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  1. #101
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    Every time I go to Whistler it changes me, usually for the better. I leave as a different person, someone changed by experiences you can only have in Whistler. For years, Whistler has been known the destination resort within the skiing community of North America. It has the longest vertical, the most acres and the most rocking nightlife. In Whistler it is easy to spend money but it is even easier to access gnarly terrain with awesome snow. I found my self with a week off in the middle of the summer. I always wanted to compete in the Crank Workx Race series so I committed to the idea and raced to Whistler on a solo mission.

    Someone on the chairlift said that people come to Whistler for the winter but stay for the summer. I can easily agree as I sit in the warm sun and drink a latte while enjoying some world class people watching on the village stroll.

    Tuesday July 25, 2006

    9am: I arrived in Whistler last night after 13 hours of solo driving from Smithers, BC. I have never been here in the summer it is pretty nice. I am here to DH bike on chairlifts for the first time. It should be a mind-expanding experience. I am also going to compete in the Crankworx triple crown of racing as I am entered in the Air DH, the Biker X and the Enduro DH. Time to go.

    3pm: I am like 10 times a better biker then ever before after just 3 hours in the Whistler Bike Park. Air to air to bank to air It is pretty fun, to say the least. I am taking a break now and going back out in couple of hours. Have to train for tomorrow.

    8:45pm: I am exhausted. It was a big day yesterday, a big day today and it will be a big day tomorrow A-Line DH race! I think I know the course. Should be interesting.

    Wednesday July 26, 2006

    8:30am: I am drinking coffee and mentally preparing to race. I feel worn out from yesterday but I am going to push on through.

    11:45pm: My head spins as I recall the days events and the Tylenol 3, beer and weed kick in. I guess Ill recount the day as things happened:

    10am-12pm: I did 3 more laps on A-Line trying to get a few more runs. Yesterday being my first day on a lift, I figured 10 laps would be enough to run it fast and clean. On each of my laps, I kicked my chain off, leaving me powerless to pedal. Frustrated, I tried in vain to properly adjust my chain guide. The chain kept coming off. I rushed into a bike shop asking if they could do a quick repair on my rear wheel. I figured that it was the freewheel bearing that was causing the trouble. They were all too busy.

    I adjusted the chain guides again and set off to do another run. Right when I got to the chair I realized that I had a slow leak in my rear wheel. I also soon realized that I had lost my mini tire pump that was in my camel back. So now I am at the top of the lift borrowing a pump from some dude. I told him to take a run and Id leave the pump at the top shack.

    Right when he took off I tried to use his pump but I could not get it to work. Just then another guy comes up saying something as I am pumping the pump that does not work. So I borrow his pump and I am now pumping the tube up real huge trying to find the leak. Cant find it. It was hot out. I am dripping sweat with this guy and his family looking at me. He told me there were free bike rentals down in the village. Thats a good idea. So I decided to put the tube back on and race down the access road to the village to find a sweet ride.

  2. #102
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    12:30pm: I paced around the milling crowds in the sweltering heat with my dilapidated bike. It doesnt help that I have a huge motocross fender on my front wheel and that seems to attract stares anyway. I went by each team tent looking for those free demo bikes. No one knows anything about free bikes. These are tents and bikes for pro riders and who are you? It started to become comical at this point. I walk from tent to tent calling out for a free DH bike to ride just one lap on A-line! No takers.

    Next I tried to go rent a bike for $40 but I did not have a credit card. It was getting closer to my start time. I had one last hope that the fellow Americans I had met were in the parking lot and also able to help.

    1pm: Were feverishly taking apart my rear wheel and trying to lube the thing up as much as possible. I got a spare tube, pumped her up and sprinted to the lift half convinced that I was late. I got to the course and was told that things were delayed by 1/2 hour for some reason. So I got to chill in the shade for about 20 minutes.

    I managed to run the course clean in 4:57. I thought it was pretty good considering that an hour before I thought I would not even be able to race.

    While I am watching the top pros come in under 4:20 and a whole heap of people under 4:30 I crunched my molar on some sort of seed shell that was in the muffin I was eating. So I went and had my first Canadian ER experience. It was slow. I emerged with a couple of Tylenol 3 but by then the liquor store was closed so I could not get a bottle of Jim Beam to commemorate the Air DH. I might have my tooth pulled in the morning.

    July 27, 2006

    My tooth split apart this morning when I forgot I had cracked it and chomped into some jerky for breakfast. It does not seem to hurt. Another day in Whistler
    I started training on the Biker X course. It is gnarly. Big race tomorrow. Looking forward to the Enduro on Sunday. One day at a time

    I am starting to feel strong at this level. I am biking faster and faster while hitting bigger and bigger jumps. Lot 5 is great.

    July 29, 2006

    I decided to pull out of the Biker X. It wasnt my thing. I ran the course several times on my old Super 8 with 3 inch Gazalottis but kept having trouble on one speed section. I blew my bike apart on the stutter bumps. Whatever. I needed a mental break. Aiming for the Enduro tomorrow.

    I awoke in the back of my truck hung over and with rain falling lightly on my face. I am worn out. I did not know what to expect coming here. It certainly is Whistler but summer time now. The bike scene is huge. I see huge potential in myself for improving on bike and skis here. This Enduro race should be fun. Tech, single track, natural

    9pm: Just came back from watching the Crankworx Slopstyle competition in the Village! Craziness. We are at the center of the bike universe. It is going to be a big day tomorrow. I am making dinner on the tailgate.

    July 30, 2006

    Another morning of pissing rain. Today I am competing in the Enduro DH. I can finally put this giant fender to good use. This race is more my style. I have become so much better on my bike in the last week it is crazy. Just when I am getting warmed up to keep riding for another 2 months, I have to go home.

    Last night we had a bonfire in the parking lot even though there is a province wide ban on fires. Good times in Lot 5. It is always fun to make new friends. I did not know what to expect coming to bike in Whistler. My ideas ranged from blind arrogance to prudent timidity. In reality I have squeezed somewhere in between. I have seen quick development around my strong background but have had only enough to get a taste of it. Well see how today goes. Id like to have a solid race. Pedal, pedal, pedal.

    Yesterday I heard that you are supposed to dream in your 20s, work on that dream in your 30s and live off your hard work in your 40s and beyond. Sounds like a pretty good plan.

    12:15pm: I have about 1 hour to race time. I just ate some mushrooms. I am going to go fast and steady.

    3:40pm: Crazy shit. High-speed gnarl. Tripping out. I soared to the bottom of the pit on the last GLC drop in front of 40,000 people and rolled to a stop at the fence all wild eyed and bewildered looking with the full beard and enormous fender. The crowd literally parted a path for me through the village square as I made my way to the truck. They looked afraid. I am going back to Smithers right now. See how far I can drive.

    I started driving at 4pm and did not stop, except for gas, until 5:45 the next morning in my driveway at home. When my eyes became heavy between Prince George and Burns Lake I pretended I was enduring some sort of military training scenario and that I had to make it to Smithers in order to pass the test. What test? Whos judging whom? The clock, the objective machine that first gives us time and as a result, space. Point A to Point B. Simple, universal, unarguable

    I really enjoyed my time in Whistler because it introduced me to a whole new world of exploration and opportunity. It is humbling indeed, to be cruising along at what I though was a respectable clip, and have Cedric himself pass and move ahead with such ease and grace. I physically could not keep him in my sight for more then 30 seconds. While I was huffing and puffing, he was standing, nearly motionless as his bike bobbed and weaved over the roots and rocks. And in another moment, hes gone into the mist and foliage ahead.

