Bogeys at six o'clock... outgoing...
My brain feels as if it's being sucked out through my nose. I'm reeling back against the mountainside, the wind like a huge hand trying to pluck me from my perch and smash me into the rocks below. Through teared-up eyes, I can just about see a six-inch tendril of snot growing longer and longer... until it slaps back across my cheek and the hood of my raincoat. I giggle a little hysterically and check that Marianne, a few yards below me on the path, is still on her feet.
We're not in Whistler any more.
There are no skis on our feet, no snow beneath us; we're hundreds, rather than thousands, of miles from home. It's midsummer in the Lake District. Despite the rose-tinted name, this is some of Britain's harshest terrain. The altitudes are a little lower than we're used to, but the mountains and weather are the real deal. Lose respect at your peril.
In London, one is allegedly never more than six feet from a rat. After four days in the Lake District, it's clear to me that the same is true of sheep up here. In every shade of grey, in every location from verdant lakeside field to rock-strewn scree slope; spot one ten yards away and you can guarantee that there'll be three others within five. These are the 'stealth sheep' that are only visible when they care to be.
Yes, I know. Too much mountain air, perhaps. Or it could be the copious daily intake of red wine.
But today, at the northern end of Kentmere Valley, I'm beginning to think we've found a place where even sheep fear to tread. As we eat our lunch on a rough bench at Nan Bield Pass, low stone walls protecting us from the worst of the wind, we feel like the only people on Earth.
The view over Small Water to the southern end of Haweswater, seven hundred metres below, defies description; we're humbled, inspired, a little scared. As we tighten our straps and prepare for the tricky descent to Kentmere Reservoir, I spot a flicker of white among the rocks above us.
Of course they're up here. This is their patch. We're the trespassers. I only spot one, and only for a moment. But as we start downhill into the tearing wind, I know the others are watching.
Tuesday 24 July 2012
Tuesday 20 March 2012
We’re not worthy
Last time I checked, my skis were still attached to my feet. But I can’t see them. They’re six inches beneath the surface of the snow, a smooth unbroken blanket which I’m floating through at the thick end of thirty miles an hour. It’s an unnerving experience to begin with, but once you’ve cut fresh tracks in fresh powder, there is no going back. Skiers and boarders go to the most amazing lengths for their powder fix – we’ve seen them hiking up rocky slopes or along precarious ridges, a mile or more from any lift.
Marianne, Steve and I aren’t that committed. We’ve settled for a chairlift, a draglift and a short – but draining – hike. We’re not true powder hounds. But today, the luck is with us.
It’s 10.30 in the morning on Sunday, day ten of the Odyssey and this, for me, could well be its crowning moment. Blackcomb Glacier has been shut for virtually our entire visit but the weather has finally relented; we were in the right place at the right time when the chairlift opened and are amongst the first to the top. Below us lies a vast, open bowl, cradled between the mountains; pictures and words do it no justice but suffice it to say we feel privileged to be here.
It’s not a place for the fainthearted or inexperienced; my limited skills are only just up to the task. There are almost no tracks but it won’t be long before others cotton on; it’s time to swallow the fear, point our skis downhill and go.
So we did.
Having skied through some truly atrocious weather – imagine the wind chill when it’s minus eight, snowing and gusting to 60mph – we were delighted when the mountain gods finally gave in and graced us two relatively clear days to finish off. I mentioned Harmony Ridge in an earlier post, but for days 10 and 11, it was all about the Glacier and Seventh Heaven – the latter a glorious mix of wide-open alpine playground and gladed trails below the treeline.
We know it well from many previous visits but as with everywhere in Whistler, you could spend a lifetime skiing it and still be surprised. Although we did revisit the tree that Marianne collided with last year. I even took a picture.
Along with my newfound abilities in powder, I’ve made great progress with my tree skiing this year. I’m still slow, but I can pick my way through some pretty steep terrain with a minimum of tree-hugging. More importantly, I’m growing to love it. Having conquered In the Spirit on Saturday, I wrapped up some unfinished business over the final two days – Arthur’s Choice, which defeated me last year, and the Catskinner lift line, which I chickened out of on day four this year.
