Skiing - - The Mix -

Re­tal­lack The last name of a mil­i­tary man, The name of a town that min­ing ran. Over 8,000 souls liv­ing there in the past, Boom­ing min­eral de­mand would not last. The land lay dor­mant for quite some time, Fast for­ward now and this rhyme.

Re­tal­lack A mag­i­cal place, Where guests come to ride And ex­pect pow­der in their face. From first-time clients newly anointed, To 10-year vet­er­ans, never dis­ap­pointed.

Re­tal­lack Known world­wide as the place to rip Ever im­prov­ing ten­ure and ter­rain. Our sea­son starts now, And ends when it rains. That be­ing said, be­fore I must go, Re­tal­lack’s big­gest as­set—the Snow.

Karl Gud­eryan, bet­ter known as Karl the Gnarl, is Ski­ing’s poet lau­re­ate. He has driven a snow­cat at Bri­tish Columbia’s Re­tal­lack Lodge for nine years. He writes a new poem ev­ery day he drives.

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