    I tend to get philosophical when it comes to trying to understand the experience that arises from bending time and space with speed. I have a theory that people who are faster on the bike, skis or freeway even, are smarter. By that I mean that they can mentally compute and assess the terrain at a faster rate and therefore command their body to move accordingly, at a faster rate. By that argument you can make yourself smarter by going faster. Just command your body to ease off the brakes just a little more or make one more pedal stroke before the next turn.

    Your head would have no option but to try and compute this higher rate of data. It might be too much, there might be a glitch and a momentary thought about your income taxes or the looming war in Iran and you CRASH! Holy shit. Too fast, I guess Im not that smart yet.

    I gave it my best. I pedaled every turn that I could and I charged and sweated and grunted. But I did not crash. I went from Point A at the top of the Garbanzo Chair to Point B in the Village Square in a time of 18:48. That sounds about right and I am happy with that.

    I think I can go faster. I might need to upgrade the bike and move to Pemberton but those are small steps on the path of knowledge. Id like to stand on the podium with the gurus and then Id know that I worked my hardest.

  3. #103
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    I started working with a small local mining company in the summer of 2006 and was truly introduced to the world running a chainsaw. I was told I would be cutting line and even though I had never really cut line or ran a chainsaw professionally, I hoped I would figure it out. As it turns out, running a chainsaw all day is hard fucking work.

    Basically, someone goes ahead of you and lays line by using compass and GPS as they make a straight line through the forest. They will use ribbon to mark trees and my job was to cut a path about one meter wide. Wide enough for someone else to come through and haul high tech electronic sensing gear to be used to look for under ground deposits. I am not paid to worry too much about what is under ground. I am paid to make the line straight as I cut through whatever the forest throws at you.

    Sometimes the vegetation is dense and bush like and it feel like you could be using a lawn mower. Other times there is ten feet of deadfall stacked up overhead as you cut a tunnel through 4 foot thick logs. Despite the heat and bugs and exhaust, I really liked running a saw from day one. My hands were cramped into claws and my back and biceps ached dearly but I knew that with time I would become strong and it would be like any other physical endeavor.

    I always put a lot of emphasis into experience and common sense developed in the steep terrain of mountain zones. I took the job as an opportunity to also become a woodsman. There are a lot of trees in BC and a lot of those trees are on the sides of steep mountains so I might as well learn how to cut them down.

    We would fly in by helicopter and build a base camp. From there, the grid would extend out into the bush for kilometers. A typical grid consists of a baseline that runs from 2-10k long. Every 50 to 500m on the baseline a cross lines will intersect and run perpendicular from 1-5k on both sides of the baseline. Every camp was different and every day was an adventure and I was getting paid for all of it.

    Every job was different. I went to camp with the idea that it would be a meeting of the minds. You are being put into potentially dangerous situations with previous strangers. After a few days in the bush you are no longer, acquaintances, but friends. The first night in every camp I would have trouble sleeping. I would usually dream some dream that would stick with me for the duration of the job. At Davy Lake I lucidly remember my first night dream and even recalled to a group of us one evening. I clearly recounted how I could see my own face morphing though and becoming 1500 different faces and lives over about three seconds in my head. When I woke I knew I was into my 1500th life.

    In hindsight, I found it interesting that I had found such profound experience in the flat lands of northern Saskatchewan. We were working at Davy Lake, located about two hours float plane flight from Fort McMurray, Alberta and just south of the border with the Northwest Territories. The grid we were working on was huge. The base line was broke into 5-6 different ten kilometer long sections all spiraling around like a Fibonacci design. The cross line intersected at 500 meters and ran for 5k each direction. The following is my immediate recollection of the events from the previous day, our tenth day on the job:

    My head kind of hurts because I have been awake for basically 30 hours straight. I am sitting in the Saskatoon Airport waiting to fly to Prince George via Calgary and Vancouver. Once on P.G I will take the bus home to Smithers.

    Yesterday started like any other day at work in a bush camp. We got up, had a huge breakfast, prepared the chainsaw and made our lunches. It was going to be another hot day cutting line through the forest of Northern Saskatchewan. The only thing that we did different out of our routine was fly out on the 3rd flight instead of the first. Pete and I had been on a roll the last week, getting lots of work done. On this morning we were feeling a little sluggish and Pete suggested that we go slow and drink another cup of coffee and I agreed. We were planning on an easier day compared to the last 4 days when we cut through 14 km of gnarly forest. When our turn came to fly around 8:30, we were mentally prepared for another day of bugs and chainsaw exhaust and noise and sweating.

    As we cruised along about 1000 ft above the arid forest and interspersed lakes our pilot, Yves, spotted what he thought was a caribou swimming across a lake right below us. Before I knew it we were banked into a steep, descending right hand turn with the intention of buzzing a loop around the lake, trying to not scare the caribou too much and then be on our way to our work site about 12km down the grid.

    Somewhere along the way Yves became disoriented with his speed and rate of descent and right at the low point of the arc of our turn, the skis caught the surface of the water and we went from about 200mph to zero in about 1/2 second.

    The Hues 500 helicopter was instantly submerged. My head was already under the water by the time I got unbuckled and out the door into the lake water. I could barely swim because I was wearing bucking pants and a coat. As I kicked those off I was thankful that I was now barefoot as my sandals were long gone. (we didnt wear cork boots in the chopper because it damaged the floor and steps) Just then, Yves popped up and in another 5-10 seconds Pete popped up and we all stated swimming the 100-120 ft to shore. I made it to shore first and realized that Pete was having trouble. Maybe he cant swim? I knew he was wearing steel toe boots laced up. I stripped naked and swam most of the way back to the chopper where I grabbed a floating seat cushion and gave it to Pete. I started pulling the cushion with Pete on it with all of my might. I was yelling with each breath to Swim! Kick! Fucking Swim! Swim! Come on!

    But he wouldnt or couldnt move very much. He wasnt saying anything and he seemed dazed. I think he either hit his head or injured his back but either way, he was becoming heavier and heavier. By then Yves had made it to shore, stripped down and was at my side as we both pulled on Pete and I yelled at him to Swim! Swim! His head bobbed under and again. I was becoming exhausted. He submerged again right between us and I reached down about 3 feet to the top of his head. Yves dove under and brought him to the surface once more but he was motionless and we were beginning to drown with him.

    I had to let go as I yelled to Yves that I was going down too I pulled to my back and looked at the sky and kicked in to shore about 60-70 ft away. Yves followed.

    Once we got to shore we were kind of pacing and wailing naked in the mud. I retrieved my pants, shirt and gloves from the jet fuel-slicked water. Debris littered the whole area like the helicopter literally detonated on impact.
    We crunched barefoot through the lichen covered forest floor and found a sunny spot to dry out and marvel at being alive. All of our gear was at the bottom of the lake. I saw the orange survival kit floating along the far shore so we moved around the lake, picking though debris as we went. The survival kit was well stocked and we soon had a fire going and space blankets laid out so any passing pilot might see our position.

    At this point (10am) we had to assume that 1) The people at camp would be worried because Yves was supposed to be back in 10 minutes and 2) we had to assume that the emergency locater beacon had gone off and search and rescue was on the way. So we stoked the fire and contemplated the events so far. We guessed our distance to camp to be about 5 km and wondered how long to wait before walking. We knew that it was a bad idea to move anywhere so we sat from about 10-1pm and listened for the sound of a plane engine. Sometimes we were sad, sometimes we were happy for having made it in one piece. Our minds altered between racing domino thoughts to what if games to guilt to happiness to nothing at all.
    Then, from across a far clearing we heard a yell and saw the other cutting crew. They had heard the sound of the wreck from 5km away and by more luck then anything managed to come over a hill and see the space blanket with us nearby.

