A day in Whistler
The snow is falling furiously outside my window when I am woken
by telephone ringing at 0710. I remember that I asked to be
called early if it was snowing, and Stefan, my hunky Austrian
instructor is at the other end of the line. "I'll see you at the
bottom of the Creekside gondola in 20 minutes", he says. "Can
you really make it that quickly?". He doesn't realize that I am
staying at one of Holiday Whistler's ski-in, ski-out homes in
Taluswood, a spectacular development of ski lodge homes on the
lower slopes of Whistler Mountain. All I have to do is pull my
ski clothes on, ease into my boots, grab my skis and poles,
press the button that opens the garage door and walk the 10
yards to the ski-out trail. A minute later I am at the bottom of
the gondola. In fact - and to his astonishment - I am here
before Stefan. It is only 7.24. We have agreed to meet early to
take advantage of the conditions. We have our 'Fresh Tracks'
tickets, which entitle us to catch the first lift up and
breakfast at the Roundhouse. Whistler skiers know that when the
snow is falling heavily in the Village it is really falling at
the top - after all, it's over a vertical mile higher - and that
if they want to find some untracked snow without a hour's hike
they'd better be first up the mountain, which means 'Fresh
Tracks'.
Stefan has moved to Whistler from Kitzbuhel. He has transferred
from the legendary Rote Teufel - the Red Devils of the Kitzbuhel
Skischool - to the equally legendary Whistler-Blackcomb Ski
School. After we have eaten our fill at the Roundhouse (which is
not round at all, but apparently it once was) the all clear is
sounded and we rush out onto the slopes. It is still snowing
like hell, but following Stefan makes this somewhat easier: he
knows every mogul on the mountain and his smooth rhythms through
the powder, which he can effortlessly modulate to stay just
ahead of me, are almost as good a guide as bright sunshine and
some nearby trees for definition. Needless to say, my thighs are
burning and my goggles (c. 1991) are fogged up from the sweat of
my brow. Naturally, Stefan's Oakley goggles (c. 2005) are
crystal clear, since this is not even a mild workout for him.
We are among the first onto the Peak Chair, whence originate
some of Whistler's best and least know powder runs. Our first
run is Christmas Trees, which starts parallel to the Peak Chair
but then angles off to the left down a ridge of trees more or
less parallel to Big Red. There are many routes through these
trees but you have to know them as there are also many traps for
the unwary. Luckily Stefan can ski his way through these trees
blindfold. We do this run a couple of times and try some of the
double black diamond runs off the Harmony Ridge - so much snow
has fallen that even though I fall down after every jump my
landing is soft as, well as Whistler powder.
After a full day with Stefan I ski back to my front door -
literally - peel off my clothes and sink into the hot tub, which
is nestled in the woods at the back of the townhome. I have
taken the precaution of booking a masseuse; after the powerful
jets have done their work she starts hers. An hour later her
powerful fingers have done the trick and I am feeling immensely
relaxed and deeply somnolent. I worry - well I worry a little -
about whether a stiff cocktail will knock me out or revive me
for the evening's activities, but as the ice-cold Martini is
absorbed into my blood stream I find myself quite ready for an
evening's dining at one of Whistler's legendary restaurants.
Another great day in Whistler.