Saturday, 28 January 2012
aberdeen!
in aberdeen, getting moved into res and a burns' night dinner tomorrow, a bad thing to forget at home: phone charger, a bad thing to forget in another part of the country: a camera, small things are far more stressful in new countries!
Wednesday, 25 January 2012
Ibble Dibble Number One
Woah. There has been a recent lack of activity on this blog, I apologize. I have had an unexpected hiatus from the internet for the last week and a half while staying in Southern England visiting family.
Now for updates. Before starting at Aberdeen it was decided that my Dad, sister, and I would travel to England to visit my family. These trips to England to visit the family have become ritual so this post may not be quite as exciting as you might expect. On the 15th my Dad, sister, and I left the Sault in the late afternoon and flew to Heathrow via Toronto, arriving as the sun rose. We rented a car (small w/ manual gearbox as is the European style) and drove south to the West Sussex county where we were staying and where most of the family lives. I won't give you a blow by blow detail of the whole trip as I did for Whistler as you will probably decide to discontinue reading this blog. Otherwise, I will give a synopsis and description of a few very interesting things that we spent time doing and, visiting as a "young adult", that I have not noticed in past visits.
As the purpose of the visit was to see family, we spent a lot of time with various aunts and uncles and of course Grandma and Grandpa Payne, which we all quite enjoyed. Most of the cousins in England are younger, so it was great to get to be the "old cousin" and to see how things have changed since I was here last. What with the watching of football matches, bell ringing and horse riding we had quite the time. We made our home base at Hurston Warren which was a cottage (house) with a very interesting history between Storington and Pulborough. Waking up to horses neighing and birds singing is quite a change from the harsh winter in Canada.
On a side note, for all those Southern Ont. haterz of "camp" and who much prefer to say, "ooo I'm going to my cottage in the Muskokas" LOOK WHO'S WRONG NOW. The Brit's cottages are their HOUSES, therefore, unless you live at your cottage year round, it is at the end of a small one lane drive, with cars going in both directions, with no street lights to be seen, with a cup of tea in your hand, rabbits everywhere, and an old man on a horse behind you as you drive in, I do not accept cottage as the proper term. Can't argue with history.
Anyways...
As we spent much of the time with family there wasn't a lot of time for independent travel but when we did find time we spent time running through the remarkably small laneways and roads around Hurston Warren, and once, on top of the "South Downs" which are actually beautiful rolling hills that rise up from the southern coast between the ocean and the valley of the River Itchen where we were staying. There were stunning views of the ocean and valley on either sides of the downs, with cattle and sheep grazing in sloping fields adjacent to the path.
Being in Britain, driving in Britain, made me realize that I really should be learning how to drive a manual sooner rather than later, so, off we went. Quite back country roads are in no shortage in England, so we found one and soon thereafter there was one less quiet back country road to be found. After realizing that driving a manual was a bit more complicated and delicate (and fun!) that I gave it credit for, I started using my head, learning how the clutch and engine and wheels worked in unison, and soon I was hill starting like a champ. I can safely say that if given a choice, I will never drive an automatic again.
Another great British thing we have learnt is Ibble Dibble! I actually am not sure if it's actually of British origins but this game is great either way. After having some wine with dinner at our relatives' house in Winchester, we were sitting round the table and our younger started lighting the cork on fire in the candle, the next thing we knew, we were rubbing burnt cork marks on our foreheads and trying to complete tongue twisters. The game goes like this: everyone round a table is numbered, in our case 1-6. Person number one starts, saying the rhyme "Ibble dibble number one, with zero ibble dibbles, calls ibble dibble number *, with zero ibble dibbles". An ibble dibble is a mark made on the forehead with the burnt end of a wine cork. The cork is passed to number * and they repeat "ibble dibble number *, with zero ibble dibbles calling ibble dibble number (?) with zero ibble dibbles". Without fail, someone will screw up this rhyme, whether it be with a pause, pronunciation or number of ibble dibbles on ones forehead, and whoever does, must add another ibble dibble. Then you must correctly name the number of ibble dibbles on your own and your successors forehead or you will have to add another! It's a fantastic game, try it!