    We now had a radio and GPS to relay our coordinates to camp and the search planes. By 4pm I was in camp sitting by the lake somewhat dazed and confused. I knew that I was going home and Yves knew that he was no longer a pilot and we knew that Pete was still in the lake.
    By 7pm I was in a float-plane, wearing a neck brace flying to Buffalo Narrows to see the doctor. Once there, they decided to send us by ambulance to the hospital in Lacross to do x-rays and further assess Yves and my condition. They seemed concerned that my pupils were different sizes and kept changing size, so they called the medivac jet from Saskatoon. I was at the Royal University hospital around 4am. I was in a C-spine collar the whole time just for precaution. They wanted to do a cat scan to see if my brain was swelling or damaged. The mechanism of injury was severe enough to require a thorough examination.

    I finished testing at the Saskatoon hospital about 9am and was at the airport by 11am. I am about to read in the paper about the war in the Middle east and be thankful for breathing and walking and being alive.

    Once in Smithers I have to go meet Petes wife and mother of his four children and tell her that he was working hard to support them and that he loved them and that he loved what he was doing and that Yves and I tried our hardest to get him to shore.

  4. #104
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    August 28, 2006

    I went back to see Petes wife again today because she called me and said that she had something for me. When I got there she was shaking and distraught. The walls were covered in crayon drawings from the kids running around. They knew that their mother was too distracted to get mad at them.

    She presented me with Petes 1st nations vest that had his Wolf crest on the back. She told me his spirit name was Great Swimming Wolf. He was called that because a couple of years ago he did a 1000mile kayak trip from Hazelton to Victoria. Apparently wolves do not normally like to swim but Pete was the exception, having a love for the water. As she handed me the vest we were struck by the irony that he had drowned while trying to swim to shore.

    I was honored but confused as to why I should get this treasured item. She told me that I had tried my best and that is all you can ever do and because I was there at the last moment his spirit name was transferred to me.

  5. #105
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    Quote Originally Posted by carpathian View Post
    So only one dog make it out, or were they both ok?

    You're a good skier, and you take cool pics, but you (or whoever owns those dogs) is a shitty fucking dog owner.
    __________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ ________________
    "We don't need predator control, we need whiner control. Anyone who complains that "the gummint oughta do sumpin" about the wolves and coyotes should be darted, caged, and released in a more suitable habitat for them, like the middle of Manhattan." - Spats

    "I'm constantly doing things I can't do. Thats how I get to do them." - Pablo Picasso

    Cisco and his wife are fragile idiots who breed morons.

  6. #106
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    ^^^Only one dog was in the avy and he was alright. The other one was free and clear in the first place. Neither dog was mine. I guess I agree and disagree on the shitty dog owner part. Some skiers bring their dog everywhere and treat it like a person and the dogs really like cruising through the pow just like us.

    But dogs are the weakest link in most cases and they can't make decisions for them self.

  7. #107
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    Thats good they were ok.

    You also can't really put a beacon on a dog without potentially costing a human their life, and anything without a beacon in avy terrain isn't too smart.

    Sorry, great thread you got here, but when I see something like that I just cringe, and I had to say something. I'm sure the dogs have fun, but they don't deserve to die.

    Carry on, back to the stoke. I guess I should post some stoke to redeem myself, so heres my meager contribution.

    __________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ ________________
    "We don't need predator control, we need whiner control. Anyone who complains that "the gummint oughta do sumpin" about the wolves and coyotes should be darted, caged, and released in a more suitable habitat for them, like the middle of Manhattan." - Spats

    "I'm constantly doing things I can't do. Thats how I get to do them." - Pablo Picasso

    Cisco and his wife are fragile idiots who breed morons.

  8. #108
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    Immediately after the crash Vesna and I decided to go to Whistler, BC to do some downhill biking. It would be my second trip down south in the summer and I figured that if life is short we might as well follow through with something that we had always wanted to do. I would miss Petes funeral but I felt like I had already seen him off to the next life.

    Downhill biking is extremely fun and extremely dangerous. The Bike Park in Whistler is the worlds best and we wanted to check it out. After a week of biking we both decided that we wanted a change and it would be fun to move to Whistler full time. We would rent out our house and see what the Lower Mainland had to offer. But before that could happen we had to go back to Smithers so I could face my new demons and go back to work in the bush.

    My destination? Tasu Inlet on the exposed West Coast of the Queen Charlottes Islands. The crew five, myself included, had two days in Charlotte City to organize gear and buy groceries. When everything was ready we met with the boat captain who would carry us out through the Skidegate Narrows and south for 8 hours to Tasu. His boat was a 54 seiner that was definitely more suited for a fishing crew of two without addition of a mining crew of five.

    The crux of out operation in general was the sight unseen purchase of a small lake boat that would serve as our job site water taxi. Our boss bought the boat on the Internet and we went to pick it up on our way to camp. I kind of wanted to test the outboard motor before setting sail but apparently we had to ride the tide ASAP. The little boat was sad looking. The canvas top was all collapsed and the windshield was busted.

    We cruised along south until a small opening came into view through the vertical faced west coast. The passage was maybe four lanes wide with cliffs rising thousands of feet on each side. I was trying to not be paranoid, but ever since Saskatchewan I had the habit of constantly scanning for my exit strategy in case we went down. With the pounding surf and cold rocks there was not many options.

    [ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O5G-n5bpoXI&feature=channel_page"]YouTube - Tasu Part 1[/ame]

    Our home for the next three weeks would be in a little canvas tent tucked into a tiny cove on the end of the Booth Peninsula. My crew consisted of Kevin and Bryan, who were both in Saskatchewan, along with John and Eric who were technically prospectors. Kevin, Bryan and I would be responsible for soil sampling every single stream that flowed to the ocean off of the strip of land that we called home.

    Amazingly the little outboard motor started. Since I had the most ocean experience I was nominates as Captain and we named our small vessel The Belle Hopper. I set about making an anchor out of rocks and bailing wire and I constructed an anchor system that allowed the boat to free float despite the high and low tide fluctuations.

    After a day of prepping camp it was time to go to work. We would zip from camp in search of flowing water. Some creeks were so small that they just trickled off the rocks into the ocean. I would pull the boat up to the cliffs and Kevin would jump off the bow and scramble up the cliff into the dense forest. I idea is to collect soil samples from the streambeds every 50 meters along with a GPS coordinate. Some creeks would go less then 50 meters before they dispersed into the loamy ground or as a spring or seep from a steep bank.

    One creek was pretty good sized on the map. It flowed down between he green dripping mountains from a lake some two kilometers upstream. The problem was that every time we would cruise by the creek on route to somewhere else, there would be four or five large black bears hanging around on the beach, apparently waiting for us or challenging us to come on their turf.

    About a week into the trip we decided it was time to venture into Bear Valley. All the other creeks on this side of the peninsula were complete except for the creek that flowed from the valley of the bears. Sure enough, when we pulled in here was a momma bear and two cubs watching us. They moved away as we approached and as long as we did not surprise each other things would be all right. Once you were in the dense vegetation however, by the time you would see a bear you are only three feet away
    Three of us made our way up the creek under huge fallen cedars and over deep pools of crystal clear water. The Charlottes it tends to rain a lot. This day it seemed to let loose a particular deluge as we sweated and steamed through the jungle. Sometimes there were ten trees, each ten feet in diameter, all crisscrossed overhead, making it dark in the caverns below. It felt very Lord of the Rings.

    After several hours we made it to the lake just as the sun poked through the clouds. We took lunch o a beach and prepared to journey back to the ocean where the bears were waiting. On the way out, we opted for the bear trodden paths that run parallel to the creek up above the stream bank. These paths seemed to be as good a place as any to run into a bear. Sure enough we saw one come around the corner and it zipped off the path and circled around to where it seemed to be following us.

