Finding Whitewater

I'd never heard of Nelson.

That was a few years back, of course. Back when I was in Utah, looking for a way to escape of the crowded Wasatch. Sure, Utah had plenty of snow. It also had plenty of people, both on and off the hill. Resorts were plastered with billboards, its skiers were plastered with branding. It all felt so corporate. And I wanted out.

I'd heard of the mountain ranges around Nelson. I knew their home in interior BC was famous for being the birthplace of heli and cat skiing. I knew the snow depths and quality rivaled the boasts of my adopted state's "Most Famous Snow on Earth." I just didn't know about the town that housed the diehard skiers who kept the snow culture in that region alive.

And I sure as heck had never heard of Whitewater.

At the time, I was part of the Outdoor Research Insight Lab, a group of outdoorsy types selected to test gear in the field and report back with our findings. Outdoor Research also headed up the Tiny House Tour, a ski cabin towed by an aging truck cross-continent as the athletes inside it chased snow.

Naturally, as part of the Insight Lab ?? and as a skier ?? I was captivated by the project. After all, such a life is a powder hound's dream. I followed the Tiny House's route as it connected North America's best ski areas. Now, please note: These weren't best ski areas as chosen by a poll of New York executives hoping to have gilded ski boots to rent on their once-a-year ski vacations. These were the best ski areas as chosen by tiny-cabin-living, snow-chasing-madmen-(and women) who knew their stuff.

And this, my friends, is how I found Whitewater.

The madmen's truck broke down in Nelson; blew a gasket upon arrival, or some such traumatic auto injury. After unhitching their cabin in the Whitewater ski lot, it didn't budge for two weeks. It was the longest stop at any point of their trip, and it was, they said, the best possible place it could have happened.

I heard the story back in Utah. As I had with the other segments in this ongoing series documenting the ski trip, I pushed play on their latest video. The focus began with skiing one of Utah's mom-and-pop resorts ?? now since snatched up by a group with corporate interests. I sunk into the visions on the screen, engrossed by the turns as they slowly, bit by bit, moved from the snow to the road. I was almost unaware of what was happening until the road fully took over the view, snapping attention from the powder shots to the fact that the crew had left Utah.

But it wasn't until the crew was full-on in Nelson that they revealed the destination. The mystery of the transition hooked me with an idea that there was somewhere out there I hadn't heard of, somewhere that could possibly follow with finesse, and even humbly outshine, the likes of natural Utah powder. It must be one heck of a place, I thought.

I kept watching. On screen were some of the burliest skiers I knew describing their fascination with Whitewater. This small resort just outside a small town in a mystical place called the Kootenays was home to ski-loving locals that were perfectly content to not queue up in a line for a six-pack high speed lift. Nor did they need gilded ski boots at the rental shop. They owned their own gear, new or old ?? it didn't appear to matter. What mattered was their community mountain, a place where little had changed since its opening, and its steeps channeling down the inbounds and limitless sidecountry.

Something tugged in my heart.

Utah to Nelson. This was a sign, right?

I took it. Finding myself in my first season at Whitewater, I can't help but notice how green I am to interior BC skiing. But I love it. Every turn is a new exploration, every sight is stop-and-stare worthy. Ymir Peak, the snowfall, the huge trees; it's all sensory overload. People here are smiling. They know each other. They aren't rushing. (Well, unless there's a powder storm like this past week.) I'm living the Tiny House's experience, with Nelson being the best place I could have stopped. But unlike the Tiny House, time is on my side. There's no need for me to leave in two weeks. Guess I'm just a bit luckier in this powder hound's dream.