The legend of Whistler Blackcomb stands tall. Even in Colorado. I had heard stories of countless chutes and so much alpine terrain that it would take weeks to even get a basic feel for it. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit nervous boarding the plane at Denver International Airport, even with years of high alpine and backcountry experience behind me.
I arrived in Whistler by bus, after taking in the scenery of the Sea to Sky Highway and watching as the busy city life of Vancouver faded slowly into pine forested hillsides and snow-covered peaks. “This looks do-able,” I said to myself. Above timberline the terrain looked approachable and rideable, even if a bit intimidating.
It didn’t take long for the majestic mountains of the Fitzsimmons Range to put me in my place. Riding with my guide Dahj, a long-time Whistler resident originally from Australia, I was exploring some of the zones above treeline atop Whistler Mountain. After finishing lunch we decided to hike off the top of Blackcomb’s Glacier Express Lift into Spanky’s Ladder- an extreme area of bowls, spines, and tight couloirs. The snow on this particular day was not great but in these less-trafficked areas, powder stashes were still possible to find. Dahj led me off the top of the hike and down a steep spine battle that eased into an open face. Across a small ridge I spotted what appeared to be a small gulley full of powder. Veering to my right, I ducked in and took a couple turns. All of a sudden, I was faced with an immediate steep descent down a couloir between two jagged rocks. Ahead of me I saw nothing but grey falling to ground level.
I stopped in horror, my right hand clinging to a lone tree as snow skipped off a near 60 foot descent dead ahead. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” yelled Dahj from down below. Even from this far I could see the look of shock on his face. Far below me, he had continued down the open face and was now sitting on the side of the run. Right off the cliff in front of me were a series of jagged rocks in a flat field.
“I’m going to have to hike out!” I yelled back.
“This is why you’re supposed to follow the guide! Be very, very careful when you’re walking out of there!”
I unstrapped from my board and managed to turn around, grabbing the nearest tree branch. With my left hand I picked up the board and shoved it horizontally into the snow in front of me to serve as an anchor. I took two steps, then pulled up the board. I shoved it down as far ahead as I could reach and then stepped up to it again, my hand never losing grip of my left binding. I repeated this over and over for about twenty minutes, legs trembling and sweat dripping from underneath my helmet. Finally I reached the gully where I had first dropped into this mess and relief washed over me like a tidal wave.
I reflected that it had been quite a while since I had felt that terrified. While danger is a constant risk with this sport, Whistler Blackcomb had firmly proved itself to me as a force to be reckoned with. For the remainder of the day I rode with almost crippling caution, following Dahj closely while still experiencing breathtaking terrain.
As I sat at Dusty’s Bar & BBQ having a beer at the end of the day, I thought about a time back in high school when myself and a friend, Tom Day, had wandered out of bounds at Copper Mountain after a descent down Tucker Mountain in two feet of powder. Lost in the moment we ended up at a two lane road east of the resort and had to hitchhike back to the base village. Looking at a map later, we had barely missed the traverse back to the base. It was exhilarating, scary, and stupid. But as we sat in the bed of the pick-up truck that stopped for us I realized I had never felt more alive in my entire life.
This had been one of a handful of moments where I knew that this budding passion for snowboarding would play an influential role in my future. Sipping my beer on the patio at Dusty’s, I felt as alive as I had that day on Copper Mountain. I looked up at Whistler Mountain towering above the base of Creekside Village, burning with the urge to conquer the terrain.
The beautiful thing about Whistler Blackcomb is that it will put you in your place. Here, I was an amateur. As hard as I tried to prove to Dahj that I could keep up, that I was an equal level rider, it was constantly reinforced that I was the outsider. Just over the wrong fall line or hiding beyond sight was a patch of terrain unlike anything I had seen before. The mountain felt like its own guide of sorts, constantly teaching me my limits and challenging me to get better.
Dahj and I had spent a full day exploring the high alpine bowls and taking multiple hikes to reach zones inaccessible by lift ride. On each hike and lap up the chair, he pointed out four or five new zones that we wouldn’t have time to get to.
“How long would you need to cover most of the terrain?” I asked.
“Three weeks, at least, mate.”
The following morning I grabbed my gear and headed back up. I met Whistler Blackcomb Communications Coordinator Emily Right, my riding partner for the day. This day proved to be more mellow than the previous. We explored Blackcomb Mountain’s wide variety of terrain. Ironically, I wiped out and took the biggest digger of the season while riding at top speed on a groomer. Despite exercising caution while under pressure the day before I still managed to come home with a nice slice on the face, courtesy of Lady Whistler.
I viewed it as a battle scar. A worthy mark of the adventure I had. I left Whistler craving my return, knowing full well that I had barely scratched the surface. When I do make my return to Whistler, I’ll be ready to learn everything else she has to teach me.
