It’s April 13th today. When I arrived at Creekside, once again it looked like January. Fat, dime-sized flakes were falling over the gondola, and even the groomed runs were covered in a good 10cm of fresh snow.
Having learned a lesson last time, I took it very easy for the first few runs and didn’t somersault headlong into the powder until my legs were ready. But when Peak Chair opened, I couldn’t resist. Riding up, there wasn’t a single line on the Saddle. By the time I’d skied along the traverse, tracks had cut it into diamond shaped pockets of boot deep powder. I took a deep breath and plunged in, skidding out a little every now and again but mostly barreling through.
On the next run I headed for Peak to Creek. On the upper stretches the description of it as “run of the day” seemed grossly overstated; large, dust-crusted bumps and wind-scoured flats didn’t make for a pleasant skiing experience. I edged off toward West Bowl and carved two huge powder turns before once again failing to weight my skis correctly on the third turn. This time I had the forethought to fling my left leg out of the way as I fell. As as result I span into the air, landed on my back and then slid down the slope a ways with both legs sticking straight up. I’m sure it looked completely ridiculous, but at least I didn’t have to worry about falling on the bad leg again.
At this point I realized that my performance on powder was verging on the unacceptable. A little further down the hill I took a right into Bagel Bowl, where the snow was still untouched at the edges of the run. I took some speed into the clean powder and finally, finally got it – a run of pure, perfectly weighted turns, leaving beautiful s-tracks in the snow behind me.
Unfortunately in the excitement I missed Highway 86, and left myself on Lower Peak to Creek with no other options for the run out. This wouldn’t have mattered except that the run hadn’t been groomed, so it was large, gnarly moguls hidden beneath a layer of fresh snow. Given that I’m not supposed to be skiing moguls on the new knee, my heart sank when I saw the sign saying “Dusty’s 3.5km.” It was one of the more tiring runs of my life.
After lunch I headed over to Blackcomb and 7th Heaven. The visibility was variable, but I still got in some storming runs and felt like I was finally getting my soft snow mojo back. I also managed to catch the glass-floored Peak 2 Peak cabins both ways, which was a bonus.
The final run on Whistler was the stuff nightmares are made from. I’d just turned onto Dave Murray when the fog closed in. I couldn’t see a thing; nothing underfoot, nothing in front of me, nothing to the sides. I made my way to Midstation more by memory than recognition, and then made one final mistake in choosing to ski on instead of downloading. The fog stayed wrapped tight around me all the way to the final slope down to Creekside, where it changed to heavy rain. Still, it was a good day.
I also tried out the new WB Live app, and can report that I skied 10,808 vertical metres; travelled 46.2km; and had a top speed of 73.4 km/h. Not bad for a day when the visibility was variable at best and my knees were cranky as hell.
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