And that, sadly, is all she wrote. The timing and duration of Odyssey 2012 were dictated by other commitments – usually we ski earlier in the season – but March is usually Whistler’s snowiest month and on the basis of this trip I’d certainly choose it again.
As I write, Whistler is over a thousand miles behind us and receding fast. We’re skirting the northern end of Hudson Bay, blown along by a hurricane-force tailwind. These words are travelling at over seven hundred miles an hour.
As ever, we’re sad to be leaving – but it’s been a bruising week and a half. The fabulous snow has led to minor injuries for all of us; I’m nursing a sprained ankle which I picked up on day two, and we’re all groaning like octagenarians every time we struggle out of chairs. It’s probably the right time to be leaving the mountains behind.
We take with us hundreds of pictures, hours of video, and priceless memories to last a lifetime.
Is this really a good idea? Steve surveys the entrance to Blackcomb Glacier. 18 March 2012.
Just when we thought the weather gods were smiling... Catskinner Chair, Blackcomb, 18 March 2012.
It's called Seventh Heaven for a reason. Blackcomb, 19 March 2012.
Look, no skis... I try to stay on my feet in knee-deep powder. Xhiggy's Meadow, Seventh Heaven. Blackcomb, 19 March 2012.
They're not painted on, honest. Marianne and Steve pause for breath on Sluiceway. Seventh Heaven, Blackcomb, 19 March 2012.
We're supposed to be on a plane in eight hours, but what the hell. One more run... Seventh Heaven, Blackcomb, 19 March 2012.
Marianne, Steve and I aren’t that committed. We’ve settled for a chairlift, a draglift and a short – but draining – hike. We’re not true powder hounds. But today, the luck is with us.
It’s 10.30 in the morning on Sunday, day ten of the Odyssey and this, for me, could well be its crowning moment. Blackcomb Glacier has been shut for virtually our entire visit but the weather has finally relented; we were in the right place at the right time when the chairlift opened and are amongst the first to the top. Below us lies a vast, open bowl, cradled between the mountains; pictures and words do it no justice but suffice it to say we feel privileged to be here.
It’s not a place for the fainthearted or inexperienced; my limited skills are only just up to the task. There are almost no tracks but it won’t be long before others cotton on; it’s time to swallow the fear, point our skis downhill and go.
So we did.
Having skied through some truly atrocious weather – imagine the wind chill when it’s minus eight, snowing and gusting to 60mph – we were delighted when the mountain gods finally gave in and graced us two relatively clear days to finish off. I mentioned Harmony Ridge in an earlier post, but for days 10 and 11, it was all about the Glacier and Seventh Heaven – the latter a glorious mix of wide-open alpine playground and gladed trails below the treeline.
We know it well from many previous visits but as with everywhere in Whistler, you could spend a lifetime skiing it and still be surprised. Although we did revisit the tree that Marianne collided with last year. I even took a picture.
Along with my newfound abilities in powder, I’ve made great progress with my tree skiing this year. I’m still slow, but I can pick my way through some pretty steep terrain with a minimum of tree-hugging. More importantly, I’m growing to love it. Having conquered In the Spirit on Saturday, I wrapped up some unfinished business over the final two days – Arthur’s Choice, which defeated me last year, and the Catskinner lift line, which I chickened out of on day four this year.
And that, sadly, is all she wrote. The timing and duration of Odyssey 2012 were dictated by other commitments – usually we ski earlier in the season – but March is usually Whistler’s snowiest month and on the basis of this trip I’d certainly choose it again.
As I write, Whistler is over a thousand miles behind us and receding fast. We’re skirting the northern end of Hudson Bay, blown along by a hurricane-force tailwind. These words are travelling at over seven hundred miles an hour.