    [ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4HFqkcQRPvM&NR=1"]YouTube - Tasu Part 2[/ame]

    As we popped out on to the beach the tide was up and there was the momma bear and here cubs right on route to our boat. We decided to go up into the forest and circle around knowing that the other bear was nearby. It came to a point where the momma bear was right in front of us as the other one came from the side so we had to actually run up on to this little knob to get our of the way. Right as we were crouched behind a log I looked down at my feet and saw a perfect bear skull and skeleton right at my feet.

    [ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QI7042BuYv8&feature=related"]YouTube - Tasu Part 3[/ame]

    I picked up the skull up for a moment contemplating this awesome memento from Bear Valley. Right then the stalking bear seemed to advance and I decided it would be best to not disturb the bear graveyard. We ran through the thicket and scrambled to the boat. The bears appeared to be satisfied with our departure and so were we as the Belle Hopper zipped us away to safety on the open sea. We departed our camp after three weeks of rain and adventure. The fishing boat picked us up at midnight and we chugged into the night. An hour later as we rolled in the pitch black waves of the pacific, the deck hand checked on the Belle Hopper and discover ed that she had broken loose and disappeared in the inky night, never to be seen again.

  9. #109
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    I just finished working my first season in the booming mining industry here in BC. I have had the opportunity to travel all over the province and beyond, make good money, learn new skills and make new friends. At most jobs you are spending days and weeks out in remote camps working and living with random co-workers. I have enjoyed talking with people who have different backgrounds then myself. Though most of the time, my co-workers are locals of America and Canada, I have had the opportunity to talk politics with people from far off lands.

    Back in August and September I was working with a young Mexican fellow named Eric. He was born in Mexico and moved to Northern BC as a young boy while his family kept strong ties back home. He is a second-generation minerals prospector and we were working on the remote and rugged west coast of Haida Gwaii looking for evidence of gold and copper.

    As we clambered through the dense jungle foliage one afternoon I asked about the political scene in Mexico. We dont really hear about our third neighbor here in North America other then stories about illegal aliens or how to pay off the Federales or the Banditos if you are a traveling gringo.

    I asked what it is like in the media and the way people talk about the president and politics in general. He bluntly said that you cant really say anything that undermines federal policy or you will disappear. You dont criticize the president publicly because that is not tolerated. I asked if that has to do with the flood of immigrants in the U.S., as that seems obvious. He said, They are never going to completely shut down illegal Mexicans crossing the border because they work at a lot of jobs that Americans wont do. I had to ask if it was that or the fact that they are illegal and that is the only job they can get? Even the lowest paying illegal work in the states will pay more then the average legal job down south, if there is any jobs in the first place.

    On my next job a few weeks later, I met my work partner at a motel diner in Houston, BC. So here I am having breakfast with this young, bookish looking geophysicist and an older man named Thomas, who had a thick Eastern European accent. I recognized the same sound in my father-in-laws accent and guessed correctly that this guy was from Yugoslavia. He was about to hit the road to head home and I was his replacement. After a few minutes of chitchat, Thomas was somehow telling us this story about a confrontation he had had with a Vietnam draft-dodger.

    Apparently the dodger had said something about getting out of Vietnam ASAP and Thomas told us how he told the guy that he should be ashamed of himself for being cowardly and ignorant. The geo and I kind of looked at each other and I piped in about how I had dodged the imaginary U.S. draft of May 2004. But I quickly explained that I had come to understand the threat of Communism and more recently the threat of Islamofacism.

    Then, as if on cue, he goes into this story about how back in the 80s he was visiting an old friend in Moscow who happened to be a fairly high ranking military officer in the army of the USSR. Sometime during dinner with the officer and his large family, Thomas asked a question about the politics in the USSR. The officers face darkened and he silenced the room with a brief, icy stare and a turn away to other conversation.
    Whoa! he thought.

    Later, after dinner, the officer took the friend aside and scolded him for endangering his life and career and family by asking anything about politics. I dont know who at that table would say something to someone and the next day I would be taken away, never to be seen again.

    Most recently, I was working on a job with a 21-year old guy from East Germany named George, who is working legally in Canada on a tourist visa. As I fueled the chainsaw or sharpened the chains cutting teeth, wed go over world issues. One day I asked if Germans take offense to people comparing Bush to Hitler as if they are some how similar. He said, You cant compare Bush to Hitler because Hitler was a great man. He was quick to follow saying, I know he did all the bad things and that is bad but he still had more charisma and moving power over the people because he was a dictator and Bush is just a front man.

    After I picked my jaw off the ground I asked if he or his parents miss Communism?
    Not at all, socialism is just not working, he continued, though, even the system they have now is not really working because there is still strong communist undertones in the memory of the people.

    I said, There seems to be a few people around here who dont know anything about the Holocaust in general so they might be more inclined to believe someone like Ahmadinajad. You know, how the Holocaust never happened because it is part of the Zionist revisionist plot? What do Germans think about a president of a country saying something like that?

    Well, that is our history and we know that it happened George said. I then asked about the apparent mass influx of Muslim immigrants coming to Europe and not integrating while at the same time making more demands for cultural respect and eventual Sharia law? George then asked me if I had heard about the Van Gogh murder or the theatrical play that was censored by sensitive multiculturalists. That will be the end of free speech, he lamented.

    Then he asked if I had read Orwells 1984? I laughed because I knew where he was going with it. That is what it is like in a Communist/Fascist state. Islamofacism draws the same passion from its followers no matter how disastrous the results.

    I kept chain sawing through another tank of gas. Later I asked about how difficult it was to start a business in Germany?

    Very difficult, he said, you need $30-50,000 of backup money and there are tons of government loops to jump through. I told him about how I had come to Canada and started a small video production company with a $16,000 grant from the Canadian government. The program is used to keep people off of welfare and to diversify the economy.

    Wow, that is opposite of Germany! I need to move here.
    You should, I said and drop started my chainsaw and went back to work, feeling like a redneck.

  10. #110
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    No, you can't ski with me.
    Quando paramucho mi amore de felice carathon.
    Mundo paparazzi mi amore cicce verdi parasol.
    Questo abrigado tantamucho que canite carousel.


  11. #111
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    this a great thread.

  12. #112
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    In your 500+ plus posts you have outdone most, in this thread alone. It also doesnt seem like you are a trustfunder . That is also bonus points.

    No mention of private schools or Ivy league, how do you make it in this world ? What do mean your not a rich kid ? Doesnt everybody get nice cars and honeymoons to far away countries ?

    What do mean your not posting from SE Asia and New Zealand or SA for part of the year. And Euro, AK and BC for the other ? Funny thing is there is more stoke in this than the entire post count of many x many.

    You post it all in thread on a obscure corner of a popular ski forum and proceed to blow everybody's doors off. This pertaining to a lifestyle upbringing that is not available in Washington DC. Therefore most are disqualified.

    This pertaining to a lifestyle which is not being replicated all to much. You cant just show up for 2 weeks and live it has to be something lived . Just not a year or 2 out west but a lifetime , of stories and insanity .

    I have not done most of these crazy thing Carpath has mentioned but can relate. In my almost 20 years of living in counties the size of eastern states just doing crazy shit and meeting weird people but not fronting . Not looking down my nose but seeing the craziness of your fragile flesh and bones that could be gone in instant.


  13. #113
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    By November 1, 2006, we had finally relocated to Pemberton , BC. Located 35km north of Whistler, Pemberton offers small town atmosphere with world-class recreation opportunities all around. I had a job already lined up when I rolled into town. We would be living with an old friend Vesnas named JJ, who owned a lovely house out in the country. He also landed me the job and would be my foreman.

