Interest in Backcountry Skiing
Interest in backcountry skiing has never been higher. If you’re looking to go off-piste, head to British Columbia, home to North America’s most rugged terrain.
It was a sunny morning on the slopes of Whistler, in British Columbia, and I was skiing down a run called Burnt Stew. The snow under my feet hissed and chattered while the wind weaseled under my jacket cuffs, down my neck, and around the vents in my goggles. Focus, I told myself. You need speed.
The slope hairpinned hard to the left. The few lucky skiers up on the mountain on a midwinter Tuesday followed gravity down toward town and its parade of world-class hotels, sushi joints, and rowdy bars. My guide, Jamie Selda, didn’t make the turn. Instead, he shot right past the curve and straight off the slope into a quieter, wilder world of blue and white.
I followed him, shooting horizontally across the mountain instead of down it. The momentum drained from my skis, and I looked up and gasped.
For decades, skiing has ruled my winters and framed my travels. Road trips and train trips have taken me to 15 countries across four continents, including wish-list destinations like Switzerland and Japan, as well as hauntingly gorgeous places seldom talked about — Afghanistan, Kosovo, and even North Korea. But standing there, less than two hours from the dim sum spots of downtown Vancouver, I was speechless.
Tremendous mountains of ice and rock rose around me. It would take a lifetime to ski a fifth of what I could see, but it was what I didn’t see that made me giddy: a chairlift. From that point on, what skied down must first ski up, which, as Selda showed me, is an art in its own right.
Now, with ski areas getting more crowded, and our hunger for fresh powder ever more ravenous, backcountry skiing is again experiencing a renaissance. When the pandemic forced ski areas to prune their seasons and limit capacity, getting off-trail suddenly had even greater appeal.
Long before the invention of “six-pack” lifts with heated seats and pistes groomed to perfection, backcountry skiing was the only form of skiing. Stone Age snow hunters would simply strap on their hand-hewn tree trunks and go after ibex. Before Sun Valley, Idaho, introduced the world’s first chairlift in 1936, our wool-clad forebears had to hike up Dollar Mountain to earn their turns. Consequently, with ski areas getting more crowded and our desire for fresh powder ever-increasing, backcountry skiing is again becoming mainstream.
According to NPD, a market research agency, between August 2021 and March 2022, Americans spent north of $93 million on the special skis and bindings required to venture beyond the lifts. Adrian Ballinger — who has summited Everest eight times and recently became the first person to ski down Nepal’s 27,766-foot Makalu Mountain — previously taught avalanche-safety courses to 200 students a season at his Lake Tahoe school. Last year, he taught 900. Colorado’s Bluebird Backcountry sells season passes, rents skis, and offers lessons but operates without a single chairlift.
British Columbia stands as North America’s epicenter of backcountry skiing. There, commercial outfits possess permits to take skiers deep into an area larger than Switzerland. Almost all of that terrain is accessible to those willing to delve deeper, but skiing the untouched snow is not trivial, as nothing is groomed or patrolled.
Experiences in Whistler
Photographer Kari Medig and I arrived in Whistler the day before with a well-structured plan to maximize our time on powder. First, we’d explore the backcountry around Whistler before heading east to ski at Red Mountain, near Rossland, where we’d arranged a day of cat skiing. To do this, participants ascend backcountry slopes using modified snow-grooming machines equipped with tank-like treads. Along the way, we’d ride some lifts, simply due to our ski addiction. Medig, a Canadian with eyes as bright as ice, knows these mountains intimately. Moreover, he’s well aware of potential dangers, as he has previously been trapped in an avalanche himself.
Whistler Village buzzed with brightly dressed skiers and snowboarders lining up for the gondola. Instead, Medig and I opted to wander into the offices of Extremely Canadian, a guiding service employing former Olympians and ski-movie stars for “extreme skiing” lessons and backcountry tours. We possessed our own backcountry gear — lightweight Black Diamond skis with specialized “tech” bindings allowing walking as well as skiing; ski boots enabling natural stride flexibility; removable synthetic “skins” adhering to ski bases for uphill travel; beacons for quick avalanche victim location; shovels; and probes for efficient rescues. Acquiring all of this could total thousands of dollars, prompting 90 percent of visitors — from Amazon executives to college students eager to ensure safety — to coordinate through Extremely Canadian; it’s the perfect entry point for first-timers.