As ever, we’re sad to be leaving – but it’s been a bruising week and a half. The fabulous snow has led to minor injuries for all of us; I’m nursing a sprained ankle which I picked up on day two, and we’re all groaning like octagenarians every time we struggle out of chairs. It’s probably the right time to be leaving the mountains behind.
We take with us hundreds of pictures, hours of video, and priceless memories to last a lifetime.
Saturday 17 March 2012
Getting in the spirit
'Be bear aware!' says the sign on the garage door. You'll find similar notices all over Whistler, all with the same message. Bears live in these mountains. They're clever, resourceful and hungry. If you give them access to food of any kind, they'll have it and then some. 'Access' could be a locked freezer inside a locked garage. Like I said, clever, resourceful and hungry.
The garage which houses our apartment complex rubbish bins is bear-proof. And, after around a minute of pushing, pulling, twisting and the odd kick, I'm making no headway. I'm coming to the conclusion that the bears are brighter than I am. There's probably one watching me right now. When I do finally figure out how to open the door, he'll be making notes.
I love the fact that the bears are here. If I encountered one I'd run a mile screaming, of course - but they're beautiful animals and great efforts are made to preserve their habitat, to enable humans and bears to co-exist as happily as possible. While not tame by any means, they're quite used to people and are regularly seen in the summer months. Some of the gladed ski trails (the trails which run through woods) have 'bear habitat' warning signs. As if knee-deep powder, trees, and steep fall-lines weren't enough to be going on with...
So we've been skiing a lot. You know this. The last couple of days has seen the high terrain finally open after nearly a week of harsh weather, and we've made the most of it. Harmony Ridge is still wonderful. And I still get a twinge of fear every time I get on the chairlift.
Talking of which... it occurred to me today that in order to get to these amazing places, we use a transport network which to the uninitiated would seem... precarious, shall we say. Any skier or boarder will think nothing of sitting four (or six, or eight) abreast on a metal bench suspended from a moving cable up to a hundred or more feet in the air, with only a single metal bar for protection. Boarding and disembarking can be a dicey business, too. You never forget your first chairlift ride, but it becomes routine amazingly quickly.
And then there are gondolas - cable cars. Whistler has four: three lines which lead up from the valley, and the new Peak2Peak gondola which links the two mountains. Even for the most jaded seasonnaire, this is a spectacular ride. Nearly three miles of cable supported by just two towers on each mountain, it's the highest cable car of its kind in the world. At the centre point, you're over 1400 feet above the valley floor.
With two days remaining, Odyssey 2012 is drawing to a close. It's been memorable mostly for the right reasons; here's hoping for a fitting last hurrah.
All smiles, but look at the whites of our eyes... Odyssey 2012 finds Harmony. Whistler Mountain, 16 March 2012
The Album Cover shot, on the appropriately named 'Freefall'. Blackcomb, 16 March 2012
Going down... Peak2Peak, Blackcomb to Whistler, 17 March 2012
Man meets bird... Whistler's famous - and well fed - Whiskeyjacks. Symphony, Whistler Mountain, 17 March 2012.
It was THIS narrow... and THAT steep. Marianne, Steve and I celebrate conquering 'In the Spirit', a tricky gladed trail. And I know the bears were watching. Blackcomb, 17 March 2012.
The garage which houses our apartment complex rubbish bins is bear-proof. And, after around a minute of pushing, pulling, twisting and the odd kick, I'm making no headway. I'm coming to the conclusion that the bears are brighter than I am. There's probably one watching me right now. When I do finally figure out how to open the door, he'll be making notes.
I love the fact that the bears are here. If I encountered one I'd run a mile screaming, of course - but they're beautiful animals and great efforts are made to preserve their habitat, to enable humans and bears to co-exist as happily as possible. While not tame by any means, they're quite used to people and are regularly seen in the summer months. Some of the gladed ski trails (the trails which run through woods) have 'bear habitat' warning signs. As if knee-deep powder, trees, and steep fall-lines weren't enough to be going on with...
So we've been skiing a lot. You know this. The last couple of days has seen the high terrain finally open after nearly a week of harsh weather, and we've made the most of it. Harmony Ridge is still wonderful. And I still get a twinge of fear every time I get on the chairlift.