    Unfortunately the work season came to a close after only a week of work because the new season of snow arrived sooner then later. Our cash flow was tight I wanted a season pass for the massive ski hills that we had moved here to ski. I had to go back so I called my old boss from back in Smithers. They had a running contract going up in northern Saskatchewan. I had to go, to really face my demons.

    On the surface we had moved to Whistler to ski and bike but in reality I was running from the harsh memories associated with Smithers and the heli crash. They had shut down that camp after the crash for a couple of weeks and then ended up bringing in new workers to finish the job. This time I was aiming for the UEX camp which was more to the north east of Davy Lake, near Wollasten Lake. Where Davy Lake was in heat of the summer, I was returning to this god-forsaken land just as winter was setting in.

    On the opening day of the ski resort, Vesna drove me through Whistler and south to Vancouver where I got on a plane and flew to Calgary then Saskatoon. The next flight was on a small ten passenger plane that aimed due north. I could not believe that I was doing it, to be honest. The last time I was in Saskatoon, my head was not screwed on straight. Had it been ever since?

    The little plane stopped at tiny runways where local native people either got on or got off. The inside temperature of the plane was dropping. Finally we arrived at the UEX camp, a weird industrial complex in the absolute middle of nowhere. It is land of big trucks and lots of porn on the magazine rack. Actually I take that back, there has to be a regular gas station in order for there to be a magazine rack in the first place. There was some miscommunication as to who was picking me up. I was kind of confused because I was not sure where I was going and thought I was already there.

    I ended up hitching a ride with some guy who just putted along not really in too much hurry to get anywhere. All of the sudden he handed me a .22 rifle from under the seat and told me to shoot the ptarmigan that was sitting on the side of the road. He warned me that the sight was off, but after a couple of shots, I got it.

  14. #114
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    I got to camp and was relieved to see Kevin and some of the other guys from previous jobs of the summer. Most of the large canvas tents in camp were comfortable despite the 30C. The first night I stayed in a tent with Teddy. I soon picked up on the fact that Teddy was certifiably crazy. He was half Indian and half Metis or some such and would go on about how he had beat the shit out of so and so, or I drank so much that or I got arrested for or I put him in a wheelchair. As he laughed with a sly smile like he was testing me. His pigeon English was barely passable at best but I would soon learn that he would be my translator for the rest of the crew.

    A couple of hours after I got to camp I was hanging out in Kevins tent and they had a huge tiger torch propped up on a board as it was blasting a three foot flame in the air to take the chill off. He broke the news to me that the all the guys I knew and trusted would be leaving and I would be the new foreman for the new crew. They had already been there for six weeks and were getting the heck out while they could. My new crew was on route as we spoke, as they were riding in on snowmobiles from their village an hour across the lake.

    I would be in charge of Teddy and four other locals for the next few weeks. Even though I had a constant pit in my stomach, it seemed to grow the next morning when all my friends finished loading their truck and jumped in and drove away, back home to Smithers.

    Teddy was the joker. He was always quick with the punch line but also quick with the punches, from what I gathered. The other four guys were quiet. Two of them were my age and spoke a painful garbled English. Their native language was Dene and it was mixed with a French/ English combo. I had to really concentrate on what they were saying and the two other guys were much older. They were in their mid-fifties and and were technically elders in the their community.

    On the first day one of the older guys was saying something about cigarettes and chew and I was like Yeah, yeah, Ill get it tomorrow, as Teddy chimed in with listen man, you want a mutinee? You gotta get chew now. This was my first job as foreman and apparently I am responsible for providing for my men, NOW!

    The days went by slow. The temperature kept dropping to 35C then 40C. I kept the diesel truck running 24 hours a day because it would not start if left off for more then half an hour. I would gather the men in the morning and we would drive 10k down the road to where the grid crossed every 200 meters. I would set Teddy and the elders off cutting line that I already laid out. My partner and I would set off into the bush with GPS and pickets. Once the line is cut, we had to go back and picket every 50 meters for the entire 5km length. The seismic crew would come in after us and they use the pickets as reference points. They haul cables out that are connected to a generator and basically create an ultra sound of the Earths core. In this case we were looking for uranium.

    Well, we were not looking for uranium technically. Technically we were trooping across frozen lakes in a barren land. The pickets did not want to stand upright in the ice so we just laid them there. One day I looked across the ice and saw smoke rising on the far shore. We walked over to see what was going on.

    It was so cold that the power saws, as the locals called them, would not run. You should get Husky, Teddy would implore referring to the Husqvarna brand of chainsaw versus the Stihl brand we were using. They work in cold, told me as he sat by the fire he started to warm his saw.

    I took note of production for the day. The next day was the same thing; too cold for the saws. On the tenth day the cook quit. It seems that the pipes kept freezing in the kitchen. The topper was when the giant shitcicle that had been growing in the outhouse finally poked its ugly head above the blue foam toilet seat. The camp manager had been chopping it down with an ice axe but it looked like the base finally caught up with the head and it would not back down.

    I recalled how Vesna had called me to tell me how good the skiing had been. I did not need to hear it from her though. Somehow, doe to the atmospheric acoustics, we would pick up a Vancouver radio station as it blared about the best skiing conditions in ten years.

    The more I thought about it, I realized that I had had enough for the season. What more did I have to prove? I called my boss back in Smithers and basically told him that he was losing money because production had gone through the floor. He quickly agreed and told me to get the heck out of there. It was the middle of December and we were the very last crew in the field for the season.

    I was elated! I went and told the crew and they were not impressed. It seems that these guys were real locals and they had no problem working in 40C. They only lived an hour away and where else were they going to work? I knew that I was the weak white guy and I knew it was futile to try and explain that the skiing was good back in Whistler. We were in another world. By this point I was thinking and talking in a pigeon English of my own.

    When Teddy found out, he was outraged! Apparently he had called the boss on his own an hour before I did for some reason or other and had told him that things were going great. I did not know that he had also called the boss. Teddy took this into his twisted logic and decided that I called him a liar! He bellowed in my face that nobody called him a liar and that he had maimed people for less. We stood toe to toe for maybe 20 minutes and I felt like I was facing an enraged brown bear and in the end I managed to call his bluff.

    I was awestruck by his rationale and was seriously afraid for my safety. I took refuge in the camp manager tent and place my tiny camcorder up in the corner under a coat in case Teddy came busting in with a knife or Tiger Torch. An hour later Teddy came over and had calmed down a bit. We had both called the boss again and he managed to sooth Teddys offended ego. I was till not in the clear. I was responsible for driving the work truck home to Pemberton where Kevin would come pick it up later in the winter.

    I was also responsible for driving Teddy 10 hours south to Saskatoon on my way south. What followed was some of the most harrowing driving conditions I have ever endured. At 40C diesel fuel will start to gel and it will not flow to the engine properly. The road was single lane and pure ice. Huge big rigs would surprise you around a corner and nearly put you in the ditch. The basic rule of the road is the more axles, the more seniority on the road. If you were lucky you would see the dragons tail of exhaust flowing towards in your direction, giving you plenty of warning.

    It does not matter though, if you are broke down. We had been using fuel out of a portable tank and it probably had some moisture in there as well which contributed to our problem. The truck would lose power in 4th gear then 3rd and then down to 2nd. We would be crawling along in 1st and then she would die. The other problem was that the truck batteries were already weak so if she did not start after a few turns we would be sitting ducks. I knew all of this because as it turns out, Teddy was some kind of diesel mechanic on the side. We had long settled our differences as we stood in the middle of the road in the middle of nowhere.

    A small truck came by and offered a tow. So now we are cruising along being towed two feet behind this pickup as the sun is just coming up over the flat horizon and directly into my eyes. I could not see anything except for a six-inch corner of the bumper I was trying to not run into. My power steering and brakes were seizing up and I had to muscle everything. Even Teddy seemed nervous as he finally stopped talking.