The original adventurers of the Spearhead in May 1964 needed nine arduous days and heavily packed gear. Nowadays, thanks to huts established along the route, people can experience the journey more comfortably over just a few days.
“The thing that makes Whistler so great is the scale of accessible terrain,” explained co-owner Peter Smart. “You can ride a lift to reach the good stuff, enjoy an awesome day in the wilderness, and then return to town for dinner.”
Smart introduced us to Selda, who at 43 was trim and dressed in a yellow ski ensemble. Selda’s journey began on Long Island, leading him to a career in the Canadian mountains after losing a close friend in high school, which inspired him to seek outdoor adventures.
Resort skiing at Whistler-Blackcomb takes place on the two namesake mountains, and the most thrilling way to travel between them is via the 2.7-mile-long Peak 2 Peak gondola, which soars 1,361 feet above the valley floor. Selda planned to take us on the more challenging option, the Spearhead Traverse, a wild, 21-mile route forming a horseshoe shape between the peaks. The first skiers of the Spearhead needed nine days and had to carry heavy packs filled with supplies. Fortunately, thanks to huts constructed along the route, travelers can now undertake it more comfortably over just a few days. These shelters alleviate the requirement to transport camping and cooking gear, although they won’t provide luxury accommodations. Nevertheless, they will stand as architectural marvels of warmth and efficiency. Our plan involved completing the last third of the Spearhead Traverse though an out-and-back journey, spending one night at the first of the new huts, the Kees & Claire Memorial Hut, named in honor of Kees Brenninkmeyer and Claire Dixon, two cherished Alpine Club of Canada volunteers who tragically passed in an accident in 2007.
My pack felt blissfully light (only a sleeping bag, sleeping pad, some food, and water) as Selda, Medig, and I zoomed down Burnt Stew. Leaving the run, we slipped on skins and passed through a gate marking the boundary between the resort and the backcountry. “There’s something truly wonderful about being out here, away from the noise,” Selda remarked as we glided along.
We spent the morning navigating the Musical Bumps, a sequence of hills. Upon reaching each summit, we would remove our skins and lock down our bindings for short runs through untracked snow. At the bottom, we switched back to climbing mode. Along our trek, we fell into a rhythm — and I began to notice something remarkable.
During each uphill climb, Selda plotted a masterful course that kept our pace manageable while never bringing my heart rate to its maximum. He skillfully found wind-scoured pockets offering less resistance and explored shaded areas to examine the snow structure. Observing his technique was akin to contemplating the intricate components that create a mountain. With such mindfulness, the ascents became as gratifying as the descents, our tracks painting the landscape with winter’s tones.
Cat Skiing in Rossland
By noon, we encountered a semicircular structure of wood, steel, and glass gleaming in the sun: Kees & Claire. A group of skiers had just departed.
“Whoa!” I exclaimed.
“The Taj Ma-hut,” joked one of the skiers.
“Yeah, not your normal hut,” Selda added.
Inside, we donned slippers and discovered an alpine IKEA. Pale-wood-paneled walls enclosed rooms with bunk beds (though lacking bedding or mattresses). There was a gear room with clever pulleys and racks for drying skins and boots, along with a kitchen boasting four cooking stations, cabinets brimming with dinnerware, and tables lined with blue-green chairs. A gas fireplace and reading nook warmed the space. Although the hut lacks plumbing, foot-powered toilets provided some convenience. Guests must melt snow procured from the outdoors for water. The true luxury lies in the location: beyond a wall of southeast-facing glass lay the 7,960-foot Whirlwind Peak.
We quickly devoured lunch, consisting of aged cheddar and saucisson fermier on rosemary crackers. Then, we packed only our rescue gear for an afternoon of skiing. Selda led us to Adit Lakes, where the cold had dried the snow, yielding a fast, silky-smooth descent, followed by a journey to the Corral, where we encountered light, feathery snow deep enough to float on but not so deep that we would struggle.
I slept soundly in my sleeping bag that night. The following morning, Selda suggested ascending Whirlwind Peak for a proper adventure. “It’s nice to stand on a mountain,” he said. We were out the door before 9 a.m., fueled by oats and coffee.
Progressing steadily up a wide face, the snow glided beneath our skis, balancing ease and exertion. By 10:30 a.m., we stood on the slender summit. The Spearhead’s second hut, originally slated for completion in 2021, was now delayed but planned to be constructed to the northeast of our position.
“I love this,” Selda remarked, perhaps to himself or perhaps to the mountain.