Talking of which... it occurred to me today that in order to get to these amazing places, we use a transport network which to the uninitiated would seem... precarious, shall we say. Any skier or boarder will think nothing of sitting four (or six, or eight) abreast on a metal bench suspended from a moving cable up to a hundred or more feet in the air, with only a single metal bar for protection. Boarding and disembarking can be a dicey business, too. You never forget your first chairlift ride, but it becomes routine amazingly quickly.
And then there are gondolas - cable cars. Whistler has four: three lines which lead up from the valley, and the new Peak2Peak gondola which links the two mountains. Even for the most jaded seasonnaire, this is a spectacular ride. Nearly three miles of cable supported by just two towers on each mountain, it's the highest cable car of its kind in the world. At the centre point, you're over 1400 feet above the valley floor.
With two days remaining, Odyssey 2012 is drawing to a close. It's been memorable mostly for the right reasons; here's hoping for a fitting last hurrah.
Wednesday 14 March 2012
The pleasure/pain divide
Both of my big toes look as if they've been hit with a sledgehammer. So does my right index finger. My shins look as if they've been sandpapered and then hit with a sledgehammer. My left knee has no marks at all, which is annoying, since it hurts like hell. Every muscle from ankles to jaw aches to some degree.
Yet for some reason, I still get up at 7.15 every morning - on holiday - strap on my gear and haul myself up the mountain in the freezing cold.
Why? Because it's magical. Not always, of course - on more than one occasion in the past few days I've wondered why the hell I was putting myself through it. This morning I briefly contemplated going back to bed. But I've learned that losing the love is inevitable once in a while. The key is not to throw your toys, get a hot chocolate, and start afresh. It's meant to be fun, remember?
Whistler hasn't given us the easiest ride this week. On the one hand, the weather is amazing - fresh snow every day, more powder than we could possibly have hoped for. But the flipside has been some ferocious conditions on the mountains - gale force winds, heavy snowfall, poor visibility. This has often kept the high-altitude terrain shut.
This week is Spring Break in Canada - half term, as far as I can gather. Combined with the weather it's made for some big queues. Whistler is typically busiest at the weekends and quietest on a Monday. Imagine our dismay when we turned up at our nearest chairlift (the Wizard) on Monday morning to discover that half of Vancouver had got there first. There was muttering.
Nevertheless, although the fragile balance between pleasure and pain has occasionally tipped the wrong way, for the most part we've continued as we started. After four straight days on Blackcomb we've spent the last two on Whistler; highlights for me have been the terror-spiked rush of Seppos - a steep, bumpy, cliff-strewn black diamond run - and the slightly less sphincter-clenching Peak2Peak lift line trail, a powder-filled glade beneath the huge gondola cables.
We've spent almost no time on groomed pistes - partly because the snow has fallen so fast that the groomers can't keep up, and partly because here, there's always a more interesting route down the mountain.
This is what it's looked like, every day. Wizard chairlift, Blackcomb base, 12 March 2012
No friends on a powder day... waiting in line to tear it up. Solar Coaster, Blackcomb, 12 March 2012
Before the Terror... the deceptively gentle top section of Seppos. Whistler, 13 March 2012
Somewhere under there, she's smiling. Peak2Peak Gondola, 13 March 2012
About the only ray of sunshine we've seen all week. Rendezvous, Blackcomb, 13 March 2012
Tea never tasted so good... after six hours in powder, high winds, -12C. Rendezvous, Blackcomb, 14 March 2012.
Time to head home... thousand yard stare. Rendezvous, Blackcomb, 14 March 2012
Yet for some reason, I still get up at 7.15 every morning - on holiday - strap on my gear and haul myself up the mountain in the freezing cold.
Why? Because it's magical. Not always, of course - on more than one occasion in the past few days I've wondered why the hell I was putting myself through it. This morning I briefly contemplated going back to bed. But I've learned that losing the love is inevitable once in a while. The key is not to throw your toys, get a hot chocolate, and start afresh. It's meant to be fun, remember?
