to the start of the tour, it truly is amazing what a snowmobile can provide for accessing an infinite expanse of winter playgrounds in southwest BC.
Gearing up for the splitboarding besides a potential campsite
Heading up the Backcountry Snowcats access road saved us from trailbreaking up the 70cms of fresh coastal pow deposited over the previous week
Dr. Pines, ready to shred
A few days later, lifetime MEC staffer and Trophy Hut steward Stephen Paul and I coordinated on a sled-accessed trip up the Duffey Lake to a line I had skied previously up Caspar Creek. Snow quality was beyond excellent, though the lower sections were far from filled in, leading to a lot of classic “alder bashing” that provided a taste of rising insanity during the tour.
Random Lillouett locals demonstrating an interesting technique for full family adventures
Breaking through the alder towards Mt. Duke
Some tasty lines on “The Dutchess” across the valley
Things were plodding along at the homestead, with mostly just destruction and chaos to this point. The price of lumber had skyrocketed during COVID due to a reduction in supply due to disrupted shipping, and increased demand due to everyone being bored out of their fucking minds and re-building their already perfectly adequate houses. So it turned out to be an awful time to take this on, but it was a risk I knew I was taking at the time, and I had built in a lot of contingency into the budget.
By late January, winter was truly upon us, and the enjoyment of a snow covered existence continued. Giles was getting restless waiting for a major storm to settle and lower the avalanche danger, so we used the snowmobiles to drag in some firewood and firearms to a beautiful spot along the Soo River for a fire, food, and reggae music jam.
The following day, we braved the mega deep for a roop around the flat meadows of Brandywine, taking advantage of the sled-in sled-out accommodations of the Whistler RV park. It was definitely deep, leading to plenty of face shots, very little visibility, and one absolute mega stuck when I managed to stick my snowmobile into a wall of snow leading to a 45 minute exhausting struggle moving a 600 pound snow machine six feet…
By Wednesday, the powder universe aligned in the holy trinity of sun, powder, and stable avalanche conditions. Life doesn’t get any better in my opinion, so it was an obvious choice to take a mid-week mission up my favourite zone in Squamish Valley, for a superb day of unbridled stoke and good times with a very solid and capable crew.
It’s days like this where snowmobiling as a sport in and of itself really shines, and although my love for the calm tranquility and slow pace of splitboarding can’t be topped, I have to admit that untapped sledneckery is a freakishly good time.
Mike Holmes always maintains a level of ultimate class in a backcountry setting
You’re probably having a good day with the south face of Mount Cayley as your backdrop
Turning south towards Squamish, Nch'Kay looms above
No fun at all…
A rare true Squamish local legend, Spenny, demonstrating his own style of risk assessment through blatant disregard of proper board carrying protocol on a random booter
Dylan contemplating the meaning of life at the end of an all time day, taking in a Cloudburst Mountain bathed in alpenglow
When the going gets good, it’s good to keep going.
I’ve never been a “60 days at the resort” kinda guy; more akin to the nerdy stoner from Dazed And Confused sitting in the backseat of Matthew McConaughey’s car mumbling about “quality over quantity, maaaaan”. And when things are quality, I’m quick to completely shift my life to optimize these rare moments of powder sports alignment.
“There are no friends (or clients) on a powder day” as the saying goes.
Friday presented an opportunity to charge for a Duffey Lake classic: the “Million Dollar Couloir” on the North side of Cayoosh Mountain. Mary and I had been given the shake by Mike Holmes as he was pushing for a tough objective of his own, and wanted to keep his numbers small. I should have taken the hint, as we were to get a taste of group dynamics that is emblematic of the issues of larger untested groups of backcountry travellers.
Don’t get me wrong, this was an absolutely incredible tour, with stunning views, good turns, awesome new connections, and perfect weather, but it presented an interesting challenge in decision making and risk management.