Alas, things are not all smiles, manual gearboxes, ibble dibbles and tea in the UK as it may seem. Reading the newspaper and hearing the local buzz from family, much of the country has fallen on hard times. The economy hasn't recovered from the recession, which, to make it worse, was much more dramatic than ours. There is little in the way of exports to bring the United Kingdom out of the recession, and to top it off Scotland is trying to separate from the UK. This would mean a loss of the oil revenue from rigs off the coast's of Scotland which I would imagine is a major money maker. Despite it all, British culture remains as impressive as ever.
No matter, I will soon return for a cup of tea across from the London Bridge, a chime from Big Ben, and stiff soldiers at Buckingham Palace.
Well, that was rather lovely, but it's time for bed, next, neeps and tatties in Aberdeen!
Now for updates. Before starting at Aberdeen it was decided that my Dad, sister, and I would travel to England to visit my family. These trips to England to visit the family have become ritual so this post may not be quite as exciting as you might expect. On the 15th my Dad, sister, and I left the Sault in the late afternoon and flew to Heathrow via Toronto, arriving as the sun rose. We rented a car (small w/ manual gearbox as is the European style) and drove south to the West Sussex county where we were staying and where most of the family lives. I won't give you a blow by blow detail of the whole trip as I did for Whistler as you will probably decide to discontinue reading this blog. Otherwise, I will give a synopsis and description of a few very interesting things that we spent time doing and, visiting as a "young adult", that I have not noticed in past visits.
As the purpose of the visit was to see family, we spent a lot of time with various aunts and uncles and of course Grandma and Grandpa Payne, which we all quite enjoyed. Most of the cousins in England are younger, so it was great to get to be the "old cousin" and to see how things have changed since I was here last. What with the watching of football matches, bell ringing and horse riding we had quite the time. We made our home base at Hurston Warren which was a cottage (house) with a very interesting history between Storington and Pulborough. Waking up to horses neighing and birds singing is quite a change from the harsh winter in Canada.
On a side note, for all those Southern Ont. haterz of "camp" and who much prefer to say, "ooo I'm going to my cottage in the Muskokas" LOOK WHO'S WRONG NOW. The Brit's cottages are their HOUSES, therefore, unless you live at your cottage year round, it is at the end of a small one lane drive, with cars going in both directions, with no street lights to be seen, with a cup of tea in your hand, rabbits everywhere, and an old man on a horse behind you as you drive in, I do not accept cottage as the proper term. Can't argue with history.
Anyways...
As we spent much of the time with family there wasn't a lot of time for independent travel but when we did find time we spent time running through the remarkably small laneways and roads around Hurston Warren, and once, on top of the "South Downs" which are actually beautiful rolling hills that rise up from the southern coast between the ocean and the valley of the River Itchen where we were staying. There were stunning views of the ocean and valley on either sides of the downs, with cattle and sheep grazing in sloping fields adjacent to the path.
Being in Britain, driving in Britain, made me realize that I really should be learning how to drive a manual sooner rather than later, so, off we went. Quite back country roads are in no shortage in England, so we found one and soon thereafter there was one less quiet back country road to be found. After realizing that driving a manual was a bit more complicated and delicate (and fun!) that I gave it credit for, I started using my head, learning how the clutch and engine and wheels worked in unison, and soon I was hill starting like a champ. I can safely say that if given a choice, I will never drive an automatic again.
Another great British thing we have learnt is Ibble Dibble! I actually am not sure if it's actually of British origins but this game is great either way. After having some wine with dinner at our relatives' house in Winchester, we were sitting round the table and our younger started lighting the cork on fire in the candle, the next thing we knew, we were rubbing burnt cork marks on our foreheads and trying to complete tongue twisters. The game goes like this: everyone round a table is numbered, in our case 1-6. Person number one starts, saying the rhyme "Ibble dibble number one, with zero ibble dibbles, calls ibble dibble number *, with zero ibble dibbles". An ibble dibble is a mark made on the forehead with the burnt end of a wine cork. The cork is passed to number * and they repeat "ibble dibble number *, with zero ibble dibbles calling ibble dibble number (?) with zero ibble dibbles". Without fail, someone will screw up this rhyme, whether it be with a pause, pronunciation or number of ibble dibbles on ones forehead, and whoever does, must add another ibble dibble. Then you must correctly name the number of ibble dibbles on your own and your successors forehead or you will have to add another! It's a fantastic game, try it!