Whistler hasn't given us the easiest ride this week. On the one hand, the weather is amazing - fresh snow every day, more powder than we could possibly have hoped for. But the flipside has been some ferocious conditions on the mountains - gale force winds, heavy snowfall, poor visibility. This has often kept the high-altitude terrain shut.
This week is Spring Break in Canada - half term, as far as I can gather. Combined with the weather it's made for some big queues. Whistler is typically busiest at the weekends and quietest on a Monday. Imagine our dismay when we turned up at our nearest chairlift (the Wizard) on Monday morning to discover that half of Vancouver had got there first. There was muttering.
Nevertheless, although the fragile balance between pleasure and pain has occasionally tipped the wrong way, for the most part we've continued as we started. After four straight days on Blackcomb we've spent the last two on Whistler; highlights for me have been the terror-spiked rush of Seppos - a steep, bumpy, cliff-strewn black diamond run - and the slightly less sphincter-clenching Peak2Peak lift line trail, a powder-filled glade beneath the huge gondola cables.
We've spent almost no time on groomed pistes - partly because the snow has fallen so fast that the groomers can't keep up, and partly because here, there's always a more interesting route down the mountain.
Sunday 11 March 2012
Hitting the Wall
At around 3pm on day two (Saturday 10 March), we hit the Wall. This is the crisis point when the rigours of the mountain pushes bodies already battling to recover from jetlag over the edge.
This is what it looks like:
Stephen
Andrew
Marianne
Not pretty, is it? (Actually, I think Marianne looks kind of cute)
We were halfway through day two before we figured out why we're so exhausted. We're not losers, after all. Because there are only three of us we're able to cover ground much more quickly than the bigger groups of last year. I'm the weakest skier/boarder of the group, but even I can now ski some pretty gnarly stuff with confidence.
Because I'm in Canada, I was able to write that last line with a straight face.
Having skied ourselves into the ground, we went to bed at 9pm and emerged with fresh perspective for day three. And what a stormer it was. Another ten inches of fresh snow on top of the foot or so that fell in the first two days made for conditions to make a powder hound weep.
Weekend crowds can be a problem in Whistler, but by picking our routes carefully, and eating outside of peak time, we've learned to avoid the worst of them. We made Crystal Chair and Jersey Cream our own, carving lines at lightning speed in Jersey Bowl, practising our powder turns down the steep bumps of Blow Hole, and (in my case) going a little dry-throated as we picked our way between the trees and boulders under the Jersey Cream chairlift.
Trees feature heavily in this part of the world: if you come skiing in Whistler, you're going to end up amongst them, whether by accident or design. Over the past two days we've spent time off the edges of the wonderful Catskinner and Springboard runs, cutting between the trees, avoiding low branches and each other. It's good practice for the gladed runs over on Whistler Mountain.
So far we've only skied Blackcomb - a combination of geography (we're staying at its base), weather and timing having conspired against us. Monday looks likely to be more of the same - a winter storm with winds gusting over 60mph is forecast, which may limit our mileage.
But when we do get over to the big mountain, a myriad wonders await - starting with Harmony Ridge, source of so many great experiences last year. And, of course, Symphony, with its glorious bowls and glades. I can't wait.
To finish, some more pictures - with a little less dribble this time.
Bend ze knees... Marianne coaxes me down a black diamond run in two feet of powder. The Bite, Blackcomb, 10 March 2012.
Time to put the kettle on... Steve leads the home run as the weather begins to close in. Stoker, Blackcomb, 11 March 2012.
Who put that bump there? Andrew gets unintentional air. Stoker, Blackcomb, 11 March 2012.
Poetry in motion (it's sickening). Marianne executes another inch-perfect turn. Stoker, Blackcomb, 11 March 2012.
