Published in Vue Weekly April 2 nd 2009
http://www.vueweekly.com/article.php?id=11482
You Get What You PayFor
By Will Colford
Thecat ascended with a methodic rumble; it reminded everyone of the tick tickticking of a coaster cable. The thick tracks halted, shakingeveryone alert. The driver Deniseheaved our cab door open; everyone bolted like caged animals suddenly releasedback into the wild. That’s wherewe were too, the Fernie backcountry wilderness, atop a wind-hammered ridge,cloudy and crested with deep drifts. The fog prevented a panoramic view. It didn’t matter though. On either side of the ridge everyone could see what theycame for. Now, finally, after theseven-hour bus ride, waivers filled out in triplicates, two safety talks and amandatory transceiver education course, the twelve of us were about to tearinto the best turns of our lives; we were about to find out if the twelvehundred dollar cost of admission was worth the tag. I can tell you now, it was.
Resort,tour, snowmobile, heli, and cat, these are all ways of getting turns, each withthere own pros and cons, the major factors, of course, being time andmoney. Resorts can be crowded andtracked; heli-skiing is reserved for the rich; touring, though arguablygratifying and pure, is arduous and requires decent backcountry knowledge to besafe; snowmobiling is even more dangerous and requires a lot of time andequipment. However, for the bestvalue, nothing beats cat skiing. Of the twenty or so amount of catski tour operators, the price ranges from three hundred to seven hundred perperson, per day, depending on the operator and the area. Cat skiing isbeneficial in other ways as well. One, as I luckily discovered, is the people. Cat skiers are comprised of riders that snort snow insteadof blow, the type of people who miss shoveling their driveway when they go ontropical vacations, I have never ridden harder than with that group.
Mycat – or ‘battle cat’ as we affectionately named it – was made up of twelveserious enthusiasts. There werethe two owners of an Edmonton based mountain adventures tour operation, as wellas their graphic design artist, the day lodge manager for kicking horse, liftoperations manager and marketing director for Kimberly mountain resort, and theowner of an Alberta custom snowboard company. Combined, there was over a century of riding experience, butthat day would be our best experience riding, thanks largely in part to ouroperator: Fernie Wilderness Adventures.
Locatedtwenty minuets out of town, FWA is one of the more accessible operators, withprices ranging from three hundred and fifty per day, to more expensive allinclusive weekend packages. Theyprovide all necessary avi gear, bagged lunches, professional photographers, andprofessional guides that have been riding the Fernie back country for most oftheir lives. In short, FWAprovides back country turns with resort like safety. Our guide Brian was laid back and cheery. He got a great feel for the ability ofthe group and took us down some real Warren Miller type terrain.
Speakingof the terrain, it was transcendent. For our first run, Brian led us off the ridge to a regroup spot justabove a snow-ghost glade. He laidout the plan, what we could expect, and where to regroup again.
“Mostimportantly though, enjoy your turns,” he said and led the way with acheer. We all followed suite andbegan to holler and whoop. Myriding partner and I skiffed our way to the front of the pack, came over theroller, and descended into a section of trees spaced by God. The snow was forgiving like knee-deeppow, yet responsive like fresh groomed piste. Even the tightest lines could be sniped at full-speed. At a resort I would be stopping afterevery line in order to survey the next section; it was not the case with Catskiing. I felt so greedy, neverstopping to find the best line because every line was the best line. Speed check was erased from myvocabulary as James and I linked the best turns of our riding existence. We regrouped at the end of the gladewhere the trees yielded to a vast cut block of untracked powder fieldperfection. Brian had difficultygetting a word in over the sounds of guttural elation. There were paradoxical prayers like,“Holy shit thank you God-Christ!”
“Thatwas six kinds of Wednesday,” said Neil the Aussie.
“Wheream I?” asked David.
“Whoam I?” wondered James.
“Ican see through time!” exclaimed Tim.
“Thatwas good,” said our guide Brian through his perpetual Cheshire grin. “Alright guys, well I hope that wasalright. We’re gonna head throughthis cut block here and meet the Cat down at the road. Just try not to hit any saplings, otherthan that let’s enjoy the rest of our run.” Then he led us through the minefield of joy. Snow exploded from our edges; it was abattleground of fun. When wefinally got to the road and met the Cat, everyone was silent and glowing. Had that been our last run, we couldhave finished with a sense of accomplishing something in life; but, it wasn’tour last run, we still had two full days of catharsis.
