12. 22. 2014
Ah, there’s nothing like the rustling of snow pants and the buckling of ski boots to really rush a gal out the door in the morning. After popping two Advils to ward off my inevitable foot cramps and packing the last of our lunch, we were out the door and gondola-ing our way up to the top of the mountain.
At the top of the Revelation gondola, we clicked into our ski bindings and took a quick look toward the top of the mountain.
It was an opaque white.
We could hardly see the tops of the trees. A blinding white fog was covering the top portion of the mountain, so we decided to test out the middle mountain (adjacent to Revelation).
To say that was a mistake is an understatement.
It hadn’t snowed the night before, so the runs were from yesterday’s 18 centimetres. That would’ve been fine, except it was also fairly warm yesterday, which made the snow crusty. And anyone with feet as terrible as my own would know that crusty snow is a recipe for foot cramps so severe that every two turns requires lying on your side until the pain subsides enough to do that again. That was me.
All.
The.
Way.
Down.
Needless to say, once we got to the bottom of the run, I was ready to risk running into a tree because of the fog at the top of the mountain instead of reliving that hell again. Thankfully the weather pitied me and by the time we reached the top of the gondola, the fog had mostly dissipated.
“Hallelujah! Praised be His name!” my feet exclaimed. Next thing they knew, they were skiing off the top of the Stoke chair, ready to explore the mountaintop.
Feeling better about the visibility, I was talked into skiing trees.
Skiing trees can be a lot of fun, but it’s also fairly dangerous. Fallen trees and rocks may become a catapult into a standing tree. And anyone who’s skied into a tree before can tell you it hurts.
Just last year, my mom was doing a ski-out at the bottom of a double black at Sunshine (Banff, Alta.), when her ski caught an edge and sent her into a tree branch. Mom bruised her ribs so badly that she said the time she cracked her ribs windsurfing was more enjoyable.
However, skiing the Tasty Glades was worth the risk. Although my original prognosis of Revelstoke was that it was better for skiing later in the season, this run changed my mind. The trees weren’t too close, the rocks were avoidable and there were moguls.
Moguls have become a newfound appreciation for me. Up until a couple of years ago, I hated them. Mostly because when I was eight or nine years old, I learned of their catapult abilities. My family and I were skiing at Marmot Basin (Jasper, Alta.) when, upon skiing off the lift at the top of the mountain, I had to pee. My dad pointed out an “easy” run for my mom and I, and we were off. Now, either we went the wrong way or my dad’s version of an easy run was easy for an advanced, non-pro-skier-kid person. Regardless, there they were.
An entire run of moguls.
I followed my mom for a bit, before she insisted that I lead. I still was unsure of how to navigate them, so I imitated the lady shortly ahead of me who was bouncing off of the moguls on either side of her.
“Looks easy enough!” I told myself.
Swish, swish, swish, I go over the first mogul.
Woah. I go over the second mogul.
And then I go flying off the third mogul. My skis and poles landed uphill from me as I did two somersaults down the hill. Only my ego was bruised, but after the incident, my relationship with moguls was tempermental at best. Usually, it ended up with me crying the entire way down.
However, my fear has since subsided and Tasty Glades became a staple during our stay in Revelstoke.
During our lunch break, we discovered another staple of Revelstoke: the whiskey jacks. These little birds were so friendly, you’d think they were from a Disney princess movie. But, boy, did they love to dive bomb. We didn’t quite catch the hint of why most people were eating inside the tiny lodges until it was too late. What was a small piece of fallen sandwich became the target of an attack.
Sure enough, they were dive bombing so many scraps of food, it became comical. My dad even held out a piece of cracker and they swooped down within seconds to snatch it. It was a lunchtime phenomena! Fortunately, they seemed to respect us enough to let us eat what was within reach of our mouths, however lunches were eaten fairly covertly after we discovered their talents.
After lunch, we went back up to the Tasty Glades and skied there the rest of the day. You could say that Day 2 gave me a better taste of Revelstoke.
I’ll let you revel in that pun. (I’m sorry- I have a problem.)
Until next time… Stay tuned for Revelstoke: Day 3.