    An hour later we tried to pull start her and she roared to life. Another hour later we limped into the first gas station for fresh fuel and diesel conditioner. After a total of ten hours of driving and Teddys 15 beers we were in Saskatoon. Teddy went off to find a hooker while I called a tow truck to make an appointment for a 7am pull start.

    At 7:10 am I bid Teddy farewell, hopped in the truck behind the tow truck as it pulled me down the boulevard. I downshifted to 1st gear and she roared to life for one last haul.
    17 hours later I pulled into Pemberton exhausted and happy to be home. I then dreamed about the drive with Teddy all night, every night for the next three weeks.

  15. #115
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    Shummer fuel eh?

    don ferget da chew AND da powerservish eh whitey ?

  16. #116
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    Teddy was wrong - Huskies have a hard time running in the hot, let alone the cold.

  17. #117
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    Later I did ask around and the consensus was that Stihls were better in the cold and Husky's break down more often. I think Teddy was messing with my head...

  18. #118
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    Ice Road Huckin...

  19. #119
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    one my paddling buds had a 30" extension hose off the main tank in his chevy which we would use to run the lamp,the stove and the tiger torch ... great for lighting camp fires using only a couple of 12 inch logs AND vaporizing beer cans

    I heard of but never witnessed debauchery involving drunk 4x4'ing with that 1 ft flame blasting away into the night

  20. #120
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    I was done working for the season and had a lot to go over in my mind. I thought of doing a 101-day ski meditation to first clear my mind then make it receptive to new ideas. After the crash there in Saskatchewan and my more recent trip to that God forsaken province, I felt like I had a new lease on life and that I should take advantage of that.

    A ski meditation is simple. You can make a meditation out of a single run or a day or a single turn. Or maybe ten turns in a row or maybe ten days in a row. By meditation I mean that you operate in a state of blank focus and healthy intentions. Sometimes a blinding epiphany can carry forth through the deep apex of just one turn. Or just the opposite: if I crash and loose a ski what was thinking about when I crashed? Obviously something other then the turn, that is why I crashed.

    I was aiming to be in a meditative state from December 20, 2007 until March 31, 2008. I would ski six days a week with Sunday as a rest day. I would stretch and contemplate life thus far. You can reach a meditative state through different specific exercises or modes of expression on skis.

    There is the high rep/ high speed practice that focuses on endurance of the mind as it controls the body through highly variable and potentially volatile motions. For example, every Wednesday Vesna would work as a volunteer avalanche tour guide on Blackcomb. She would ski around and discuss avalanche mitigation techniques with curious tourists. So for my Wednesdays, I would do as many Spanky Laps as possible. Spankys Ladder is a short hike that will access Ruby Bowl, Diamond Bowl and Sapphire Bowl. You can do a lap every half hour on the minute if you keep the same pace. No time for smoking, pissing or drinking water. Over the day you can max out at 13 laps if there are no problems like people trying to talk to you or anything such inconvenience. I might add that it is not the best way to make new ski friends. After about 15 minutes of skiing you have approximately 15 minutes on the chair to sit in silence or make chitchat with a tourist. They always seem real impressed that you live in such a beautiful place, so it is good to remind yourself of that.

    The opposite end of the spectrum is in the backcountry. Your day is now split into climbing and skiing. A three-hour climb might yield 20 minutes of ski time. You meditation becomes focused on the exercise of propelling yourself up hill for however long and then on getting yourself down in one piece, considering avalanches etc.

    As it turns out two of the biggest days of my season were on the first day and the last day of my 101-day meditation.

    I had been staring at the mountains from our new studio apartment just outside of Pemberton. Dead south was the long, low angle, tree covered ridge that cuts northeast from the summit of Mt Currie. From the Summit I could trace the horizon line behind and above the lower northeast ridge as it cuts due east back around to another prominent peak that we called the Bastion.


    Off of the summit of the Bastion a beautiful coulior cuts straight through the craggy cliffs and intercepts a cut block some 2500 feet below. Those cut blocks are immediately adjacent to the base of the treed shoulder that leads to the summit of Mt. Currie as described earlier. It is a big loop.

    My objective for the day was to climb and ski the coulior. I had reconned the parking lot the day before and since I was going solo, I had that special nervousness. In the silence only found in absence of idle chitchat with your climbing partner, you can really hear the little voice as you determine the safety and outcome of every step. When skiing solo in rugged terrain I have the tendency to look for every reason to turn around. There is an odd satisfaction in turning around and calling it a day in mid climb. In this case I had ample reasons to call it quits.

    After negotiating through the cut blocks I cruised up the lower avalanche path with ease. The area was big and broad and low angle. For a while I could stay under cliff features to minimize the chance of an avalanche coming from above. About an hour into it, the path started to steepened and narrow.

    The new snow was slabby and kind of drummy. I tried to do tight zigzag turns along the right wall as long as I could. I did not want to cut out on to the face because there was a hanging pocket up on the left. I stayed right, stayed right until a point when I had to go left. I was above the offending chute and only had to contend with the main chute now.

    I poked the snow and sniffed the air. I had to go light and fast. I traversed nimbly almost willing the snow to launch out from under me because I was ready. I reached the safety of the left wall and continued making steep zigzags on the left wall. I could only maintain that technique for a while until it became too steep. The problem with boot packing is that the snow was weird breakable crust and thigh deep. Every step was a tremendous struggle. I pushed tight along the wall always being prepared to leap and grab solid rock if the snow moved.

    I got up towards the top to where the chute hour glassed the opposite direction and became wider while getting steeper yet. I am at the end of my will and capacity. This is the first climb of the year and even though I have years of remembering what it is like to climb a route like this, my body is not so sure. With every step my left hamstring was cramping into a ball and then my right leg started doing it too. I had only drunk a half of a liter of water for 4 hours of work.

    This is where the snow holds the most wind load potential, right at the apex of the pitch. I sensed that the snow was boxed in by the narrow section below and the way the snow seemed to be cupped in by the natural contours. The snow was at my chest and I struggled upward until I broke over the crest and the sun shined in my face for the first time all day. I still had ten minutes to gain the real summit so I strapped on my skis and plodded on.


    On the summit I could barely manage a gulp of water. I scanned the horizon line that circles the Gravell Creek drainage. It is the route that I can see from my house and I know I will do it someday but not today. I must descend quickly and carefully. I made easy turns down ridge and then tight, steep turns down the gut. The snow was not even sloughing as I only sank in an inch or two. Down low my legs burned but my skis begged to let it run a bit on the smooth open slopes. I skied to the end of the snow and walked the last bit to the truck and knew that it was going to be a good season.

  21. #121
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    Vesna is over eight months pregnant now. Soon the baby will be in our world. I feel compelled to get these stories on paper before the baby gets here. Before that new adventure begins.

    Sometime in the middle of February I got a call in the evening after skiing powder all day at Whistler. After the crash I decided to follow my dream and move to this special mountain town and see what life had to offer. Petes wifes voice sounds stony cold. She told me that the autopsy report came back and it turns out that Pete had only suffered a broken rib in the accident and since I had said in my original report that I thought he must have been more injured since he was not working to save himself, then I must have not tried hard enough to get him to shore and therefore she explicitly blamed me for her husbands death.

    It did not matter that he had a coat on and laced up heavy boots and he COULD NOT swim anyway. And it did not matter that the pilot crashed the helicopter in the first place. She blamed me and told me to mail back his vest. By the act of mailing the vest I was relinquishing my spirit name as well. Did she have the power to give it to me in the first place? All I could do was hang up slowly with a pit in my stomach. I promptly mailed the vest.

