Apr. 01, 2009 - Issue #702: Heartless Bastards
Bewilderness adventures
You don't have to do the math to know cat skiing rocks in Fernie
At last the cat growled to a halt. We all perked up like animals about to be fed. The driver’s boots could be heard, crunching closer to the door of our cab; it might as well have been the door of our cage. She heaved the door open and everyone bolted like the animals we were, suddenly released back into the wild.
That’s where we were too: atop a wind-hammered ridge in the Fernie backcountry, cloudy and crested with deep drifts. The fog obscured a panoramic view but it didn’t matter. On either side of the ridge we could finally witness what we came for. After the seven-hour bus ride, waivers filled out in triplicates, two safety talks and a mandatory transceiver education course, we were about to tear into the best turns of our lives.
Resort, tour, snowmobile, heli and cat are all ways of getting turns, each with their own pros and cons. Resorts can be crowded and tracked; heli-skiing is mostly reserved for the rich; touring, though arguably gratifying and pure, is arduous and requires strong backcountry knowledge; snowmobiling is even more dangerous and requires a lot of time and equipment.
Therefore, by my math, nothing beats cat skiing for value. Of the more than 20 cat-ski operators in Western Canada, the price ranges from $300 to $700 per person, per day, depending on the operator and the area.
Cat skiing is beneficial in other ways as well. One, as I discovered, is the people. Cat skiers are comprised of riders that snort snow instead of blow, the type of people who miss shoveling their driveway when they go on tropical vacations.
I have never ridden harder than with the 12 powderhounds in that cat. There was the owner of a ski tour operator and his buddy, a marketing director for Kimberley and nine other winter sport professionals. Combined, there was over a century of riding experience.
Located 20 minutes out of Fernie, Fernie Wilderness Adventures (fernieadventures.com) is one of the more accessible operators, with prices ranging from $350 per day to more expensive, all-inclusive packages. They have over 3000 acres of skiable terrain with an elevation of 2170 metres.
With such a large leasehold it’s amazing FWA only takes out a maximum of three cats per day each with 12 - 14 passengers. All the cats are in constant communication with each other in order to ensure your group doesn’t see other groups, until the end of the day when everyone meets down at the base lodge for some hot soup and great tales. FWA provides all necessary avi-gear, bagged lunches, professional photographers and professional guides. In short, backcountry turns with resort like safety and comfort.
Our guide was laidback, immediately getting a great feel for the ability of the group. For our first run, he led us off the ridge to a regroup spot just above a snowghost glade. He laid out the plan, what we could expect, and where to regroup again. “Most importantly, though, enjoy your turns,” he said.
My riding partner, James, and I skiffed our way to the front of the pack, came over the roller, and descended into a section of trees spaced by God. The snow was forgiving like knee-deep pow, yet responsive like fresh groomed piste. Even the tightest lines could be sniped at full-speed.
At a resort I would be stopping after every line in order to survey the next section; not the case here. I felt so greedy, never stopping to find the best line because every line was the best line. “Speed check” was erased from my vocabulary as James and I linked the best turns of our riding existence.
We regrouped at the end of the glade where the trees yielded to a vast cut block of untracked powder-field perfection. The guide had difficulty getting a word in over the sounds of guttural elation and paradoxical prayers like, “Holy shit, thank you God!”
“That was good,” he said through his perpetual Cheshire grin. “We’re gonna head through this cut block here and meet the cat down at the road. Just try not to hit any saplings—other than that let’s enjoy the rest of our run.”
Then he led us through the minefield of joy. Snow exploded from our edges. When we finally got to the road, everyone was silent and glowing. Had that been our last run, we could have finished satisfied, but we still had two full days of catharsis.
Over the two days, we rode some incredibly varied runs. At one point the photographer set up shop underneath a mellow 15 - 20 footer. All she captured, however, was bail reels as nobody took their launch serious enough to stick a landing.
There were some more rewarding and lengthy runs as well combining tight trees with long steep alleyways of snow. Some alleys were so long you could park an aircraft carrier; others were so steep you could bunny hop 15 - 20 feet over a cushy roller.
One of our better runs began atop the leasehold’s summit and dropped down to the crest of a freshly broken slab. We didn’t quite get far enough over to miss the slab, and had to traverse along the top of the slide. The slab was well over a metre deep and given the length of time we traversed it must have been a few football fields wide. It was a frightening thought, but easily shrugged off by the confidence and easy-going nature of our guides.
We came back to that ridge on our second day. The clouds had blown away long enough to get a good view of the valley. Adjacent, and a bit north, we could see Fernie Alpine resort, along with its seething lift lines, a mass of people all desperate to find some non-existent freshies. And there we were, lazily clicking into our gear knowing we didn’t need to work and clamor. The snow was there, eager to be ridden.
I’ve seen those turns countless times in ski films. Until that day I never believed they existed. V
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