The Peak to Peak

The first time I rode on the Peak to Peak, I felt like I had never been in a gondola before. Considering I've been snow sliding for twenty-six years, this is saying something. From the moment I stepped booted foot on board, I was hooked.

Not only does the gondola shorten the commute from Whistler Mountain to Blackcomb from nearly an hour to a mere fourteen minutes, but it opens up a whole new experience for our sightseeing and summer visitors.

In the summer months I was privy to seeing first hand what the good folks behind the Peak to Peak had in mind when installing this signature piece. Employed with the passenger train that travels into Whistler from the Rockies and Vancouver, I found that more than half of my guests had come just to see our new lift. Many of these visitors were only in town for three hours and they chose the ride on the Peak to Peak over any other activity.

The scenery is beyond breath taking. On a clear day the entire valley opens up to you, revealing her lakes, forests and other gems often hidden when you're exploring far below. At a vantage point of over 1400ft above the Fitzsimmons Creek you get an all access pass to a view that previously required wings.


There are many local stories that go along with the Peak to Peak, and most people I know can easily recount their first ride on the gondola. My favourite local story is of opening day, when three generations of one family rode together on the first car.

Access to the first car was a coveted position. People wrote in to Whistler Blackcomb and nominated individuals who they thought should be on that car, then from the names provided a lucky 28 were chosen. Of those, three were from the Huxtable family. In his nineties, Grandpa George, a well known local fixture, was accompanied by his son, Gord and his grandson, Ryder. Between the three of them their family have had roots in Whistler since the sixties. With the arrival of Ryder and his two sisters to the family clan, it looks as though those roots will only deepen and grow.

It makes me wonder about the conversation that Ryder might have with his own children on the Peak to Peak gondola some day. I wonder what he'll remember then about all of the fuss of the ribbon cutting and the photographs. I wonder if he will remember that his community was watching, hearts on their sleeves as he and twenty seven others rode the fourteen minutes into engineering history.

I am proud that people from all over the world have heard the rumors of our fabled gondola and come to experience it first hand. It is without a doubt a welcome wagon worthy of their journey.

First Snowfall

I was lucky enough this year to be home from my seasonal wanderings in time to catch the first flakes of snow drift into Whistler Village. In the month that lead up to this auspicious day, there had been a number of teasing snowfalls in the upper reaches of the mountains, but it wasn't until that beautiful October afternoon that we felt the white stuff on our faces outside our front doors.

After the first snowfall every year, the emotional climate of Whistler changes. The air becomes electrically charged with the collective current of excitement for the coming season. From that day on, whether it rains to the top or delivers a record breaking amount of powder, the mood of the Village has turned from mourning summer to waiting for Opening Day.

Opening Day, those magical words, is usually forecast far in advance leaving us salivating in anticipation. The most devoted of snow sport fans will already have their sliders of choice waxed and tuned to perfection, their boots waiting by the front door long before Day One.

Always beneath all of the planning is the hope for that “Early Season Start”- that precious gem that comes along once every few years, where Mother Nature delivers and the good folks at Intrawest decide to start up those chairlifts a week or two in advance of Opening Day.

There is a great deal of speculation every November- will it be Remembrance Day long weekend? Will we be making turns before our neighbours to the south are feasting on turkey? I do recall one blessed year where I was busily waxing and sharpening my gear late into the wee hours on November first because of a rumor that Whistler might open the next day. Standing in the lift line at seven-thirty the next morning, my devotion was rewarded with one of the first rides up the Gondola.

All of the new arrivals in our town are bursting with the energy of their First Whistler Season. Many of them have never seen snow before. You can tell them apart because they are the joyful people rolling around in the first three inches of the stuff while the rest of us more seasoned veterans look on. For the record, I don't believe it's a look of disapproval- it's just that we're deep in the memory of our own first Whistler snowfall.

And so, new comer and long time local alike, we join our hopes and hold our breaths, waiting for the grand start of the 2009/2010 winter season. Will this be the year that all of our previous snowfall records are blown out of the sky? Will this be the year that the park is, decidedly, in the best shape it's ever been? Will this be the year I finally get airborne and land a 360 switch?

The best part of the waiting is that everything is possible. This season has yet to be written. The collective hopes and dreams of the masses will carry it forward into life. All too soon we'll be sitting on a patio on the other side of April reveling in the memories.

I'll see you in the lift line on Opening Day.

My Best Day

I have been blessed with a lifetime's worth of perfect memories riding these mountains, but there is only one that stands out clear and deep like a track you've had to hike to earn. My memory is of the day Debbie Clifton “Danced”.

