"I
have skied with five Sno-Cat skiing companies, and the tilted forests
of the southern Selkirks serve up the steepest and best tree skiing
I've done. We dodged through glades of hemlocks tinseled with moss.
Some seemed to shift and materialize without warning at the tail end of
a swooping turn. Words fail when you try to describe how it feels to
make clean, fast turns down a steep mountainside in snow that
bow-breaks at your knees. My fellow skiers were no help; after each run
they were all happy expletives and wide grins.
If
our Sno-Cats were the satellite hangouts, the lodge, a three-story
great room with a soapstone stove, was the communal clubhouse. We ate
well at big tables in the honeyed glow of the larch center beams.
Afterward, some repaired to the outdoor hot tub. Some found a leather
couch and a book. Some found the bar. For a dehydrated skier who was
coming from sea level, the 5 percent beer on tap from the Nelson
Brewing Company lost nothing in the exchange rate.
Morning Sun
slanted through the old-growth trees like cathedral light from high
windows, and lighted up the new hoarfrost. The air was spearmint. The
snow had continued to stabilize, and our guides smiled and pointed us
down an untouched run called Cold Mushi. From the bottom we watched the
young snowboarders in our group free-fall from the 20-foot cliffs. We
cheered when they landed well, and louder when they didn't.
The
run, Confirmation, had not been skied since the big snow. A steep rib,
perhaps 45 degrees in spots, cascaded from the ridge's backbone, furred
with hemlock and lumpy with rollovers and drop-offs. Soon we were all
roaring down, trailing hoots and looking our best of the week."
– "Rumbling Up to the Power Runs", November 14, 2004