Alas, things are not all smiles, manual gearboxes, ibble dibbles and tea in the UK as it may seem. Reading the newspaper and hearing the local buzz from family, much of the country has fallen on hard times. The economy hasn't recovered from the recession, which, to make it worse, was much more dramatic than ours. There is little in the way of exports to bring the United Kingdom out of the recession, and to top it off Scotland is trying to separate from the UK. This would mean a loss of the oil revenue from rigs off the coast's of Scotland which I would imagine is a major money maker. Despite it all, British culture remains as impressive as ever.
No matter, I will soon return for a cup of tea across from the London Bridge, a chime from Big Ben, and stiff soldiers at Buckingham Palace.
Well, that was rather lovely, but it's time for bed, next, neeps and tatties in Aberdeen!
Saturday, 14 January 2012
What happens in Whistler...
With our trip wrapping up with an early bus ride the next morning, an unfortunate injury, and each of us dead on our feet from skiing, it seems there is little hope of catching a night out in Whistler with my cousin. But as the night goes on, the stars align and the night begins. We have sent our skiis to be tuned by a half million dollar piece of equipment, but must pick them up after close that night in order to get them before we leave early the next morning. Routine, no? We head down to the shop but the door is locked, uh oh. We pound on the door until a surprised tech signs for us to go around the back. He lets us in and shows us the intricacies of an amazing piece of equipment and we leave with skiis looking like they should be raced on a world cup circuit.
Now for the real fun, we head to the village to meet up with Graeme, are greeted with "have a good night guys" by a couple of local Aussies, and wander. There are so many options! We decide to start with an Irish pub we had seen earlier to preview my later travels in Europe. Listening to a local band and enjoying a pint we figure the best plan of action is to find as many desirable bars as possible and share a pitcher at each one until the night is over. As we leave a bar later at last call we search for another that suits the criteria of no Dubstep, but the search turns out longer and colder than we expect. Graeme heads to catch a bus back home to Creekside. Kenn and I are freezing and not ready to begin the long walk home. We find a basement bar in the corner of the village, meet some 9mm carrying, square dancing Texans and Marcos, a Brazilian from Sao Paulo. After discussing the merits and demerits of firearms we head to get a bite of pizza with Marco, and head our seperate ways. The journey home begins. Whistler Village is divided into an Upper and Lower village by a fast flowing, shallow, frigid river. We wind our way to where I think a bridge should be, but instead end up staring into the shimmering blackness of such a river. In our state, this river is one that very obviously should be crossed rather than taking the bridge a few hundred meters downstream. Kenn heads down, I head up and we search for the driest path across. Neither of us are dry when we emerge. On the other side it is decided that the next plan of action is to find a hot tub to warm our soggy frozen toes. The Four Seasons, or is it the Intrawest, looms in the distance. We trek, chat up the receptionist in the lobby, and begin the search. We find the door after heading up instead of down, but I see we need a key, my spirit drops, I turn around to tell Kenn that we are SOL. What I see next brightens my spirits and warms my toes. Ken pokes his head back in through a ground level window and tells me to follow. I squeeze through into the spa area. WIN. We enjoy the warmth, soak our hair to see how oblivious the receptionist really is (apparently very) and head back home with high spirits and wet boxers. The journey on the bus the next morning would have been very scenic had I not have been asleep with a pounding headache, we are delayed in Vancouver, miss our flight in Toronto and are put up in a swanky Hilton to fly home the next morning. Whistler, it's been a hoot, I vow to return. On to England Monday. Pictures to come.
