It is almost seven years since we did
any real skiing. True, we did a couple of multi-day ski trips in the
Australian Alps - yes, Australians do call the low rounded rolling
hills along the Great Dividing Range "alps" - but our only
real skiing in the last half decade had been a few half day trips
around the North Shore Mountains, and even those we managed to do
upside down in Antipodean fashion boot-packing up Christmas Gully in
frozen conditions rather than skiing down.
Sunset in Australia's Snowy Mountains
After Australia's rolling hills,
everything felt desperately steep for the first few ski trips out,
probably not helped by frozen tracks pocked with craters and trenches
from the myriad of boot-packers who seem to have overtaken the North
Shore Mountains since we left for Australia. Dog shit and 50 cm deep
boot holes seem to have become the predominant hazards around the
North Shore Mountains.
Easy skiing in the Snowy Mountains
Doug and I were trying to get the band
back together to recreate the glory days when we were younger and
stronger and each spring we'd head off on a big ski traverse, often
around the Coast Mountains, but sometimes in the Rockies or the
Selkirks. Robin and Betsy were otherwise engaged. Robin deep in the
bowels of the Bivouac headquarters working away on prominences, road
plans and all the other esoterica of running the Bivouac site, and
Betsy, a seeming anachronism among our other friends, actually having
paid employment! Tom, however, who had some kind of paid to do
whatever gig going with the university, decided to get up at 4.00 am,
drive for 1.5 hours, take the ferry from Vancouver Island, and meet
us at Horseshoe Bay for a ski day, his only request being, and here I
quote directly - if we could drop him off at Horseshoe Bay at "say
6.30 pm, 8 pm (or less optimally 10 pm)?"
Hashtag Vanlife
Our wheels of choice these days are a
Honda Odyssey, yep, a minivan. I'm 56 years old and back to living
the #vanlife in an 8 foot by 4 foot space. Who says things can't get
any better? The clearance is low and the tires are kind of worn, so
our options for skiing are limited to paved - or at least well graded
- roads. Robin suggested touring from Whistler Olympic Park (WOP), a
new (since 2010) facility up the Callaghan Valley.
Hanging Lake and Rainbow Mountain
We hadn't skied in the area for 15
years, not since we did the Pemberton Icecap traverse back in 2004 so
it was pretty much all new to us again. Then again, with incipient
Alzheimers just about every day is new to us now. The gate at WOP
was closed for the season so we parked beside the Tow Away sign and
popped the hood on the Odyssey which is the only way to stop the car
alarm going off 15 times per hour due to some untraceable electrical
malfunction.
Tom and Doug at the col
Apparently, there is a direct ski route
from Alexander Falls parking lot to the far end of the mish-mash of
overlapping trails in WOP but we did not find it. Instead, we walked
along the road in our sneakers, changed into our ski boots at some
generic looking building, and stashed our shoes in the salt bin, 'cos
"doesn't everyone?"
View roughly west from ascent route
Some weaving around on groomed ski
trails and we finally found the Rainbow Lake winter route. A couple
of youth from the Czech Republic were also skiing up Rainbow Mountain
and had come in on a mountain bike with better directions than we
had. It's a 600 metre climb up to Hanging Lake, most of it pretty
reasonable, but there is one steep section near the top. The trail
was well beaten by skiers but the deep potholes of walkers and piles
of dog shit endemic to the North Shore Mountains were conspicuously -
and delightfully - absent.
Just above Hanging Lake and the summit looks a long way off
PC, DB
Over lunch at Hanging Lake we
contemplated the remainder of the ascent, another 1000 metres of
elevation gain, suddenly, it was starting to seem like this might be
a long day indeed. Nevertheless, we continued on. We took a slight
variation on the Czech route, but were soon following their broken
track up the west face of Rainbow Mountain. Truthfully, it looked
like a bloody long way, nothing is ever this far in Australia, but we
plugged away, finally arriving on a broad plateau with the summit
only another 250 metres above us. We had almost caught up to the
Czechs, which was miraculous given they were easily 30 or even 40
years our junior, and, as much as it would have stroked our egos to
go for the summit, it was increasingly looking like the least optimal
ferry might be the only option for Tom, unless he too wanted to start
#vanlife.
Tom at our high point,
PC. DB
So, we turned around. The ski out
should have been simple, and would have been for other parties, but
it took us a long time, some of which may have been because Tom
preferred to leave his boots loose on his feet like an Aussie pair of
thongs. As everyone knows, it's hard to drive a ski while wearing a
pair of thongs, and Tom may have had a crash or two on the way down.
Skiing down
Inevitably, we took a wrong turn once
we got out onto the groomed trails and ended up wandering around in
circles on the maze of trails. There were sporadic signs on some of
the trails, but we were all too myopic to be able to read any of them
and too daft to make sense of them anyway. Eventually, we found the
access road and resorted to walking along that, but even then I'm
sure we walked in a complete circle before finding the salt bin where
we had stashed our sneakers.
High up on Rainbow Mountain
PC. DB
We finally dropped Tom off at Horseshoe
Bay just in time to catch the 10 pm ferry back to Vancouver Island.
I'm not at all sure how keen he is to get the band together again.
