Whistler mountain opened today, and I cannot adequately describe to you how phenomenal it was. The skiing was absurd. Really, it was just silly. November 26 has never slid so well--at least for yours truly. I showed up at the gondola line expecting a Loveland-style opening with one run and tons of man-made snow. Well, the man-made snow part was partially right. But I get ahead of myself.
I stashed my ski gear at the shop last night, so I walked over at 8:30 this morning to suit up. Sam took several hours off from work to ski, and the two of us headed to the gondola line. The line stretched almost 200 yards from the loading station, after going through the turnstiles. Fortunately it went quickly, and we were on the mountain by 9:15. We quickly discovered almost a foot of snow and spent several runs investigating this unexpected surprise.
We soon met up with some other skiers and decided to hike up to Whistler bowl. I must add two things here 1) I had no idea what was happening, I simply followed the locals and tried not to fall onto rocks 2) these people are a different breed of skier. (The terrain we skied is normally accessed via lifts, but they weren't running. By hiking, we managed to pillage the best lines on the mountain, untracked.) After about an hour's hike, Luke marched up to scope an intimidating line. Shadowed by a cornice with unknown coverage and exposed rocks to cushion a fall, it looked questionable at best. Truth be told, we couldn't really see more than the first 50 feet--it was too steep. I was a little nervous--after all this is my 3rd run of the season for pete's sake--but we all ended up skiing it. THe snow was good, knee deep, and the run was probably a 40-43 degree pitch. Super-fun, in other words.
We skied, hiked, skied, and hiked all day long. Our last run again mandated the hour-long hike to the summit where we skied a narrow (two ski-lenghts wide) chute at a 40* pitch (approx). Again, gnarly powdery fun.
Now that the resort is open, the true character of this town is beginning to shine. Instead of melancholy downtrodden folks struggling to exist in this overpriced fantasy world, we are united as skiers, each as psyched as the next to rip turns every day. The change happened overnight and Whistler feels like a new town.
As we were hiking up to take our last run, I met Hugo Harrison. As far as celebrities go, I'm not one to raise a ruckus, but it took me by surprise. Paul, Andre and I were just clipping in to ski the couloir when Hugo walked by. He had a pair of beefy 195cm Kastle skis with a huge Helly Hansen sticker plastered across the front (one of his sponsors). Andre knew him, so he stopped to chat for several minutes before slogging upward towards the summit. It was great to see one of the best skiers in the world just out doing what he loves to do--no helicopters, film crews, nothing. Just Hugo with his giant skis strapped to his pack. I would have loved to watch him ski, but that's just not a reality. There's no way to keep up with this guy. For those of you who don't know him, here's some ski porn to give you an idea of how good he is. We had a large poster of him at Outpost; I may have given it to my bro. Click the square at bottom right to watch the full-screen version.
My legs are exhausted, so I think I'll take the advice of French Paul for the evening. "There is nothing so good as your ass for resting your legs."
I stashed my ski gear at the shop last night, so I walked over at 8:30 this morning to suit up. Sam took several hours off from work to ski, and the two of us headed to the gondola line. The line stretched almost 200 yards from the loading station, after going through the turnstiles. Fortunately it went quickly, and we were on the mountain by 9:15. We quickly discovered almost a foot of snow and spent several runs investigating this unexpected surprise.
We soon met up with some other skiers and decided to hike up to Whistler bowl. I must add two things here 1) I had no idea what was happening, I simply followed the locals and tried not to fall onto rocks 2) these people are a different breed of skier. (The terrain we skied is normally accessed via lifts, but they weren't running. By hiking, we managed to pillage the best lines on the mountain, untracked.) After about an hour's hike, Luke marched up to scope an intimidating line. Shadowed by a cornice with unknown coverage and exposed rocks to cushion a fall, it looked questionable at best. Truth be told, we couldn't really see more than the first 50 feet--it was too steep. I was a little nervous--after all this is my 3rd run of the season for pete's sake--but we all ended up skiing it. THe snow was good, knee deep, and the run was probably a 40-43 degree pitch. Super-fun, in other words.
We skied, hiked, skied, and hiked all day long. Our last run again mandated the hour-long hike to the summit where we skied a narrow (two ski-lenghts wide) chute at a 40* pitch (approx). Again, gnarly powdery fun.
Now that the resort is open, the true character of this town is beginning to shine. Instead of melancholy downtrodden folks struggling to exist in this overpriced fantasy world, we are united as skiers, each as psyched as the next to rip turns every day. The change happened overnight and Whistler feels like a new town.
As we were hiking up to take our last run, I met Hugo Harrison. As far as celebrities go, I'm not one to raise a ruckus, but it took me by surprise. Paul, Andre and I were just clipping in to ski the couloir when Hugo walked by. He had a pair of beefy 195cm Kastle skis with a huge Helly Hansen sticker plastered across the front (one of his sponsors). Andre knew him, so he stopped to chat for several minutes before slogging upward towards the summit. It was great to see one of the best skiers in the world just out doing what he loves to do--no helicopters, film crews, nothing. Just Hugo with his giant skis strapped to his pack. I would have loved to watch him ski, but that's just not a reality. There's no way to keep up with this guy. For those of you who don't know him, here's some ski porn to give you an idea of how good he is. We had a large poster of him at Outpost; I may have given it to my bro. Click the square at bottom right to watch the full-screen version.
My legs are exhausted, so I think I'll take the advice of French Paul for the evening. "There is nothing so good as your ass for resting your legs."
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