In Canada, a fresh definition for deep powder
Even though our mountains at home in Colorado reach higher elevations, here I feel even closer to the sky.
Each time our group of 11 skiers is dropped on a mountaintop, we huddle in a snow bank beneath the helicopter’s beating blades while our guide unloads our skis. It’s little more than a minute before the copter lifts and the snow settles to reveal a vista that’s seemingly impossible in its beauty.
We are above the clouds in a world of white. Trees so thoroughly covered that they are known locally as “snow ghosts” are all that break the smooth, glistening surface of snow that is several feet deep. Looking for a horizon, I find instead endless jagged peaks jutting through the sea of clouds like islands.
As soon as the helicopter is clear, our moment to take in the scenery is over. It’s time to click into our bindings and ski it.
Colorado natives and lifelong skiers like my husband Tony and me love our local slopes, but have dreamed of someday going north to ski the untamed Cariboo, Purcell, Monashee and Selkirk ranges. In fact, nearly a quarter of the folks on our trip of 44 skiers were from Colorado, more than any other state, province or country.
Tony, who had never left the state to ski before our trip, first heard about heli-skiing when he was about 11. That night he and his brother, Tim, snuck out of bed to meet in the hallway and talk about how someday they would go.
For Tony and me, “someday” came the week that bridged the old year and the new, when we spent five days on a Canadian Mountain Holidays heli-skiing trip out of Revelstoke, British Columbia. We learned that no matter how many powder days in a row you’ve gotten here at home, heli-skiing in Canada is a different deal.
Skiing with one of Colorado’s two heli operations in the San Juans (Helitrax and Silverton) only gave me a taste of what it’s like to ski deep snow in the wilderness all day long. CMH operates on a whole different scale.
For one, CMH’s terrain is massive — 3.1 million skiable acres accessible from their 11 lodges. Revelstoke, the only CMH base in a town rather than wilderness, has 330,000 skiable acres spread over 247 trails. To put that in perspective, Vail Mountain, Colorado’s largest, has 5,300 skiable acres.
Then there’s the snow. Located between the coast and the Rocky Mountains, the Columbia Mountains are the first stop for Pacific precipita-
tion. Wolf Creek, Colorado’s snowiest resort, gets around 430 inches a year. In Revelstoke, they average about 700.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had awesome powder here at home. But in B.C., the helicopter drops you off atop a feast of powder that is anywhere from just-below-the-knee to bellybutton deep. You ski 2,000 to 3,500 vertical feet, then the copter picks you up and takes you to the next run and the next, until you’ve skied an average of eight runs a day.
CMH places skiers in groups according to ability and speed. Before your first run, everything the guide knows about your ability and experience comes from a CMH questionnaire. I didn’t hesitate to answer “yes” to the entry form question, “Are you comfortable in deep powder?” Problem is, I didn’t really know what they meant by “deep powder” until I was there swimming in it for five days.
The first two days I was a rock star. Skiing on the big, fat boards they provided was like floating through the world’s softest, lightest cloud (like the one you can find at Steamboat on a big powder day). Powder whispered right past my ears as it poured over my shoulders. I ripped through the trees, carved up the steeps and flew through the bowls.
On the third morning, though, the only “rock” happening was in my quads, as in, they felt like immoveable stone. With my legs not cooperating, I fell and floundered about in the snow until I was soaking wet and my goggles were so fogged up I couldn’t see. I was a cold mess. It was so bad I asked our guide if I could go in. Oh, the shame.
I pulled myself together with a borrowed pair of goggles with a built-in fan — ridiculous at a resort, but vital on a heli-trip — some stretches and a sunny run.
Apparently my problem was I thought I was skiing the bumps at my beloved Mary Jane.
“Don’t lean back in the powder like you might have been told to in the past,” explained Steve Chambers, the Denver resident who commutes to Revelstoke to head up the CMH operation there. “And don’t shift your weight, don’t pedal. Stand up and keep your weight distributed 50-50 on your skis.”
With that style adjustment, an afternoon off (you always have the option of going home with the “catering copter” that brings sandwiches, soup and hot tea to skiers on the mountain every day) and a morning stretching class, I was able to hang in there the rest of the week.
At the end of the five days I had skied nearly 94,000 vertical feet and had more fun than I’ve ever had in my life. A French dentist in our group told me I’d better stop smiling so much or I’d get frostbite on my teeth.
So the Colorado skiers who’ve put their Canadian heli-dreams on hold: I would advise you to schedule your “someday” soon.