Whistler, B.C. Back Country - The Phrase of the Week is "Down"

Double-click the slideshow to expand. Photographers: Teresa Oliver, Jayme Helgeson.
Down, the noun.
We were to leave on Wednesday for Whistler. I knew I'd be camping backcountry. I also knew it would be clear and cold. And, I knew the best I had for a sleeping bag was a 20 degree bag. Wednesday morning I went to REI and purchased a 0-degree down bag, a down jacket, first aid kit, and compression sack. Okay, THEN I could consider backcountry snowcamping.
My pack would contain: down booties, down vest, down jacket, down bag, down sleeping mat. I would not get cold. Period.
Like I can get anything done...
I was so worked up over getting on the road to snow, I couldn't concentrate. Work, obligations, responsibilities -- I just wanted to ditch it all and get on the road as quickly as possible. We left around 2:30. First stop, Seattle, to pick up Jayme -- an acquaintance from my favorite ski forum on the planet. Jayme wanted to ride up with us and spend the holiday camping in the backcountry. I wanted to ski a bit with Kevin and company, but wanted to camp also. So, I planned on getting to know Jayme on the drive up to Whistler, then skiing with my friends, then joining Jayme at Singing Pass.
If I were a baseball player, I'd have great stats
I mean, I've met a number of folks from this ski forum and you wouldn't believe how cool they've all been. I mean, really. So, of course Jayme was just great. He set out Thursday morning for Singing Pass, and I stayed and skied with Kevin. Thursday evening I met some more contacts from the forum at Garibaldi's Lift Co., a bar/grill at Whistler. They planned on skiing out to Singing Pass to meet us. The party was comprised of Kevin, Kathy, Andre, James, and Hiroshi. WHat a laid-back, friendly, organized crew. We enjoyed beers before returning to our respective condos.
Where the Hell is I-5?
Friday morning Kathy and Kevin and the rest of our condo contingent headed up the hill. I stayed behind to pack my gear for backpacking and to load the truck. I planned to skin out to Singing Pass to see Jayme and camp there. My pack weighed over 50 pounds with the tent, sleeping bag, sleeping mat, clothes, fuel, water, food, etc. etc. The highest I could get via chair lift was the Whistler Gondola, a forty dollar (canadian) ride that still left me over 2 miles from the Whistler boundary, which was 2 miles from my destination at Singing Pass. I struck out from the Gondola at 1:00, heading for what appeared to be a well-trod skin track.
The skier traffic thinned out considerably, and soon I was all but alone, trying to find my way out to Flute and the boundary of Whistler. THe many cat tracks and trails made it difficult for me to judge the easiest route out, so it took me a fair amount of time. I kept looking for "the obvious route" -- a narrow ribbon of ski-tracks punctuated by ski-pole divots on either side. Really, a skin track is the most beautiful snow-sculpture in the world. As I left the more heavily-used area of Whistler, ski tracks began to converge to one skin-track heading south. I was on my way, finally.
I headed toward what I knew had to be Flute, the first summit I needed to make on my way to Singing Pass. After climbing that, it was to be a long gradual down-hill to a saddle between Flute and Oboe, a climb up Oboe, and another long gradual downhill to Singing Pass, and camp. Jayme and i had an appointed meeting time of 3:00. But, I was barely at Flute by then. Fortunately, we had radio contact. Jayme skied over to Flute and met me. We skied our way out to Singing Pass. Thanks to his encouragement, I made my way out there by moonlight, arriving at 6:30 or so. The last bit down Oboe was incredibly tough, my legs were exhausted, the waist-band of my pack dug into my hip-bones, and my feet were sore. Jayme was fortunately very patient, and he was looking forward to having some company out there. We had a nice meal of hot chocolate and freeze-dried dinners, then set about melting snow for our water bottles for the next day. The two stoves glowed in the vestibule of his tent, warming us a bit, and offering some light. The evening was beautiful.
Goose Down
Hoar frost developed down in the pass, creating an effect like a sea of swan-feathers over the snow. It amazes me how nature mimics itself -- the feathery hoar looking exactly like goose down, but crunching and tinkling under our skis like shards of glass. Even in the moonlight, fields of snow sparkled and glimmered. I often stood outside the tent that evening to stretch my back and look out over the pass and the sparkling snow. Trees cast shadows over the snow. There is probably nothing better or more satisfying on earth than arriving in camp of your own volition, being surrounded by trees and snow, and having a belly full of hot food.