Heading through the lower clearcuts up to Cayoosh. Our objective was up and over the rocky pointy peak on lookers right
Doctor Pines leading the charge, demonstrating her supplement-fuelled superhuman powers
Up into the alpine, heading for the snowy notch between rocks to the upper right of the photo, including a rather exposed traverse above a cliff band below
Beautiful view back down towards Mount Matier and Slalok across the valley
Decision making was difficult with an unknown group, as the access to the North side of Cayoosh necessitated some exposed travel on south-facing terrain that was getting hammered by the sun, with significant wet snow avalanche activity observed. Heavy doses of hesitation and clear signs of unpreparedness for the level of technicality of the tour was clearly expressed from a few in the party, which can be a very difficult thing to properly manage. We dug a snow pit on a NE facing slope to determine whether Million Dollar, on a similar aspect, would feel safe to ski. The results provided a bit of confidence for North slopes, with the sun baked South-facing aspects providing the most concern.
Fortunately, by the time we had reached the cruxy exposed south-facing traverse above cliff band, the sun had dropped behind the veil of Cayoosh peak, and closer assessment of the slope provided the confidence needed to safely proceed, and cut a path across the exposed slope above rocky cliffs.
When we approached the final stretch of access to the couloir which necessitated a “skis off” ridgeline scramble traverse of about 100 feet above high consequence cliffs on either side to access the line, it was clear that the party had divided views about the safety of the path ahead. The access was non-technical and straightforward, without avalanche hazard, but it is understandable that someone that was not prepared for such an exposed route would be unnerved. Watching a rather uncomfortable situation unfold with the uncertain parties in an obviously uncomfortable position being pushed to do something outside their comfort zone, Mary and I decided to lead an alternate party down the North glacier to provide a more comfortable exit alternative.
It was an extremely difficult decision, as when you set an objective for the day, it is very easy to set expectations and visualize the emotions and sense of achievement that comes with living through these types of “peak experiences”. Though there was still the unknown of the conditions within the couloir itself, and being late in the day, with a larger group lacking confidence in the terrain, it felt like the right thing to do to pivot to a less committing line, and provide an option for the less confident members of the group to safely descend.
The upper North glacier ended up providing some perfectly acceptable turns, and allowed us to access Million Dollar Couloir from lower down, which we suitably dubbed $500,000 Couloir. The first of our party to drop in set off a non-consequential-though-not-insignificant avalanche , and the second proceeded to immediately loose a ski and tomahawk down the rest of the 300 foot line… Ouch.
If that sort of scene happened at the true start of the line, this tale would have likely had a very different ending.
Luck would have it that everyone was okay, two of our party managed to successfully ski the full line with style and skill, and the descent back out to the highway was a fun romp with Mary “silly skiing” on our split boards through mature forest, joking about the ridiculous scene we had just witnessed. Tricky group dynamics aside, it was a phenomenal tour, and I was really loving the connection with Mary as a splitboard partner, which at this point had progressed to a romantic relationship as well.
(“Dating Friends”: Another bit of risky business that was apparently within my tolerances")
Back at the homestead, things were plodding along. Framing was taking a seemingly infinite amount of time, and significant additional budget, as the engineering requirements, alongside insane increases in lumber costs, drove the time and money required to rebuild the structure of the house significantly.
Powder addiction in full swing, I was back out on Sunday to check out the Snowspider area with a solid crew including Giles, Sterling, Andrew Campbell, and a good buddy I had skied with before at Caspar, JS. It is quite the long journey to get out there, so we had a rather brief tour following a long snowmobile into the area, and were met with some very dicey avalanche conditions, but it was an enjoyable exploratory day regardless. Kudos to JS for carrying a whopping total of six tall cans of beer in his backpack to share with the crew to earn himself the undisputed MVP of the trip!
As the icing on the cake for this quality AND quantity week of winter mountain bliss, on Tuesday I went out for a tour of the Blackcomb backcountry with Whistler local bud Sam Munro, and climbing hardwoman Jurga, who I had met in the parking lot after the New Years Eve Black Tusk tour, and subsequently connected with on Facebook and had been indoor bouldering with over the winter.
Sam putting down some soul turns down the Trorey Glacier
Mt. Pattison across the Trorey Glacier
Beautiful late day lighting on the tour out, Black Tusk hiding in the clouds behind
Mount Fissile not letting anyone forget about her incredible steep skiing lines
Feeling quite fulfilled after a top quality 4/6 days plundering the goods of the previous storm, I was ready to take a break and hide as a major arctic inflow event was descending from the North. After testing Winston’s insulation for a few nights in -25, I was thankful to take residence in the gracious hosts of Andrew and Giles for a few nights to thaw out in slightly balmier sea level Squamish.