From the summit, it stretched over a vertical mile back down to Whistler Village, a thigh-burning descent that took us two hours. Once back in town, everything felt loud and overly convenient. I had scarcely removed my skis for the walk to the Fairmont Gold — a special section within the Fairmont Chateau Whistler — when I noticed a fellow at Longhorn Saloon spraying champagne into a receptive crowd. The transition back to reality was harsh, yet we had one final adventure ahead.
The next day, Medig and I took a one-hour flight from Vancouver to Trail Regional Airport, followed by a 20-minute drive to Rossland, a quaint town about 120 miles north of Spokane, Washington. Olaus Jeldness, a Norwegian mining engineer sporting a push-broom mustache, first introduced skiing to Rossland in 1896, and today it proudly hosts the wonderfully nostalgic Red Mountain Resort. We checked in at the Josie Hotel, a 106-room property where airy suites feature floor-to-ceiling windows, spacious living rooms, and gold-flecked nightstands (a nod to the historic mine that inspired the hotel’s name). I counted 23 steps from the door to the chairlift.
Medig and I craved more backcountry skiing, but without the significant effort, thus we found ourselves nestled in the back of a snowcat operated by Big Red Cats while trundling through the forests near Rossland. We joined a handful of other skiers, all Americans — including contractors, a weatherman, and a doctor from Flint, Michigan — who had signed up for a day of deep-powder skiing. Unlike heliskiing, which can be intensely noisy and disorienting, cat skiing offers a relaxed experience. Additionally, it serves as a perfect stepping stone to enhance backcountry skiing skills, and it typically costs far less than heliskiing.
We spent hours descending steep faces through the trees and skating along creek beds, hooting and hollering through untouched snow. After each run, the snowcat ferried us back up on a 20-minute ride, granting us ample time to enjoy sandwiches and recharge. After several hours, we had logged seven runs; conditions eventually became challenging as the day warmed, with snow transforming into thick, heavy masses akin to mashed potatoes. At one point, I tumbled, hard. Snow caked my goggles, melting down my back. “Did a snow snake get you?” joked our 28-year-old guide, Matt Lewis, referencing the mythical creature often blamed for entangling ski gear and causing falls.
“They’re everywhere today,” I replied.
Matt announced that we had time for one last run, taking us through trees as tight as toothpicks. Soon, Medig and I would return to the Josie for Paper Plane cocktails and delicious steaks accompanied by chimichurri. On our last day, we planned to shred the slopes at Red Mountain, a throwback to an era with minimal lift lines and old hermit cabins nestled in the woods. Riding the chairlifts to the top of groomed runs would undoubtedly feel enlightening after all our recent adventures.
Before our final cat-skiing run, I allowed the rest of the group to drop in first. One by one, they made their descent, leaving only Matt and myself. I took a moment to absorb this simplified world of ascents and descents, steep and flat. Then, with determination, I pushed off into the woods, my skis effortlessly navigating the interplay of shadows and light.
Chasing Powder in British Columbia
Whistler
Fairmont Chateau Whistler: It doesn’t get more luxurious than this ski-in, ski-out hotel at the base of Blackcomb Mountain. Guests who stay in Fairmont Gold enjoy a private floor with concierge service, a separate check-in area, and an exclusive lounge.
Alta Bistro: The go-to spot for inventive aprés ski snacks like elk tartare and Dungeness crab and tuna éclairs.
Extremely Canadian: Whether you’re finding your ski legs at a day clinic or tackling the Spearhead Traverse, the guides at this longtime outfitter are second to none.
Scandinave Spa Whistler: Unwind after a day on the slopes by visiting the outdoor hot baths, saunas, and cold plunges, all set within serene spruce and cedar forests.
Rossland
The Josie: This slopeside Red Mountain property attracts a lively crowd — the hotel’s Velvet Restaurant & Lounge offers superb cocktails and hearty mains, such as Cornish hen with Saskatchewan chanterelles, sweet corn, and Yukon Gold gnocchi.
Gabriella’s Restaurant: Delight in the “Trip Around Italy” menu, featuring six courses, each dedicated to a different region of the country, including lesser-known Lombardy and Calabria.
Rossland Beer Co.: Enjoy a milk stout at this laid-back brewery situated in the heart of town.
Big Red Cats: This tour operator organizes cat-skiing day trips across 20,000 acres of prime terrain.
A version of this story first appeared in the December 2022/ January 2023 issue of GoTravelDaily under the headline “Into Thin Air.”