    For the most part, Smithers and all of that seemed so far away. The problem was that every time I looked around at where I was living I was reminding of the accident and how I was skiing around in Whistler lala land and her husband was dead. Maybe I did not try hard enough

    Bougie and I had scoped our line the day before and wanted to get after it while the snow and weather held. From below, about half way back North Joffre Creek, we could see the whole run top to bottom. But we both knew that by the time we got to the top it would not be so simple. From below we could see a nice clean chute coming in from the ridge top. The chute ran for about 1000 feet and then opened onto a broad open area that ran for another 1000 feet. Below that the pitch rolled over very steep for the last 1500 feet to the valley bottom. On this lower pitch there was one clean line that made three huge zigzag turns across the cliff strewn face with each slash running about 400 feet across the face while dropping 300 feet. We knew that from above it would all look the same so we picked some tree features to aim for the next day.

    We started climbing around 10 am. It was warm and sunny and there were other groups skiing in the area. We were in no rush because we knew that no one was going where we were. Our group consisted of Bougie, his friend Jonas and myself. We circled around the south side of the mountain through the forest and it was a very nice day indeed.

    It took about two and a half hours to find the entrance to our run. It seemed innocent enough as we dropped in through the small cleft in the ridgeline some 20 feet across. The north facing run was in deep shadow and the snow was staying cold. We dropped in one at a time and enjoyed wide, open, beautiful turns through the chute and the mid pitch open area. We regrouped at the appointed cluster of trees and prepared for our next move.

    From our position, on a knob to the skiers right of the first slash, we could see the next pitch and begin to realize how steep things were getting. It was a long left traverse on skiffs of snow. The whole time the pitch rolled away from beneath us, 1500 feet to the valley below. I could actually see our tracks from yesterday when we had looked up to our now precarious position.

    We made our way across the first slash one at a time. At our next rendezvous point, things officially became tense. From below, this right hand turn had looked simple enough, but from our new vantage point actually on the feature, we were stumped. It was about 100 vertical feet of snow pushing into extremely steep range that was also an obvious wind slab. The only way to mitigate the instability would be too ski cut the slope but that would put you out over about 500 feet of mostly vertical death.

    Bougie and Jonas were both seasoned ski patrollers at Whistler and I humbly deferred any ski cut responsibilities to Bougie even though he was less then keen to follow through. All three of us were registering alarm bells in the self-preservation department in our brains. It actually came to a point when we decided to side step our way out the way we came in. After ten minutes of it was clear that option was out and the only way to go was down.

    My legs were becoming tired from standing on the edges for so long in such a position. From where we were perched I could stick my elbow straight out to the side and touch the slope. Bougie cautiously side slipped out on to the hanging slab. He jumped a little and it seemed to hold. He made a jump turn and zipped right and out of sight as the pitch somehow rolled over even steeper.

    A few minutes later we could here a holler so Jonas made his move and disappeared. I was left standing by myself, like a literal fly on the wall. I kept taking deep breaths and remaining calm, it was my turn. The snow was scraped to waterfall ice now but was consistent at least. I managed five of six of some of the steepest jump turns of my life over huge exposure. On the last turn I zipped right and tucked into a gulley feature and was safe.

    The run was not over yet! There were some weird rock pillars jutting out below and I made some more steep turns and finally cleared the last slash to make the Z for Zorro complete.

  22. #122
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    The Conquest of the Earth, which mostly means the taking it away from those who have a different complexion or slightly flatter noses then ourselves, it is not a pretty thing when you look into it too much. J. Conrad

    The names of characters and actual locations have been omitted to protect the people, property and powder involved.

    My wife and I were excited when we rolled into town. The land had been ours for years but we had not made use of it until now, December 24, 2007. We had moved our camper here back in October then came back again in November to build a snow shed to protect the camper from being crushed by the huge annual snowpack. We drove in late at night and spent most of the next morning cleaning and organizing camp, ski gear and sleds. You see, this place is a secret spot and we as landowners, thought we were in.

    The locals across the street had set up camp some 10 years ago. A group of dudes had gone in on a piece of land located right at the foot of a mountain. Immediately adjacent to the land was a mining road that led up 3000 through perfectly spaced, tall trees and another 1000 of rolling alpine terrain. Our camper and land sits so that we look right over the intentional snow berm and see the secret gem of a trail snake from behind the Barn and curve up and around the corner into the forest.

    All morning we saw people tandem on sleds and disappear up the trail as truck after truck pulled in. We had heard that the locals might be a little protective so we brought beer and good cheer to see how far that would get us. Guys and girls milled around and gassed up as we cautiously peered over the snow bank. Back in October and November we had met a couple of friends of the owners who seemed cool but then too cool when the obvious talk came around to how good the riding must be come winter.

    Around 2pm we decided to go for it. As I strapped our hand-built custom Carpathian skis to the sleds, I remember thinking that it does not matter how cool we think we are, here we are nothing. Half way up the steep north side of the mountain we came across a gatekeeper on his way down, trailed by two women, all on sleds.

    As introduction he said You guys should go down now. You dont live here, we dont know you, where were you this morning when we were breaking trail?

    I responded in summary, We just got here, we know so and so and we are here with beer and shovels and Merry Christmas!

    Exactly! You just got here and there is enough beer in the world and you should just turn around! He was getting excited. Yeah! one of the girls chipped in, we are all friends here and we dont need more.

    And on top of it, he finished, you guys are on skis, there is a binding ban on the mountain, no skis allowed. As he points to his no board strapped to the back of his sled. A no board is a snowboard without bindings, only a rubber stomp pad for traction. As it turns out this old mining road was the center of the universe to a bizarre micro cult of no boarders and we were not welcome.

    I stood firm and we told him that we would continue up the trail and deal with the next guy, whoever that might be. In a fuming haroomph! he got on his sled and we continued somewhat nervously up the trail. The next guy seemed more friendly on the surface but turned out to be more menacing. Let me tell ya, you should turn around right now. We saw you pull in last night. There are other roads to go on. You should just turn around now, he said with a smile as the hairs on my neck went up. I came out with these guys five times last year and now look at me, I am in. You guys should come by the barn later and introduce yourself, that is all I can say.

    By now I knew the trick was on us and I would not be surprised to return to the truck and find the tires slashed or some other clich, protective act of surf inspired vandalism these guys could come up with.

    We sat in the camper in a state of social shock. The next move was a tough one. I grabbed the 24 case of bottled Kootenay and we shuffled up the long driveway to the Barn. Groups of people, loitering around sleds, fell silent and dispersed with no eye contact as we made our presence known. I find the main door of the Barn in the twilight under thick tree coverage and knock. I cant believe I am doing this. Silence. A second louder knock. They know it is Us because friends wouldnt knock, they would walk right in. I hear a distant Come in and we enter Kurtzs lair.

    It is near black inside the fairly large main room. There is a stove in the middle of the room and behind that, in the far back corner we see a single Tikka headlamp bobbing around. There are three or four people standing in the shadows. Silence. I make my way through the dark with my case of beer stretched out before me as I literally crouch and put the beer on the floor and nudge it closer with my foot and step back at the same time, ready to make my exit.

    The gatekeeper nodded that we should stay but I was still on my way out as my wife nudged me to be calm. The other people melted back into the dark and we sat and made tense second introductions. He made his case for lashing out earlier as I apologized profusely. I said that I would rather be friends and neighbors than ride his trail without permission. The bad vibes were not worth the best powder in the world. He explained that if they let anyone on the trail then word would get out and it would quickly devolve into another bumped out, messy sled access road.

