And now it’s over.
My last day came and went in the blink of an eye. Every shade of spring green imaginable on the Sea to Sky; a breakfast stop at Galileo Coffee; the long trudge from Lot 4 to Village Square; and one final ride in the gondola over lower slopes that are now just grass and rocks. It came around so fast.
Up in the alpine, first runs were compromised by some truly awful grooming. I don’t know what’s going on with the spring grooming this year; it’s been appallingly bad ever since Whistler closed down and operations moved to Blackcomb. I don’t recall it ever being this poor at the end of other seasons, even the year they reopened Whistler into June. There were huge gouges and six-inch ridges every few feet across the runs, which wasn’t so bad once things softened up but made for a teeth-chattering ride first thing in the morning.
Once the runs softened up, conditions were actually pretty decent. To my amazement there was even fresh snow in the alpine – just a few centimetres – and I traversed over to the foot of the Spanky’s bootpack to steal a couple of slippery powder turns down to Crystal Traverse. It actually snowed heavily for parts of the morning, with the odd ray of sun breaking through the cloud.
Springboard and Ross’s Gold were definitely the runs of the day. Once the snow softened conditions were perfect for carving hard and fast. Armed with the knowledge gained from Brian’s photographs and quads hardened from 500km of training rides on the bike, I was charging harder and turning better than I have done this whole season. With the confidence to let the Shoguns run in the messy conditions, the rockered tips just flew over the crud and I was able to ride out the airs on the bigger bumps. It seemed so ironic: it finally started to come together again just in time for the end.
I found some decent snow on Rock ‘n’Roll, and took a run through Heavenly Basin that almost convinced me that I’m ready to deal with moguls again. Then it was back to an increasingly slushy Springboard and Jersey Cream for the last few runs, lapping the chairs as fast as I could as the clock ran down. Straightlining, carving hard, cruising the crud and wanting to hold onto that sensation and that speed for a moment or a day or a season longer. At Solar Coaster I skied on as the lifties swung the barrier into place, and stole one last run before time ran out on me.
I rode down alone on Excalibur, which gave me time to reflect on the strange season that was 2010/11. The season I wasn’t supposed to get; the season that was so much more than I expected, but nowhere near as much as I wanted. The hesitant, uneven start on the North Shore, and then the euphoria of that first day back at Whistler when it felt like I’d been given my soul back. The powder days and the first falls; the run through Blackcomb Glacier where I was yelling at the top of my lungs with sheer joy. The tumble on the cat track and the trip to the clinic; the spring days in the sunshine, with fast runs on slick snow and slush-busting on the Shoguns.
Sixteen days. Some of them – most of them, to be truthful – hesitant and unsure and so much more limited than I used to be. But there were a handful in there that were as perfect as I could have asked for; days that could have been ones from last season, before I blew my knee out and changed everything. These are the days that give me hope.
And so it ends for another year. But it ends on my terms this time, and I made it through with my knee intact. Everything I promised myself about taking it easy and not pushing it if I was lucky enough to ski at all this year was a lie. I pushed it from the day I went back to Whistler until I stepped out of my skis to download on Saturday. That’s something I learned this year. I can’t take it easy on skis; I don’t even know how. Skiing for me has always been about pushing the boundaries, about going a little bit faster and a little bit harder and venturing out onto that line that makes your hair stand on end when you first look down it. It’s about testing limits.
Now I have six long months until the snow flies again. Six months with one goal: to be in the shape of my life when next season starts. Bring on the summer.
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