Learning how to find some backcountry skiing bliss

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The snow in my underpants stung. Hard. There was no way I could pretend it wasn’t there and let it melt. But removing it was going to be tricky.

I was about 1,900 metres up Whistler mountain. In front of me was a steep drop into Fitzsimmons Creek Valley and a panoramic vista of Blackcomb Mountain. Behind me? More sharp, snowy peaks in the Spearhead range and the empty slopes of Flute bowl. And my guide, Matt, discreetly looking the other way. We’d just finished lunch on this scenic ridgeline and he was planning our descent in knee-deep powder.

Above me I noted the sideways glances of a few ski-touring folk who’d climbed higher, but I chose to ignore them. Pulling your pants down in the backcountry is pretty common: Everyone has to go some time – even if you are perched on a small snowy ledge trying not to fall into the view. I knew I looked ridiculous. The thing was, I didn’t care. I’d pushed my limits to get into Whistler’s backcountry and loved the serenity I’d found far beyond the resort’s lift lines. I had no idea there were many more limits I’d be pushing through before the day was over.

The rush to find peace and quiet in the backcountry exploded in the pandemic. What better way to stay distanced than to explore terrain that can’t be easily reached? Enviously, I’d read all about it last winter as I worked from home, stuck in a big city. Sure, I knew how to ski, but venturing beyond resort boundaries was a whole new experience – and a whole new skill. On a trip to Whistler in mid-December, I jumped at the chance to try it out.

I had my Epic Pass for the lifts (no need to walk up the entire mountain) but needed to pick up the right gear. The night before I hit the slopes, I had a quick lesson at Escape Route rentals in Whistler village on the essentials: skis with bindings that allow the ski-boot heel to rise, fabric skins for the bottom of the ski so you can climb uphill (then rip them off to ski down), and a backpack of avalanche survival gear – gulp – just in case.

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As a backcountry newbie, I also needed a guide – but it makes sense for people of any skill level to have one. “It’s important just to get out there safely and to gain more knowledge,” says Jill Dunnigan, founder and co-owner of Extremely Canadian. Based in Whistler, the coaching and guiding company has noticed a spike in its bookings for backcountry skills courses. But even those who take a course should “hire a guide to put the theory into practice.” And one perk, she adds, is that guides can reveal new routes in areas clients thought they already knew.

What looked like a cloudy day when Matt and I started up the lifts turned sunny once we reached Whistler’s mid-mountain runs. He had me follow him downhill toward the resort boundary through an area that chairlifts weren’t servicing that day. The snow was perfect. Matt guessed that a metre had fallen in the past four days: We were in a deep powder playland. Enormous pillows of white weighed down pine trees. Snow sparkled in the sun, untouched for acres. And it felt like there was no one else around to enjoy it but us.

Sure, I’d soon faceplant on a run and quietly freak out when I realized the fluffy stuff wouldn’t support my weight and I’d lost a ski. Matt, who’d been filming my fresh-tracks run from below, had to sidestep his way back up to help. While I struggled into a sitting position, he used his own ski to methodically poke through the snow to find mine. It took a long time. Had I just ruined the entire day before it truly got started? That’s another reason you want a guide in the backcountry: Matt knew how to distract me from negative thinking, pulled out an extra puffy coat when I got cold, let me finish his giant chocolate bar, and did the lion’s share of the work to find that ski. He is half my age but he looked after me like a papa bear.

When we finally reached the bottom of that run, we crossed the resort boundary into ski terrain that is not patrolled or marked. We went over the avalanche training again: how to use the radio transceivers we were wearing, the best way to use your probe to find someone in the snow and the right way to dig them out of an avalanche. Sobering stuff, even if the backcountry I was exploring that day might be called “slackcountry” (meaning it’s easier-to-reach backcountry).

It was hardcore enough for me. Matt showed me how to slick the skins on to my skis and switch my bindings and boots into “walk” mode, and demonstrated how to slide on the snow (instead of lifting it off) to conserve energy. Then he set off to break a trail, zig-zagging up the slope, through the pine trees and eventually above the treeline. I stopped often for photos or to watch a whisky-jack hover and look for food. But who am I kidding? I needed to catch my breath. I inhaled buckets of that fresh mountain air and, best of all, I forgot to worry about the pandemic.

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My cellphone jarred my backcountry reverie; it was my kid on the other side of the country. “Just tell them Mom is too busy being a badass to talk right now,” Matt called back over his shoulder. That made me laugh. No one had called me that before.

After lunch, the powder run down was a thrill but tougher than I expected. I was still in backcountry bliss mode and proud that I had “earned my turns,” but ski touring back into the resort boundary was hard, too. And it took every ounce of mental and physical strength I had left to get down to the Whistler village.

But my God I was exhilarated when I did. We were an hour late meeting friends for après. I passed on the beer and nachos everyone else was enjoying. This middle-aged badass needed Champagne to celebrate.

If you go

Book your guide and your gear early, and pick up an Epic Pass for the lifts. At Extremely Canadian, guided tours into the backcountry and skills clinics start at $289 a person. You’ll find Escape Route rental shop in Whistler Village Centre. Alpine touring kits (including skis, boots and avalanche gear) start at $132. extremelycanadian.com; rentals.escaperoute.ca

The writer was a guest of Tourism Whistler. The agency did not review or approve the story before publication.

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