Now for the real fun, we head to the village to meet up with Graeme, are greeted with "have a good night guys" by a couple of local Aussies, and wander. There are so many options! We decide to start with an Irish pub we had seen earlier to preview my later travels in Europe. Listening to a local band and enjoying a pint we figure the best plan of action is to find as many desirable bars as possible and share a pitcher at each one until the night is over. As we leave a bar later at last call we search for another that suits the criteria of no Dubstep, but the search turns out longer and colder than we expect. Graeme heads to catch a bus back home to Creekside. Kenn and I are freezing and not ready to begin the long walk home. We find a basement bar in the corner of the village, meet some 9mm carrying, square dancing Texans and Marcos, a Brazilian from Sao Paulo. After discussing the merits and demerits of firearms we head to get a bite of pizza with Marco, and head our seperate ways. The journey home begins. Whistler Village is divided into an Upper and Lower village by a fast flowing, shallow, frigid river. We wind our way to where I think a bridge should be, but instead end up staring into the shimmering blackness of such a river. In our state, this river is one that very obviously should be crossed rather than taking the bridge a few hundred meters downstream. Kenn heads down, I head up and we search for the driest path across. Neither of us are dry when we emerge. On the other side it is decided that the next plan of action is to find a hot tub to warm our soggy frozen toes. The Four Seasons, or is it the Intrawest, looms in the distance. We trek, chat up the receptionist in the lobby, and begin the search. We find the door after heading up instead of down, but I see we need a key, my spirit drops, I turn around to tell Kenn that we are SOL. What I see next brightens my spirits and warms my toes. Ken pokes his head back in through a ground level window and tells me to follow. I squeeze through into the spa area. WIN. We enjoy the warmth, soak our hair to see how oblivious the receptionist really is (apparently very) and head back home with high spirits and wet boxers. The journey on the bus the next morning would have been very scenic had I not have been asleep with a pounding headache, we are delayed in Vancouver, miss our flight in Toronto and are put up in a swanky Hilton to fly home the next morning. Whistler, it's been a hoot, I vow to return. On to England Monday. Pictures to come.
Whistler Continued...
Day 4: After staying up late the night before playing multiple rounds of Settlers of Catan with Tim and Anna, Kenn's friends from Vancouver, Kenn and I are very slow to get going. We have decided to take an easy skiing day as there is supposed to be 18cm of new snow on the slopes the next morning. Once we do get going, the leg's are absolutely demolished, skiing is "brutaful"-- new word coined by the family to describe skiing long runs in heavy snow with sore legs.
Skiing together as a family for the afternoon we call it a day when the alpine lifts start shutting down, but not before one more memory making moment. When skiing the Blackcomb Glacier bowl with Jen, Lee, and Kenn the day before, there is a long green circle run out at the bottom of the run, the only acceptable action in this case is to start a race to the bottom, with or without everyone's knowledge. Playing on this theme, Jen, Kenn and I decide to do a no hold's barred race from summit to base (there is some debate on whether the finish was trail home or chalet). No set course, no rules, first one down wins.
Blackcomb's longest run is about 11km, I would estimate my route to be at least 9km as I wound back and forth on cat tracks to prevent catastrophe. 9km in a tuck, skiing through clouds and fog with heavy tracked snow and thousands of skiiers is insanity, and therefore a lot of fun. I pop out of a cat track onto the run which leads to the trail home and see a red jacket and black helmet, oh no, Kenn has the lead. I kick it into high gear and over take him, miss the trail home and hike to the road where we meet with Jen arriving soon after. We decide never to repeat.
Day 5: Today is THE DAY, or is it? An apparent 18cm of snow has fallen, but as we ascend we realize the snow is heavy, wet and not as abundant as we thought. Not to worry, using Kenn's expert knowledge we find the wind loaded slopes of Blackcomb and make a great day of it. 7th Heaven is beautiful, and as I ski down looking at the abundant snow, thinking how nice it is to speed down this unmarked cache of powder, my tips catch and WHAMO I'm face down in the snow, my picture is now beside the definition of face plant on Wikipedia. We continue to ski 7th until it is tracked, and head over to Spanky's Ladder.
Spanky's Ladder (this is the exact chute we skiied! a little more gracefully than the subject of the video) is a small bootpack up the far skiiers right of Blackcomb onto some epic steep bowls leading into the glacier. It has been on the agenda since day 1 and we are all excited to ski it. Despite various danger and caution signs we continue and drop in, find some scary steep lines through a chute between large pieces of mountain, and eat lunch at the top of the run out from the glacier with some beautiful views. As we dodge danger, my mom finds her own, an ill fitting demo binding pops and she dislocates one shoulder and tears the rotator cuff in the other, bad news. We are told to keep skiing and meet at the hospital later so we head to Whistler where it is a complete whiteout.
Accepting defeat, we follow a group down, and much to our surprise, find an awesome drop with some good powder below. I drop in and watch from below as Kenn drops, gathers speed, and has a spectacular yard sale infront of a good crowd. No one is hurt, other than Wendy, and it is a hilarious way to end the day.
Wendy is in the Whistler emergency room and needs a ride, and there is no better vehicle for the job than Blance, Kenny's refurbished ambulance! We pick up the victim, some beer and head home to take of the shoulders and call it a day.