I’veseen that run countless times on countless ski films. Until that day I never believed it existed. I ended up getting more than Ibargained for, which I suppose is what a good bargain is all about. I paid for perfect untracked snow; whatI didn’t count on was the great group of people I shared my turns with, and theterrain we shared them on.
http://www.vueweekly.com/article.php?id=11482
You Get What You PayFor
By Will Colford
Thecat ascended with a methodic rumble; it reminded everyone of the tick tickticking of a coaster cable. The thick tracks halted, shakingeveryone alert. The driver Deniseheaved our cab door open; everyone bolted like caged animals suddenly releasedback into the wild. That’s wherewe were too, the Fernie backcountry wilderness, atop a wind-hammered ridge,cloudy and crested with deep drifts. The fog prevented a panoramic view. It didn’t matter though. On either side of the ridge everyone could see what theycame for. Now, finally, after theseven-hour bus ride, waivers filled out in triplicates, two safety talks and amandatory transceiver education course, the twelve of us were about to tearinto the best turns of our lives; we were about to find out if the twelvehundred dollar cost of admission was worth the tag. I can tell you now, it was.
Resort,tour, snowmobile, heli, and cat, these are all ways of getting turns, each withthere own pros and cons, the major factors, of course, being time andmoney. Resorts can be crowded andtracked; heli-skiing is reserved for the rich; touring, though arguablygratifying and pure, is arduous and requires decent backcountry knowledge to besafe; snowmobiling is even more dangerous and requires a lot of time andequipment. However, for the bestvalue, nothing beats cat skiing. Of the twenty or so amount of catski tour operators, the price ranges from three hundred to seven hundred perperson, per day, depending on the operator and the area. Cat skiing isbeneficial in other ways as well. One, as I luckily discovered, is the people. Cat skiers are comprised of riders that snort snow insteadof blow, the type of people who miss shoveling their driveway when they go ontropical vacations, I have never ridden harder than with that group.
Mycat – or ‘battle cat’ as we affectionately named it – was made up of twelveserious enthusiasts. There werethe two owners of an Edmonton based mountain adventures tour operation, as wellas their graphic design artist, the day lodge manager for kicking horse, liftoperations manager and marketing director for Kimberly mountain resort, and theowner of an Alberta custom snowboard company. Combined, there was over a century of riding experience, butthat day would be our best experience riding, thanks largely in part to ouroperator: Fernie Wilderness Adventures.
Locatedtwenty minuets out of town, FWA is one of the more accessible operators, withprices ranging from three hundred and fifty per day, to more expensive allinclusive weekend packages. Theyprovide all necessary avi gear, bagged lunches, professional photographers, andprofessional guides that have been riding the Fernie back country for most oftheir lives. In short, FWAprovides back country turns with resort like safety. Our guide Brian was laid back and cheery. He got a great feel for the ability ofthe group and took us down some real Warren Miller type terrain.
Speakingof the terrain, it was transcendent. For our first run, Brian led us off the ridge to a regroup spot justabove a snow-ghost glade. He laidout the plan, what we could expect, and where to regroup again.
“Mostimportantly though, enjoy your turns,” he said and led the way with acheer. We all followed suite andbegan to holler and whoop. Myriding partner and I skiffed our way to the front of the pack, came over theroller, and descended into a section of trees spaced by God. The snow was forgiving like knee-deeppow, yet responsive like fresh groomed piste. Even the tightest lines could be sniped at full-speed. At a resort I would be stopping afterevery line in order to survey the next section; it was not the case with Catskiing. I felt so greedy, neverstopping to find the best line because every line was the best line. Speed check was erased from myvocabulary as James and I linked the best turns of our riding existence. We regrouped at the end of the gladewhere the trees yielded to a vast cut block of untracked powder fieldperfection. Brian had difficultygetting a word in over the sounds of guttural elation. There were paradoxical prayers like,“Holy shit thank you God-Christ!”
“Thatwas six kinds of Wednesday,” said Neil the Aussie.
“Wheream I?” asked David.
“Whoam I?” wondered James.
“Ican see through time!” exclaimed Tim.
“Thatwas good,” said our guide Brian through his perpetual Cheshire grin. “Alright guys, well I hope that wasalright. We’re gonna head throughthis cut block here and meet the Cat down at the road. Just try not to hit any saplings, otherthan that let’s enjoy the rest of our run.” Then he led us through the minefield of joy. Snow exploded from our edges; it was abattleground of fun. When wefinally got to the road and met the Cat, everyone was silent and glowing. Had that been our last run, we couldhave finished with a sense of accomplishing something in life; but, it wasn’tour last run, we still had two full days of catharsis.
I’veseen that run countless times on countless ski films. Until that day I never believed it existed. I ended up getting more than Ibargained for, which I suppose is what a good bargain is all about. I paid for perfect untracked snow; whatI didn’t count on was the great group of people I shared my turns with, and theterrain we shared them on.