Giles was keen to get back out for a mission, and Loretta wanted to come up from the city for a proper Sea to Sky adventure, so we tried to come up with a suitable mission. With Sterling and Mary joining, we proceeded to put together a plan that involved a comical ratio of snowmobiles:humans, with a much more spacious and comfortable end goal of the Meagre Creek hot springs, which does not see much for traffic these days following a major rock slide down Mount Meagre back in 2010.
We had the beta that the ride in was manageable, and so Sterling and Giles hopped on Harv, I squeezed Mary and Loretta on my overburdened steed, and we bumped and smashed up 40kms of variable condition forest service road, to find ourselves in paradise. It was truly an incredible set and setting to have to ourselves, enjoying the day dipping between the hot pools and the ice cold waters of Meagre Creek, laughing and enjoying quality food and drink.
Oh, hey there ;-)
Following the tranquil bliss of Meagre Hot Springs, I returned to the noisy chaos of Vancouver to catch up on work. I did get to meet up with Meta for Iggy’s birthday, and brought along some party hats and a treat-filled piñata to celebrate at the park. Always such a treat to see Meta for some silliness.
Too bad our dogs don’t particularly get along, but Iggy is decent at tolerating Nootka these days, who still just runs around like a complete idiot constantly.
Back on the skin track, Mary and I lined up a mid-week Whistler slackcountry slog to Cowboy Ridge. After an initial scare with a non-working avy beacon which managed to resolve itself with fresh batteries and a quick clean of the terminals, we marched onwards and upwards in search of fresh turns. Cowboy Ridge has yet to do anything but deliver every time I’ve been out there, and today was no exception. It’s far enough away from the resort that you get a sense of remoteness, and fresh lines tend to stick around for days after a storm. But still a totally reasonable day trip on skins from the resort, even if you skip the singing pass trail exit and return to the resort for your ski out.
Looking back towards Cowboy Ridge
Good times with good company
Feast time
To celebrate everyone’s favourite Kootenay-raised armchair philosopher/shred master extraordinaire, Giles Crisfield, and the day of his birth, we planned a group tour up the Duffey to check out one of my earlier introductions to Duffey Lake skiing up on Vantage Ridge. Almost exactly 10 years ago, in my earlier years on a splitboard exploring the Coast Mountains, I made the pilgrimage to the now oft overrun “Keith’s Hut”, and skied the classic Cheques in the Mail run. It was pretty hilarious watching an early Youtube edit I had posted, as a comparison to how things look a decade later.
Sketchy bridge crossing to start the day
I was flailing a lot of sunglasses at this point in time, so I was down to a more ‘exotic’ pair for this tour
Full squad feeling the good vibrations up on Vantage Ridge
Birthday boy and Mike showing some love before dropping into Cheques in the Mail. Matier and Joffre supervising behind.
Looking back to Joffre back on the ski out.
March 3rd, 2021
The twists and turns of the house renovation were starting to take its toll, and the stress and chaos of it all was become a serious burden. I’m generally fairly accustomed to a rather chaotic nomad life, but the lack of a grounded space to maintain my crap, seemingly endless driving, and the constant flux of quick decision making required to execute a project of this scale, not to mention maintaining client work, was feeling like risky business indeed.
COVID continued to exacerbate things as well, with a constant fear of an unknown future and difficulties in planning, and staying connected with one-on-one social check-ins when needed was extremely tough.
Fortune would have it that, after listing my Vancouver townhouse for sale in the Fall with no bites, the market went absolutely bananas in the Winter/Spring, and I received an off-market offer for more than my previous asking price, which I gladly accepted. With the market starting to froth, it was definitely a risk, accepting this offer instead of waiting until my tenants were out in the Spring and listing on the open market, and in hindsight, I probably walked away from a good chunk of change there.
But psychologically, it was absolutely the right thing to do, alleviating stress, and removing another big item from an already savage to-do list moving into the Spring.
As in another “big business” moment this winter, standing 200 meters from the entrance to the Million Dollar Couloir, sometimes the best choice is to play it safe and do what feels right emotionally, not always pushing it to the limit. Risk taking always comes with a chance for failure, and serious consideration is extremely important: in our careers, our adventures, and our attentiveness to holiday leftovers.
And a $500,000 couloir is still an awful lot of couloir.