Whitecap Alpine – Base Camp

Ron Andrews is a beast, albeit a very approachable one.

It’s easy to see, simply by his skinning and skiing, why Whitecap Alpine runs like a well-oiled machine. While Ron’s son Lars is lead
guide, businessman and curator of good times in McGillivray Pass, it’s the
elder statesman that takes care of the day-to-day operations of the actual
lodge. He also somehow finds time and energy to ski most days and entertain at
night, and he shreds harder uphill and down than many of his guests, even
though he’s into his seventh decade.

In fact, Ron’s been skiing and guiding in these parts for so
long that although he’s not sanctioned by the ACMG, CSGA, UIAGM, IFMGA or any
other mountain guides’ association, he’s legally allowed and insured to guide throughout
Whitecap’s 10,000 hectare tenure. Grandfather clause, indeed.

The lodge at night. Photo: Theo Birkner

Papa Andrews first came here in 1972: Lars didn’t yet exist;
Bralorne was wrapping up its second gold boon; Whistler-Blackcomb was still
just Whistler; and not many people outside of Pemberton really knew where
Pemberton was. Ron and his buddies got a heli drop in the valley, skied around
for a while, and then walked all the way out after mis-timing a train jump on
the Lillooet-D’Arcy line.

The thought of the lonely cabin in the hills stuck with him,
though, it had promise. As a ski resort-specific government land grant in the ‘60s
that never went anywhere, McGillivray Lodge was already a fading twinkle in investors’
eyes; it would take another 30 years before it actually became a business. Over
the years, Ron chased the right people, filled out the right applications, made
friends with the right pilots, and was eventually guiding informal groups
around the pass in two-week-in, two-week-out stints, or at whatever intervals
suited him.

Hitting the steeps. Photo: Theo Birkner

In 2006, Lars, who’s been skiing in the valley since he was
a toddler, got seriously involved. Him and his buddy Greg had topped every peak
and bushwhacked every valley in the area, so setting up a commercial guiding
operation and showing people around his back yard made sense. Lars still
doesn’t know how he survived those early years of chasing fresh lines with
inadequate avi gear and blind determination. In his words, “98% of the time you
can get away with doing something crazy. The key to skiing great lines in great
terrain and getting home safe is knowing when that nasty 2% is getting too
close for comfort, and that you have to shut things down no matter how painful
it might be to turn around.”

Outside of winter, Lars is a significant and very hands-on
cog in the production of some very remote and adventurous TV shows; he’s done
New Zealand and most of Central America by motorcycle in the name of location
scouting, and called the Colombian jungle home for a few months while capturing
the woes of adventure racers. These experiences, coupled with his IFMGA guide
and guide examiner certifications, means Lars has spent enough time with people
in tricky situations to quickly understand how you’ll stand up to the pressure
when the mountains around you demand performance.

Touring on a bluebird day. Photo: Theo Birkner

It’s this mentality that’s one of the best parts about
skiing at Whitecap. Lars has quietly built a loyal following that knows he’s
one of the best in the business when it comes to chasing aggressive lines that
many heliskiing companies won’t fly to and cat outfits can’t get to. If the
weather and snow conditions permit, you’ll find him cutting through cornices
and dropping capable clients into gnarly lines they probably wouldn’t ski on
their own, but are comfortable taking on with Lars around. At Whitecap, due in
somewhat equal part to the guides and stable snowpack, you’ll ski some of the finest
lines you’ve ever looked at in the backcountry.

And that’s why people keep coming back. Though the rustic
and down-home nature remains, the past decade has been a busy one at
McGillivray Lodge. Accommodations and amenities have expanded to include a
sauna and a village of yurts named after Tolkien’s retreats: Bag End, Underhill
and Rivendell. It’s no metropolis though – the lodge still maxes out at 15
guests, all of who are served by 2-3 all-star guides, a rotating cast of
apprentices from Thompson River University’s guiding program, and one amazing
cook.

Which brings us to the food.

Food just like mom used to make. Photo: Theo Birkner

While I openly admit that the way to my heart is through my
stomach, one could make a serious argument for spending a week at Whitecap for
the food alone. The only thing better than just staying to eat, is that when
you partake in the ski-touring portion of the trip you get to eat even more.

