A POEM BY KARL THE GNARL
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.