We crawled into our bags and settled in for the night. My mummy bag almost couldn't accommodate myself, my boot liners, slippers, jacket, ski pants, and everything else i stuffed in there to keep warm and keep from freezing in the night. Frozen clothes suck. I pulled the hood tight around my face and fell asleep in a cloud of down.
Saturday, we skied
"You know, I think down is a bad idea for you, it's not conducive to skiing. You just stay all wrapped up in that sleeping bag." Jayme had a point. I had no desire to move out of the tent, given I was swaddled in a cushy bag and comfortable warmth. To say I was a slow-riser was an understatement.
We melted snow for oatmeal, tea, and whatnot, and got ready to hike for some turns.
So, as much as I love skin tracks, you can't always trust them. The one we took led straight into a perfect avalanche zone. Jayme had me go first. I concentrated on various escape routes I could take in the event of a slide, and wondered if peeing my pants would make my poly-pro freeze to my legs. I didn't like it there, in spite of the secure-looking skin track.
We reached the top of Cowboy Ridge and took a photo, then made our way down. Jayme is a hot-shit skier who made the run look like some sort of exotic tango. I hacked my way down on wobbly legs, using my face for brakes. Still, it was fun. We heard from Andre, the Saturday group was approaching Flute, and we had enough time to meet them at Oboe. We began the uphill slog to the top of Oboe.
Oboe had much better snow on it, and the Saturday group (James, Andre, and Hiroshi) were just reaching the saddle between oboe and flute. We skied a nice little bowl and then skinned back to the top of Oboe. I was feeling tired by then. We met the group at the top of Oboe. Kevin and Kathy had turned back at the top of Flute.
We skied Oboe, taking turns with the video camera and other filming paraphernalia. the snow turned heavy as we reached the trees and after about 831 face-arrests, I was done for the day. The rest of the crew wanted to do a short run on Cowboy before heading home, hoping to reach the last gondola down to town by 3:00 or 4:00. The hoar frost had developed into quite the layer of shaved ice -- beautiful and eerie all at once. Andre and I stayed in camp and rested.
The crew came back to camp and headed for Whistler around 2:45. Jayme and I watched them depart, a bit sad to see our friends go, but also somewhat enjoying having the place back to ourselves. Some little black and grey birds harrassed the shit out of us for bits of granola, all but stealing food from our hands. Little shits are aggressive. We watched the crew slog up over Oboe and out of view. We set about adding some snow blocks to the walls around the kitchen and fixing some dinner.
The night cleared off quickly and temperatures took a fast drop. We ate dinner and sheerly out of wanting to keep warm, burrowed into our respective bags. It was too cold to even stick your arms out of your bag to read, so we reluctantly went to sleep around 7:00.
Ice formed on the inside of the tent at night, and I had a bit of frost around my bag where my mouth and nose were exposed for breathing. It was very cold that night. We woke up and started packing, and even as we laid stuff out to put in the packs, frost formed on our gear. I did and didn't want to get out of there. I looked forward to a dip in the hot tub and a shower, but I hated the thought of the long slog out with that insanely heavy pack. I also was quite fond of our little camp and the view from there.
Bluebird day
Sunday was the clearest and most beautiful day of the entire time there. Our hike out was uneventful, taking us about 4 hours. We arrived at the groomed cat track, de-skinned, and skied down to the gondola. Skiing with a heavy pack is no more relief that hiking with the damn thing, so I welcomed the gondola and a chance to sit down and rest my legs and feet.
We dropped our bags at my truck and settled in with a pitcher of beer at the Longhorn.
The drive home: uneventful and long.
Kevin tried to get me in trouble at the border crossing. Fortunately I have the "dumb blonde" role mastered and we got out of it without a $500 fine. We did suffer a lengthy ear-bashing, but I think the border agent was smiling some of the time.
All said and done, it was an absolutely magical trip: beautiful, harsh, amazing, and exciting all at once. Thanks Jayme for everything, and for helping me out there!

Jayme made a fun video of the trip too, watch it at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hfqZk-NRsWc