It’s the epitome of comfort food – the type of meals your
dreams of mom’s kitchen are made of, and the quantity of which there seems to
be no end. If you include sipping hot coffee and sampling fresh-baked goods as
you pack your tasty lunch, breakfast is a three-course meal. Having slept in
Bag End during my recent stay, I adapted Hobbit-like tendencies like second
breakfast and Elevensies…

Nothing like sitting next to the woodstove after a long day of skiing. Photo: Theo Birkner

Lunch has myriad options too. From wraps made of last
night’s dinner (automatically excellent because dinner was amazing) to fresh sandwiches,
pastries, fruit, bars, drinks, and the biggest tub of gourmet trail mix you’ve ever
seen. When you finish skiing (up to you in this place, not the guides or the
chairlifts or the heli-fuel budget), it’s back to the lodge for après, where
you’ll enjoy triple layer nachos or spicy coconut soup with your ice-cold
draught while the cook – who’s probably been skiing much of the day alongside
you – preps dinner.

Then it’s family-style tastiness as you tuck into lasagna,
tenderloin or ribs, followed by a fine dessert, at which time Whitecap’s honour
bar usually gets hit hard. For a lodge in the middle of nowhere, they have a
remarkable selection of beer, wine and spirits, all of which are readily
available for the simple cost of your name and a checkmark on a piece of paper.
It’s amazing how easy it is to indulge in liquid therapy when you only pull out
your wallet once, at the end of the week.

Before your stay is up, however, there’s a lot of skiing to
be done, and all of it smack in the middle of ski-porn country. The South
Chilcotins offer that beautiful balance that provides massive amounts of
coastal snowfall, but with the water content of BC’s interior hills. 40km south
is Whistler; 18km down valley you’ll find Bralorne; and to the west jut the
mighty Coast Mountains, home of Mt Waddington, the Pemberton Icecap, and other
equally burly places. This is the land of big-budget ski and snowboard films, daylong
sled-missions, and “Whistler backcountry”-captioned magazine spreads. But this
particular tranche of it, accessed by helicopter and walked all up and down by
Ron and Lars’ small armies, is all yours and yours alone for the duration of
your stay.

The yurts are Tolkein inspired. Photo: Theo Birkner

There’s south-facing corn in the springtime, north-facing
couloirs that hold snow fresh for days, and peaks that take your breath away,
whether you’re hiking up them, skiing down them, or merely staring at them,
picking lines from across the valley. We spun long, lazy laps on runs like Ronnie’s,
Greg’s and Melissa’s, yo-yo’d the North Arm, toured around in the
Testosterzone, and had the run of the week on C.O.D.Y. (Come On, Die Young). If
your group is determined and feeling up for big days – or has the means to call
in a heli for some extracurricular goodies, peaks like Prospector, Weinhold,
Star, McGillivray and Whitecap tower with authority, ready to let you play on
their slopes in exchange for respect and a solid effort while doing so.

Regardless of what you ski, you’re going to have a great
time. The lodge sits at 1860 meters--right at treeline and about 400-500 meters
above the springtime freezing levels. Whether it’s sunny or snowing, there’s
suitable terrain close to hand, and groups split up according to skill, energy,
terrain choice, or any number of other parameters.

The heli taking guests to the goods. Photo: Theo Birkner

Ah yes, the group dynamic. Given that you can end up
spending the week with just about anyone unless you’ve filled the whole lodge
with your own crew, at Whitecap, you’re pretty safe. This place has reached a
certain level of notoriety amongst the hard-edged ski-touring crowd, and the
people that fly in here every Tuesday and Saturday are usually willing and able
to fully get after it. In our case, we nailed it. My two friends and I spent
four days admiring the septuagenarian fitness levels of a group of “gnarly old
mountain men,” (Lars’ words) consisting of Skip, Malcolm, Corky and co. – all
of whom had been skiing and climbing together since well before I was born, and had been visiting Whitecap for the last
15 years. Looking over your beer gut through your golf cart as your buddy hacks
out of the rough didn’t seem like an option for this crew.

Nothing like a jam session and skiing. Photo: Theo Birkner

In short, that’s the message here in McGillivray. It’s a
great place, and while Lars is thinking outside the valley and running trips to
Japan (3 next year, mostly booked, but still some spaces) and some of the most
remote regions of BC’s mountain ranges, a backcountry juggernaut is not what
Whitecap’s keeper yearns to be. Lars just wants to keep things simple,
comfortable and running well, sharing the goods of his lifelong back yard with
passionate backcountry skiers who value the same things he does: great snow,
hearty food, fun people and good times.

I like that. Check out Whitecap Alpine's website to like it, too.