This is what it looks like:
Not pretty, is it? (Actually, I think Marianne looks kind of cute)
We were halfway through day two before we figured out why we're so exhausted. We're not losers, after all. Because there are only three of us we're able to cover ground much more quickly than the bigger groups of last year. I'm the weakest skier/boarder of the group, but even I can now ski some pretty gnarly stuff with confidence.
Because I'm in Canada, I was able to write that last line with a straight face.
Having skied ourselves into the ground, we went to bed at 9pm and emerged with fresh perspective for day three. And what a stormer it was. Another ten inches of fresh snow on top of the foot or so that fell in the first two days made for conditions to make a powder hound weep.
Weekend crowds can be a problem in Whistler, but by picking our routes carefully, and eating outside of peak time, we've learned to avoid the worst of them. We made Crystal Chair and Jersey Cream our own, carving lines at lightning speed in Jersey Bowl, practising our powder turns down the steep bumps of Blow Hole, and (in my case) going a little dry-throated as we picked our way between the trees and boulders under the Jersey Cream chairlift.
Trees feature heavily in this part of the world: if you come skiing in Whistler, you're going to end up amongst them, whether by accident or design. Over the past two days we've spent time off the edges of the wonderful Catskinner and Springboard runs, cutting between the trees, avoiding low branches and each other. It's good practice for the gladed runs over on Whistler Mountain.
So far we've only skied Blackcomb - a combination of geography (we're staying at its base), weather and timing having conspired against us. Monday looks likely to be more of the same - a winter storm with winds gusting over 60mph is forecast, which may limit our mileage.
But when we do get over to the big mountain, a myriad wonders await - starting with Harmony Ridge, source of so many great experiences last year. And, of course, Symphony, with its glorious bowls and glades. I can't wait.
To finish, some more pictures - with a little less dribble this time.
Friday 9 March 2012
In at the deep (powder) end
Wizard Chairlift, Blackcomb, 9am. Driven snow is rattling off our helmets. Below us, the slope is almost pristine, just a few tracks carved in what looks like six inches of fresh powder. Above, the row of pylons disappears into a veil of cloud. As we gain altitude, the wind begins to howl around the chairlift cables. Goggles on, helmets and gloves strapped tight.
"You know," Marianne says, "it's almost as if we never left."
Wind back 24 hours. Southampton to Whistler is, typically, an eighteen hour trip. National Express, British Airways and the excellent Whistler Shuttle service did an admirable job of getting us here with minimal stress. And thank you BA for your generous drinks service. Nothing like a quadruple vodka at nine miles a minute to get you in the holiday mood...
In fact the only stress of the entire trip came at our front door, which initially refused to open when presented with the code we'd been given. It relented in the end. We fell into bed at midnight - 8am in the UK - and awoke early with the first-day tingle that makes it all worthwhile. Caffeine-laced excitement with a tiny spike of fear.
Day one is normally warm-up day. Find your ski legs, ease yourself in, be mindful of the jetlag.
But today, Whistler had other ideas. Heavy snow, visibility mixed, up to a foot of fresh powder even on runs that are normally groomed... a baptism of fire, in other words. After two hours we were still - miraculously - on our feet, and had reduced the windmill arms to a minimum.
Skiing like this is hard work, and though the hearts are willing, the flesh is weak. Our stamina will improve in the coming days, as we shed the jetlag and toughen up. But by mid afternoon, we reluctantly called time on our first day. What a start. I can't decide what aches more - my legs, or my face.
It's good to be back...
Marianne celebrates the start of Odyssey 2012. Jersey Cream, Blackcomb, 9 March 2012
Day one. Finding our ski legs in tricky conditions. Jersey Cream, Blackcomb, 9 March 2012
"You know," Marianne says, "it's almost as if we never left."
Wind back 24 hours. Southampton to Whistler is, typically, an eighteen hour trip. National Express, British Airways and the excellent Whistler Shuttle service did an admirable job of getting us here with minimal stress. And thank you BA for your generous drinks service. Nothing like a quadruple vodka at nine miles a minute to get you in the holiday mood...