Day 6: I feel like those post is getting long, so I'll try and make this last one short. Day 6 was the most beautiful day of the trip by far. Perfectly groomed trails, extremely brisk weather, and cloudless skies made for great skiing on the groomed trails and picture taking opportunities. The view from Proposal Point is amazing, looking over peak after peak of the Rockies, and from Whistler, a picture perfect silhoutte of Black Tusk lay against the blue skies and white peaks. Kenny S. wasn't skiing today because of work commitments, but as it happens, a couple old friends, Graeme and Kenny N. from Sault Ste. Marie were living in Whistler. I met Graeme the first run down Whistler and we found some fun skiing and good times in the back bowls (as well as a few hang ups in the trees). We met Kenny at Roundhouse Lodge and decided to hit up Peak to Creek, a legendary run from the peak of Whistler to the base at Whistler Creekside. BAD IDEA. After dropping out of the alpine there was more than 4km of moguls turned skating rink. I said goodbye to Graeme at the bottom where he lived, met up with the family and enjoyed one last top to bottom run together.
Woah, this post is getting long, but there is one great story left to write, I will add it in another post so people don't get frustrated reading endless ramblings of a mediocre writer, leave me some feedback in the comments! too long? ok? Let me know so I can improve! Have a good night people, George out.
Skiing together as a family for the afternoon we call it a day when the alpine lifts start shutting down, but not before one more memory making moment. When skiing the Blackcomb Glacier bowl with Jen, Lee, and Kenn the day before, there is a long green circle run out at the bottom of the run, the only acceptable action in this case is to start a race to the bottom, with or without everyone's knowledge. Playing on this theme, Jen, Kenn and I decide to do a no hold's barred race from summit to base (there is some debate on whether the finish was trail home or chalet). No set course, no rules, first one down wins.
Blackcomb's longest run is about 11km, I would estimate my route to be at least 9km as I wound back and forth on cat tracks to prevent catastrophe. 9km in a tuck, skiing through clouds and fog with heavy tracked snow and thousands of skiiers is insanity, and therefore a lot of fun. I pop out of a cat track onto the run which leads to the trail home and see a red jacket and black helmet, oh no, Kenn has the lead. I kick it into high gear and over take him, miss the trail home and hike to the road where we meet with Jen arriving soon after. We decide never to repeat.
Day 5: Today is THE DAY, or is it? An apparent 18cm of snow has fallen, but as we ascend we realize the snow is heavy, wet and not as abundant as we thought. Not to worry, using Kenn's expert knowledge we find the wind loaded slopes of Blackcomb and make a great day of it. 7th Heaven is beautiful, and as I ski down looking at the abundant snow, thinking how nice it is to speed down this unmarked cache of powder, my tips catch and WHAMO I'm face down in the snow, my picture is now beside the definition of face plant on Wikipedia. We continue to ski 7th until it is tracked, and head over to Spanky's Ladder.
Spanky's Ladder (this is the exact chute we skiied! a little more gracefully than the subject of the video) is a small bootpack up the far skiiers right of Blackcomb onto some epic steep bowls leading into the glacier. It has been on the agenda since day 1 and we are all excited to ski it. Despite various danger and caution signs we continue and drop in, find some scary steep lines through a chute between large pieces of mountain, and eat lunch at the top of the run out from the glacier with some beautiful views. As we dodge danger, my mom finds her own, an ill fitting demo binding pops and she dislocates one shoulder and tears the rotator cuff in the other, bad news. We are told to keep skiing and meet at the hospital later so we head to Whistler where it is a complete whiteout.
Accepting defeat, we follow a group down, and much to our surprise, find an awesome drop with some good powder below. I drop in and watch from below as Kenn drops, gathers speed, and has a spectacular yard sale infront of a good crowd. No one is hurt, other than Wendy, and it is a hilarious way to end the day.
Wendy is in the Whistler emergency room and needs a ride, and there is no better vehicle for the job than Blance, Kenny's refurbished ambulance! We pick up the victim, some beer and head home to take of the shoulders and call it a day.
