Heliskiing
There's a palpable, giddy, night-before-Christmas feeling that washes over you from the very moment you begin to give serious consideration to the notion.
Heliski? Me? Yes, you.
Let's consider the facts for a moment. You're here. You have a predilection for sliding down snowy slopes. You ski, you board, maybe you do both, depending on your mood. You've progressed beyond or long since blown past being "comfortable" on Whistler's intermediate runs. You've got the time. We've got the snow. Checklist complete ― you're a prime candidate for heliskiing.
Now, let's consider the experience. There is only one promise I'll be bold enough to make to you: Heliskiing will burn itself into your very being and you'll remember it as one of the best things you have ever done in your life. Period!
People come back from their first brush with heliskiing ― okay, let's be honest; from every heliskiing encounter ― with a faraway look in their eyes, not unlike believers returning from a religious pilgrimage. They fumble for the words to describe what they've just experienced. They fail. Words can't begin to capture their sense of wonder and renewal.
From the moment the helicopter dopplers out of range, your world begins to change. Before you is untracked snow as far as you can see, sparkling like diamonds, its surface so uniformly smooth your eyes will search for some irregularity to focus on, lest you begin to feel vertiginous.
You click into fat powder skis ― the great equalizers and game-changers that allow even neophytes to shred powder like they've been doing it all their lives ― or strap on your board. After a few carefully chosen words from your experienced guide you're off, following closely as gravity takes over.
All around you is silence, save for the smooth whoosh of silken snow cleaved into symmetrical arcs by your turns and the quickening whoops of joy from your fellow pilgrims. The feeling is more intoxicating than your first breakthrough experience overcoming the beginner's fear-factor of skiing with abandon. One turn leads to another and another and several thousand vertical feet later, you look back to where you started in utter amazement. Snaking down the slope are graceful arcs, left behind by, well, by you. Picture perfect!
Your revelry is interrupted by the sound of your lift returning and before you know it, you're at the top of another untracked slope ready to do it again… and again… and again… and, forever.
Your day eventually draws to a close with the saddest words you've ever heard: "Last run." Say it ain't so. It is… but tomorrow is another day.
Just in case you're wondering ― and people who have never been might be ― heliskiing isn't the leather-lunged, macho activity it may once have been. You don't jump out of the chopper with your skis on, promise. You won't face impossibly steep vertical faces or cliff drops. Well, maybe if you beg your guide. You won't hold up the group. And if you do, they'll probably be grateful for the break. You will be able to ski untracked powder; it's easier than you think with modern ski technology.
Of course, you won't get the entire ski experience heliskiing. But then, will you really miss lift lines and tracked-out runs? Will you find yourself wishing your line was being poached by everyone else? Do you like feeling crowded? I didn't think so.
There is one unavoidable danger of heliskiing. You can't head into the backcountry of the Coast Mountains and ski virgin powder all day without at least understanding it. You will become hopelessly addicted. You'll dream and daydream about heliskiing. You'll consider knocking over the local bank if that's what it takes ― and don't worry, it doesn't ― to get back to that incredible feeling you experienced heliskiing. But it's a risk worth running.
After all, isn't this really what you think about when you imagine skiing?
Silly question.