    I was thinking in my head about how, several times now, writers for different snowboard magazines have made their way to this place and were immediately taken in and showed the best time of their life. In exchange the terms of location have thus far been sworn to professional secrecy.
    I was thinking that these people are bold to commandeer a public space and then use group intimidation tactics to keep people out. Too bad I was not under cover for Powder Magazine and was taking copious notes in my head on how to blow this scene out of the water just because I could. I could see posters in every sled shop in BC, Alberta and Washington calling for the first annual XYZ sled rally. Wouldnt that be great to have 1000 sled heads roll into town, forever swamping the valley in 2 stroke smoke?

    It was a moral dilemma. My presently wounded pride versus my desire to shred secret powder with my soon to be friends. Be patient and be rewarded or be a dick and ruin it for everyone?

    We shook hands and left on good terms. The next day we went and broke trail up the other side of the valley and had a blast. A couple of days later, we were invited by the King of no boarding to follow the group far back into one of the more remote drainages. They were going this way only because their private playground was tracked out. We both tried no boarding for the first time and we were hooked. The next day we followed again, this time the Queens sled broke down. My wife let her use her own, saving the day, as we shredded more no board turns.

    So by and large things went well. We were never actually allowed to ride the good trail over the 10 days that we were there. I swung between being extremely bitter to rationalized indifference. I have all the mountains from here to AK to call my own, but I want to ride THAT mountain! I guess a little gang initiation process never hurt anyone. I want in on the darkness, the antithesis of alpine skiing. Maybe next year if we show up on custom Carpathian no boards, we will be in the club.

    A funny thing happened, though, when we returned to Whistler sometime after New Years. Everyone seemed so nice! The whole world was a beautiful place after being buried in the memories of ghosts and savage rules in that deep, snow filled valley. For good or bad, there is a vortex of energy there that people should not know about.

  23. #123
    Join Date
    May 2002
    Posts
    33,440
    Quote Originally Posted by carpathian View Post
    I just finished working my first season in the booming mining industry here in BC. I have had the opportunity to travel all over the province and beyond, make good money, learn new skills and make new friends. At most jobs you are spending days and weeks out in remote camps working and living with random co-workers. I have enjoyed talking with people who have different backgrounds then myself. Though most of the time, my co-workers are locals of America and Canada, I have had the opportunity to talk politics with people from far off lands.

    Back in August and September I was working with a young Mexican fellow named Eric. He was born in Mexico and moved to Northern BC as a young boy while his family kept strong ties back home. He is a second-generation minerals prospector and we were working on the remote and rugged west coast of Haida Gwaii looking for evidence of gold and copper.

    As we clambered through the dense jungle foliage one afternoon I asked about the political scene in Mexico. We don’t really hear about our third neighbor here in North America other then stories about illegal aliens or how to pay off the Federales or the Banditos if you are a traveling gringo.

    I asked what it is like in the media and the way people talk about the president and politics in general. He bluntly said that you can’t really say anything that undermines federal policy or you will “…disappear. You don’t criticize the president publicly because that is not tolerated.” I asked if that has to do with the flood of immigrants in the U.S., as that seems obvious. He said, “They are never going to completely shut down illegal Mexicans crossing the border because they work at a lot of jobs that Americans won’t do.” I had to ask if it was that “or the fact that they are illegal and that is the only job they can get?” Even the lowest paying illegal work in the states will pay more then the average legal job down south, if there is any jobs in the first place.

    On my next job a few weeks later, I met my work partner at a motel diner in Houston, BC. So here I am having breakfast with this young, bookish looking geophysicist and an older man named Thomas, who had a thick Eastern European accent. I recognized the same sound in my father-in-law’s accent and guessed correctly that this guy was from Yugoslavia. He was about to hit the road to head home and I was his replacement. After a few minutes of chitchat, Thomas was somehow telling us this story about a confrontation he had had with a Vietnam draft-dodger.

    Apparently the dodger had said something about “getting out of Vietnam ASAP” and Thomas told us how he told the guy that he “should be ashamed of himself for being cowardly and ignorant.” The geo and I kind of looked at each other and I piped in about how I had dodged the imaginary U.S. draft of May 2004. But I quickly explained that I had come to understand the threat of Communism and more recently the threat of Islamofacism.

    Then, as if on cue, he goes into this story about how back in the 80’s he was visiting an old friend in Moscow who happened to be a fairly high ranking military officer in the army of the USSR. Sometime during dinner with the officer and his large family, Thomas asked a question about the politics in the USSR. The officer’s face darkened and he silenced the room with a brief, icy stare and a turn away to other conversation.
    “Whoa!” he thought.

    Later, after dinner, the officer took the friend aside and scolded him for endangering his life and career and family by asking anything about politics. “I don’t know who at that table would say something to someone and the next day I would be taken away, never to be seen again.”

    Most recently, I was working on a job with a 21-year old guy from East Germany named George, who is working legally in Canada on a tourist visa. As I fueled the chainsaw or sharpened the chains cutting teeth, we’d go over world issues. One day I asked if Germans take offense to people comparing Bush to Hitler as if they are some how similar. He said, “You can’t compare Bush to Hitler because Hitler was a great man.” He was quick to follow saying, “ I know he did all the bad things and that is bad but he still had more charisma and moving power over the people because he was a dictator and Bush is just a front man.”

    After I picked my jaw off the ground I asked if “he or his parents miss Communism?”
    “Not at all, socialism is just not working,” he continued, “though, even the system they have now is not really working because there is still strong communist undertones in the memory of the people.”

    I said, “There seems to be a few people around here who don’t know anything about the Holocaust in general so they might be more inclined to believe someone like Ahmadinajad. You know, how the Holocaust never happened because it is part of the Zionist revisionist plot? What do Germans think about a president of a country saying something like that?”

    “Well, that is our history and we know that it happened” George said. I then asked about “the apparent mass influx of Muslim immigrants coming to Europe and not integrating while at the same time making more demands for ‘cultural respect’ and eventual Sharia law?” George then asked me if I had heard about the Van Gogh murder or the theatrical play that was censored by sensitive multiculturalists. “That will be the end of free speech,” he lamented.

    Then he asked if I had read Orwell’s “1984”? I laughed because I knew where he was going with it. “That is what it is like in a Communist/Fascist state. Islamofacism draws the same passion from its followers no matter how disastrous the results.”

    I kept chain sawing through another tank of gas. Later I asked about “how difficult it was to start a business in Germany?”

    “Very difficult,” he said, “you need $30-50,000 of backup money and there are tons of government loops to jump through.” I told him about how I had come to Canada and started a small video production company with a $16,000 grant from the Canadian government. The program is used to keep people off of welfare and to diversify the economy.

    “Wow, that is opposite of Germany! I need to move here.”
    “You should,” I said and drop started my chainsaw and went back to work, feeling like a redneck.
    You mine with a chainsaw?
    That's the most rad way to get a core sample or drift an adit I've ever heard of, Jake.
    You cutting edge mofo. Tell V I said high.

  24. #124
    Join Date
    May 2008
    Location
    GRRD
    Posts
    2,419
    ^^^ Well, we were doing exploratory line cutting that might lead to actual mining. Cut a line 1 meter wide by 2-10km long and they haul out cables and stick rods in the ground and zap electricity through them then basically get an ultrasound of what is under the ground. 99% of line cutting yields nothing viable as an actual resource.

    I had once half convinced my self that since we were cutting this huge fibonacci looking spiral across the land that maybe we were subconsciously trying to communicate with outer space and the mining was the just the facade created by mutual egos? Had to rationalize something.

  25. #125
    Join Date
    Aug 2009
    Posts
    3

    Can I ski with you

    Hey there barbt

    OMG, Dont say youre sorry for jumping in We all need jumper inners

    You might have something there with the AH. I tried it on my face when Q board started raving about it. Used it twice, so not for me
    But it just might work on the feet Im going to Sallys and see what I can find. Will report back.

    Thanks for the info
    Lyndasue

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