Day 6: I feel like those post is getting long, so I'll try and make this last one short. Day 6 was the most beautiful day of the trip by far. Perfectly groomed trails, extremely brisk weather, and cloudless skies made for great skiing on the groomed trails and picture taking opportunities. The view from Proposal Point is amazing, looking over peak after peak of the Rockies, and from Whistler, a picture perfect silhoutte of Black Tusk lay against the blue skies and white peaks. Kenny S. wasn't skiing today because of work commitments, but as it happens, a couple old friends, Graeme and Kenny N. from Sault Ste. Marie were living in Whistler. I met Graeme the first run down Whistler and we found some fun skiing and good times in the back bowls (as well as a few hang ups in the trees). We met Kenny at Roundhouse Lodge and decided to hit up Peak to Creek, a legendary run from the peak of Whistler to the base at Whistler Creekside. BAD IDEA. After dropping out of the alpine there was more than 4km of moguls turned skating rink. I said goodbye to Graeme at the bottom where he lived, met up with the family and enjoyed one last top to bottom run together.
Woah, this post is getting long, but there is one great story left to write, I will add it in another post so people don't get frustrated reading endless ramblings of a mediocre writer, leave me some feedback in the comments! too long? ok? Let me know so I can improve! Have a good night people, George out.
Thursday, 12 January 2012
Whistler, land of Aussies, powder, and alternative routes to hot tubs
My adventures begin in Whistler, British Columbia, on a family ski trip with my mom, sister, aunt and cousin. We leave Sault Ste. Marie excited and a little bleary eyed on an early morning flight to Toronto.
After arriving in Vancouver we take a bus to the resort via the scenic Sea-to-Sky highway. The views are spectacular starting from the Lions Gate Bridge and Georgia Straight in Vancouver up through to "The Chief" in Squamish. After we arrive it starts pouring rain, is this what the next week will bring? I begin to wonder about coastal BC weather. We hit up the village market for beer and groceries and settle in to get ready for an early start the next day.
Waking up early for first tracks we get to chairlift as a family and begin the ride up. Still unbeknownst to me, the summit is another 10 minutes on a high speed chairlift, how can that even be possible?
After arriving at the top of the Solar Express, I realize that the temperature has dropped enough to turn the pouring rain into an onslaught of powder, welcome to the mountains.
Day 1: I am still a Whistler Blackcomb newbie, but the hill is packed as it is the biggest powder day yet this season. The family get's separated and I ski as a single on Blackcomb, avoiding lift lines and meeting an awful lot of Australians (90% of the working and skiing population seemed to be either Australian or from "Onterrible"). I demo some powder skiis which are literally twice the width of my own to keep myself on top of the snow, they are great for powder, but they might as well be 2x4s if you feel like carving the corduroy. Whistler Blackcomb is giant, I'm lost.
Day 2: My cousin Kenn arrives, and the fun really begins, the visibility at the top isn't great, but we spend the day trying to find the best off-piste runs and the freshest powder available. We ski the top of Whistler all day, hitting the Whistler, Symphony and Harmony bowls. These steep beautiful runs have ample snow and are studded with dangerous cornices, avalanche debris and rocky outcrops, which makes for a very interesting ski. After skiing the bowls we head up on the Peak Express and in the distance can see an ant like trail heading up onto an off-piste peak. Debate? Not really. We join the train and after a half hour, a few lunch wraps and a lot of sweat, we reach the Flute Bowl. The powder from the previous two days is still relatively untouched and the views are spectacular, what a great find. We relish in the untouched powder, ski through the glades and end an epic day of skiing.
Day 3: Kenn's friends from Vancouver, siblings Lee and Jen arrive and we head up Blackcomb. We ski "heaven" for a while, and while exploring the glades find "Oops" Cliff, check out my cousin's blog for details. Day by day I realize how much skiing in the mountains is different from skiing the bumps of Ontario, the decisions you make when dropping into a bowl, or taking a difficult run through the glades can have much more serious consequences when a cornice the size of a truck breaks off and buries you, or you get stuck upside down in a tree hole unseen by passers-by. Thankfully when we find a great patch of powder in the Jersey Bowl there is enough know how in the group to recognize a dangerous cornice and avoid an accident. Lee and I vie for biggest drop in but are both disappointed with our own efforts, we promise to try to find something bigger next time, nevertheless the drop is exhilarating and the snow is fantastic.
to be continued...
After arriving in Vancouver we take a bus to the resort via the scenic Sea-to-Sky highway. The views are spectacular starting from the Lions Gate Bridge and Georgia Straight in Vancouver up through to "The Chief" in Squamish. After we arrive it starts pouring rain, is this what the next week will bring? I begin to wonder about coastal BC weather. We hit up the village market for beer and groceries and settle in to get ready for an early start the next day.