In fact the only stress of the entire trip came at our front door, which initially refused to open when presented with the code we'd been given. It relented in the end. We fell into bed at midnight - 8am in the UK - and awoke early with the first-day tingle that makes it all worthwhile. Caffeine-laced excitement with a tiny spike of fear.
Day one is normally warm-up day. Find your ski legs, ease yourself in, be mindful of the jetlag.
But today, Whistler had other ideas. Heavy snow, visibility mixed, up to a foot of fresh powder even on runs that are normally groomed... a baptism of fire, in other words. After two hours we were still - miraculously - on our feet, and had reduced the windmill arms to a minimum.
Skiing like this is hard work, and though the hearts are willing, the flesh is weak. Our stamina will improve in the coming days, as we shed the jetlag and toughen up. But by mid afternoon, we reluctantly called time on our first day. What a start. I can't decide what aches more - my legs, or my face.
It's good to be back...
Wednesday 7 March 2012
It's nearly time...
Click-snap.
A noise unlike any other. The sound of a ski boot buckle shutting.
After months of anticipation, it's this that finally makes it real. We're almost down to the wire: checking our kit, counting out socks. Battling to remember that thing we've forgotten, and hoping it's not important.
It's 384 days since we came off the mountain - the longest break since I started skiing in 2006 - and at last, Whistler Odyssey 2012 waits in the wings.
The mountains need no introduction. After an unforgettable month in 2011 - and a terrible season in the Alps - our choice of 2012 venue was a shortlist of one. Not everyone loves Whistler and it's not perfect by any means. But for us, the sheer variety of terrain make a compelling case - from lose-your-lunch alpine bowls to whisper-smooth trails to serene glades. Combine that with great food, quality accommodation and Canadian hospitality, and it's near-unbeatable.
This year's Odyssey will be different. After the 28 day, open-house marathon that was Odyssey 2011, 2012 will be smaller, tighter, more focused. Three people, eleven days. Between us we've amassed nearly seven months on these mountains. We think we know the place.
But we don't.
Over the better part of two weeks, Whistler and her shy sister Blackcomb will beguile and enchant, frustrate and terrify. They'll be consistent only in providing fresh surprises every day. As always, I'll try to provide a bit of the story along with pictures and video.
Odyssey 2011 had its share of ups and downs but was, overall, a huge success. As the wheels of this trip start rolling, I'll say what I said last year: we've worked hard to make this happen. Come what may, we're going to embrace it.
One sleep and twelve hours until the coach whisks us up to Heathrow. The mountains are waiting...
A noise unlike any other. The sound of a ski boot buckle shutting.
After months of anticipation, it's this that finally makes it real. We're almost down to the wire: checking our kit, counting out socks. Battling to remember that thing we've forgotten, and hoping it's not important.
It's 384 days since we came off the mountain - the longest break since I started skiing in 2006 - and at last, Whistler Odyssey 2012 waits in the wings.
The mountains need no introduction. After an unforgettable month in 2011 - and a terrible season in the Alps - our choice of 2012 venue was a shortlist of one. Not everyone loves Whistler and it's not perfect by any means. But for us, the sheer variety of terrain make a compelling case - from lose-your-lunch alpine bowls to whisper-smooth trails to serene glades. Combine that with great food, quality accommodation and Canadian hospitality, and it's near-unbeatable.
This year's Odyssey will be different. After the 28 day, open-house marathon that was Odyssey 2011, 2012 will be smaller, tighter, more focused. Three people, eleven days. Between us we've amassed nearly seven months on these mountains. We think we know the place.
But we don't.
Over the better part of two weeks, Whistler and her shy sister Blackcomb will beguile and enchant, frustrate and terrify. They'll be consistent only in providing fresh surprises every day. As always, I'll try to provide a bit of the story along with pictures and video.
Odyssey 2011 had its share of ups and downs but was, overall, a huge success. As the wheels of this trip start rolling, I'll say what I said last year: we've worked hard to make this happen. Come what may, we're going to embrace it.
One sleep and twelve hours until the coach whisks us up to Heathrow. The mountains are waiting...
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