Nov. 18, 2009 - Issue #735: Parkland Conference 2009
Global uprising
Concept for Shames Mountain could trigger industry transformation
That's how this story began. If not for Jamie Schectman and Shanie Matthews, it might have stayed that way—a story about the ultimate powder lover's dream and a small community in northwestern BC.
Originally, the story keyed on the asking price of $1.5 million for Shames Mountain. That's cheaper than a mountainside chalet at Whistler. OK, it needs some reinvestment and there's probably some shareholder debt to service. But on the upside, Ski Canada Magazine has rated Shames, located near Terrace, BC, one of Canada's best kept secrets and top five places to ski out-of-bounds.
It's a small resort—only 28 trails and natural glading on 102 hectares—with aging infrastructure, but the total land tenure is over 3520 hectares. (Whistler's total area is 3306 hectares.) But most importantly, Shames averages 12 metres of annual snowfall. For those still using the imperial system, that converts to "totally epic" on the yardstick.
When an opportunity like this surfaces, there are those who may dream of grafting the corporate model of big development, high-end luxury and real estate profit perfected by big resort companies like the Aspen Skiing Company or Intrawest. But among a certain segment of alpine enthusiasts there is growing sentiment that the corporate model has grown stale.
Down in Patagonia, Argentina, self-described "soul skiers," Schectman and his wife Shanie had grown frustrated with resorts that put profits over people. After some investigation, they discovered the real estate listing for Shames. In this remote, relatively unknown mountain, they saw the potential to champion a new vision of a resort "for powder lovers by powder lovers."
What they proposed was a model unlike any other, with the possible exception of the obscure but legendary Mad River Glen in Vermont. A few glasses of wine, some soul searching and about three days later, the Shames Mountain Co-op was born.
Over several private messages on the SMC forum, late night emails and Skype conversations, the story evolved. It couldn't just be about the ownership dream, at least not the typical capitalist dream. It had to be about a radical new vision for skiing's consumer culture.
Between the Skeena River and the sea, 35 kilometres west of a small, predominantly blue-collar town of approximately 11 320 (2006 Census), a small snowball was rolling down the slopes at Shames Mountain. It began as a test shot but as it rolled it accumulated weight, built momentum and acquired gravitas. Now it's verging on critical mass.
Owners' visions have shaped the industry since the first North American resorts opened in the 1930s. But the common model for the modern resort—complete with luxury suites, six-pack chairs, massive snowmaking capacity and a raft of non-skiing activities to complement the on-hill confection—can be traced back to the emergence of publicly traded resort corporations in the 1960s.
Now, most major North American resorts bear some resemblance to this model. Escalation over the last decades has been rampant as resorts competed to build the biggest and best amenities to attract skiers and riders. But the question is starting to surface, is this what skiers really want? Or is it just what resorts want to sell us?
"In 46 combined years as pass holders, my wife and I never [felt] like we were giving our money to a ski area that was cool, that shared our vision. I think taking the whole global ski community and working alongside the locals we could create the coolest concept ever," says Schectman. "You have the triangle—one side is the community, one side is environment, one side's the skiers. You make all your business decisions through that criteria.
We all know what not to do with a ski resort. I don't know what your local resort is, but I'm sure there's things they do there that you're like, 'Why do you guys do that?' For profit."
The couple quickly got the Internet, Facebook and the town of Terrace buzzing with their concept for an alternative resort model that would transform the little community hill into a global co-operative. They circulated the idea among friends, skiers and Terrace locals, drumming up support among their industry connections. The whole thing went viral within days.
"I run a property management company in Patagonia. We've had guests from 29 different countries," says Schectman. "So we've mastered the art of global outreach and the free way of marketing. We threw it out on Facebook and within three days we had 300 fans. Soon my inbox was bombarded and Facebook is up over 1000 fans."
From there things moved fast. Locals got on board and established the "Friends of Shames," a steering committee to investigate options for the organization and operation of the mountain.
In late October, Schectman flew up from Patagonia to Terrace for town hall meetings. The reception was mixed. Some saw him as a champion for Shames, others as an intruder, an outsider.
Some apprehension was inevitable, Schectman accepts. Establishing common ground between locals and the broader ski community is a key challenge. Throughout its 20-year existence, Shames has been a community mountain. It's important to maintain the local character that made Shames attractive in the first place. "We have quite a few people coming from Whistler and other resorts who want something that's more intimate, more local and more affordable," says Mary Bartlett, one of the steering committee members from Terrace.
But over time, maintaining status quo will become more difficult as costly capital upgrades arise. Support from the international community could bring with it greater revenue possibilities, innovative management strategies and a wealth of expertise.
In addition to property management in Patagonia, the couple share a long and worthy combined resumé. "My wife's worked every single job you could ever have from instructor to EMT to waitressing. I worked at a five-star hotel in Squaw Valley as the hotel auditor and night manager. We both worked at a heli-ski operation in Alaska. We've been entrepreneurs, we've started and sold about 10 successful businesses, so we get that outside-the-box thinking.
"We bring a lot to the table. But that's the thing," Schectman stresses, "It's all about bringing people together in a collaborative effort."
The co-op concept would make it possible for skiers and riders from anywhere in the world to buy membership shares (a price of $500 per share has been floated) and have a voice in how the area is managed.
Schectman envisions a board of directors with equal representation from the community and the greater international membership, with each shareholder having one vote regardless of total shares owned. That, he explains, is part of the spirit of such a co-operative. All important decisions would be vetted through the triangular decision-making matrix—skiers, community, environment.
Currently, Shames Mountain Co-op has strong support both within BC, from the British Columbia Co-op Association, and beyond. There are some strong arguments for the co-operative model. On August 25, zunia.org reported that co-operative enterprises around the world are showing resilience to the recent financial crisis. To date, there are approximately 750 000 co-operatives worldwide, serving over 730 million members.
With climate change, economic instability and demographic shift, many within the industry agree that snow sports are facing a critical juncture. It's still early, but if the Shames Mountain Co-op gets to the bargaining table with solid backing, it could be a catalyst for bigger change.
Let's see if this thing snowballs. V
Shames Mountain Co-op: smcmb.com
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