Waking up early for first tracks we get to chairlift as a family and begin the ride up. Still unbeknownst to me, the summit is another 10 minutes on a high speed chairlift, how can that even be possible?
After arriving at the top of the Solar Express, I realize that the temperature has dropped enough to turn the pouring rain into an onslaught of powder, welcome to the mountains.
Day 1: I am still a Whistler Blackcomb newbie, but the hill is packed as it is the biggest powder day yet this season. The family get's separated and I ski as a single on Blackcomb, avoiding lift lines and meeting an awful lot of Australians (90% of the working and skiing population seemed to be either Australian or from "Onterrible"). I demo some powder skiis which are literally twice the width of my own to keep myself on top of the snow, they are great for powder, but they might as well be 2x4s if you feel like carving the corduroy. Whistler Blackcomb is giant, I'm lost.
Day 2: My cousin Kenn arrives, and the fun really begins, the visibility at the top isn't great, but we spend the day trying to find the best off-piste runs and the freshest powder available. We ski the top of Whistler all day, hitting the Whistler, Symphony and Harmony bowls. These steep beautiful runs have ample snow and are studded with dangerous cornices, avalanche debris and rocky outcrops, which makes for a very interesting ski. After skiing the bowls we head up on the Peak Express and in the distance can see an ant like trail heading up onto an off-piste peak. Debate? Not really. We join the train and after a half hour, a few lunch wraps and a lot of sweat, we reach the Flute Bowl. The powder from the previous two days is still relatively untouched and the views are spectacular, what a great find. We relish in the untouched powder, ski through the glades and end an epic day of skiing.
Day 3: Kenn's friends from Vancouver, siblings Lee and Jen arrive and we head up Blackcomb. We ski "heaven" for a while, and while exploring the glades find "Oops" Cliff, check out my cousin's blog for details. Day by day I realize how much skiing in the mountains is different from skiing the bumps of Ontario, the decisions you make when dropping into a bowl, or taking a difficult run through the glades can have much more serious consequences when a cornice the size of a truck breaks off and buries you, or you get stuck upside down in a tree hole unseen by passers-by. Thankfully when we find a great patch of powder in the Jersey Bowl there is enough know how in the group to recognize a dangerous cornice and avoid an accident. Lee and I vie for biggest drop in but are both disappointed with our own efforts, we promise to try to find something bigger next time, nevertheless the drop is exhilarating and the snow is fantastic.
to be continued...
Saturday, 7 January 2012
In the beginning...
Well, it seems as though the time has come for me to start a blog. I don't know how it will turn out, or whether I will actually keep it up, but I think it will be a useful and fun thing to do while travelling, and will let me keep my memories of travelling somewhat organized in the maelstrom which is my usual life.
This blog will be primarily to document my semester on exchange and the travels that occur while across the pond, but I also hope to continue writing and travelling after my exchange ends. So should it deem itself worthy, this blog will be continued as a random travel/cool stuff blog.
I have decided to include some vlog's now and then, hopefully recording from an epic spot somewhere in the world. I have been told my voice is calming, and monotone, so at least you can use them to fall asleep. I will also try to post some pics to accompany blogs to make things interesting.
I hope family friends and random's who come across this blog enjoy reading it, and if you don't, the back button should be in the top left corner. Related, last semester I took a first year english class in a course load which included human physiology, biochemistry and nutrition, it was my lowest mark by >15%.
If that is any indication, I should probably not be writing this blog, but here goes nothing.
This blog will be primarily to document my semester on exchange and the travels that occur while across the pond, but I also hope to continue writing and travelling after my exchange ends. So should it deem itself worthy, this blog will be continued as a random travel/cool stuff blog.
I have decided to include some vlog's now and then, hopefully recording from an epic spot somewhere in the world. I have been told my voice is calming, and monotone, so at least you can use them to fall asleep. I will also try to post some pics to accompany blogs to make things interesting.
I hope family friends and random's who come across this blog enjoy reading it, and if you don't, the back button should be in the top left corner. Related, last semester I took a first year english class in a course load which included human physiology, biochemistry and nutrition, it was my lowest mark by >15%.
If that is any indication, I should probably not be writing this blog, but here goes nothing.
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