I once side lined as a Snowboard Instructor on Whistler Mountain. I had many students through the seasons, but Debs is unforgettable. It's not that her feet were born knowing how to turn, this young lady's secret was 100% great attitude. She wanted to snowboard.

What followed were days of riding side by side and on-mountain bonding. As we grew closer, we started to share more personal conversations and I discovered something about my new friend that shattered me. Debbie was living with Cystic Fibrosis.

“C.F.” is a genetic disease that is most famous for attacking the lungs. Eventually the disease wins and the lungs stop working. Debs explained that to gain the lung capacity to ride each day she had an exhausting two hour routine of physio therapy and treatments to preform.

All so that she could do something I often take for granted.

Inspired, I decided to teach Debs something I had never had the courage to share with another student: The Philosophy of “The Dance”.

“The Dance” is what results when the rhythm of your turns and the energy of the mountain merge into one fluid motion. You find that you are no longer conscious of your body. From your toes to your fingertips your fear melts away.

It's awesome.

I took a few chairlift sessions and attempted to explain The Dance to my young grasshopper. Debs grew quiet as I spoke. I was certain that I had scared her with my new age mumblings and quickly changed the subject.

The next afternoon as we made our way down a run, I darted ahead to watch Debs so that I could give her a few pointers on technique. And then, around the corner above me she appeared, turns linked, in total control of her board, her movements fluid, her face relaxed into a huge grin.

My Debs was Dancing.

Pride oozed from me. I was witnessing a new sureness, a Debs-only style of The Dance. We laughed. I cried. I bragged about her all week to anyone that would listen. I brag about her still.

Debs and I kept in touch for a time, but I'm sorry to say that eventually we lost contact. That's a risk you take living in a resort town. The people you love often slip away. I was left with a few photos, a handful of brilliant memories and a renewed appreciation for both the paradise I live in and the sport I love. Her gift to me was My Best Day.

Wherever Debs is now, I hope she is winning her fight. I think of her every time the cold air fills my lungs and my feet strike up The Dance.

Guarenteed: by Eddie Vedder

On bended knee is no way to be free
Lifting up an empty cup I ask silently
That all my destinations will accept the one that's me
So I can breathe

Circles they grow and they swallow people whole
Half their lives they say goodnight to wives they'll never know
Got a mind full of questions and a teacher in my soul
And so it goes

Don't come closer or I'll have to go
Owning me like gravity are places that pull
If ever there was someone to keep me at home
It would be you

Everyone I come across in cages they bought
They think of me and my wandering but I'm never what they thought
Got my indignation but I'm pure in all my thoughts
I'm alive

Wind in my hair I feel part of everywhere
Underneath my being is a road that disappeared
Late at night I hear the trees they're singing with the dead
Overhead

Leave it to me as I find a way to be
Consider me a satellite forever orbiting
I knew all the rules but the rules did not know me
Guaranteed

Merci Beaucoup

"...start sharing: whatsoever you have, share it. Share your beauty, share your song, share your life..." -Osho

My dear Marjolaine. The First Frenchie I Ever Loved. Watching you in the context of the home you have built has been such a joy for me. Every now and then I catch a glimpse of you, talking with your friends and loved ones in one of your three languages and I am filled with happiness.

I always remembered you as a strong, beautiful woman with intelligent ideas and interesting points of view. You taught me so much- how to make guacamole, how to swear in french, how to find a smile when there was very little in my sight to smile about.

You were always so patient with me, always so kind. You opened to me a whole new world of thought, of love, of life. My passionate hippie, my Quebecois beauty. I have always felt so honored to be your friend.

When I travelled to Montreal, you were there, too, teaching me your culture, helping me with your language. You protected me like a mother and loved me like a sister, never making me feel like I was a burden to you.

Over the years in between we both have climbed a few mountains. Our feet are blistered with the long walk we each have taken. It amazes me how similar our stories are, and yet how utterly different, too. Through your eyes I have seen a new grace for my mistakes, and I hope beyond hope that I have helped you to do the same.

As always, your generous hospitality and your light spirit have washed me and warmed me while I have lived in your tropical home. I am amazed by the beautiful bamboo creations that your fingers have spun. But everything is made beautiful by your touch. The bracelets that you make, all of the furniture and paintings and lovely lamp shades of your home. Your friendships. Your loves. All is touched and made better by your presence.

And I am so very happy that you are so very happy. That you are in love with a very good man who is so obviously in love with you. That you have such a beautiful home that you have helped to build. That there are people who care for you and enjoy you around your table, and that you may be the welcome to multitudes of weary travellers who come through your door.

You are walking a life fulfilled, and it is a testament to listening to the heart and following your own spirit. I am blessed to be a witness, and I am grateful that you call me friend.