Rick Hudson - travel writer and author

This article appeared in the Spring edition of the Alpine Club of Canada's Gazette, 2004.

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North Face Winter Leadership Course

January 10-17, 2004.

It’s Monday morning, pitch dark outside, with light snow falling. Who cares what the temperature is? Inside the restaurant in Golden, ten strangers sit around a table. It’s snug, and the air is full of the aroma of hot breakfast, but the start of any week in the backcountry is always somewhat awkward. There’s not much talk.

Nearing a snow summit.

The staging area: the morning’s gloom has given way to a dull day. But flyable. The chopper is inbound. Bags, packs and ski gear are stacked in rows, waiting for the coming of the whirling rotors. When they do, the usual maelstrom of prop wash and powder is followed by a safety lecture. This bit of the helicopter is dangerous. This bit is fragile. Don’t confuse them.

In just six short minutes, the world of the Trans-Canada falls away, and we are clambering out into the upper Vista valley in the Esplanade Range. The hut is cold and dark, but Brad quickly has a fire going, and by the time the last of the ten participants, one cook and three guides are delivered, the place is home.

Who are we, and why are we all here, in the dark days of January? The North Face Winter Leadership Course is an ACC initiative, designed to improve the winter skills of club members. We are an eclectic crowd. Four are males between 25 and 35, strong, experienced, and very active in the mountains. They can break trail for hours. Then there are five ladies, between 40 and 50, mostly free of children, passionate about the backcountry, experienced without being on the edge, wanting to learn more. And the old geezer, me.

The guides are an interesting mix. Brad is an owner of Golden Alpine Holidays, so this is his hut. He never sleeps; constantly finding, fixing, fetching. Loves a joke. Bluff and hearty, and eats more than anyone. Peter is the quiet one. Speaks little, but says a lot. Smiles under his mustache and knows. Cyril is the technocrat. If it has batteries or springs, he has one. Maybe two. He hands out printed notes filled with the latest information. Cutting edge. Latest edition.

The days develop into a regular routine. After breakfast, we spend the morning covering topics: snow stability, first aid kits, short roping, crevasse rescue on skis, repair kits, transceiver theory, radio communications. It’s like college all over again, pen and pad, notes and scribbled annotations.

The afternoons tend to be the time to practice what we’ve learned. Dig snow pits. Analyze the layers. Argue about what it means. Listen and watch as the guide of each group makes it easy. Sneak in a few good runs down untracked slopes that we’ve pronounced as “Good” or “Fair”. Back to the hut at dusk.
Powder runs on safe slopes
What it's all about.

Dinners are a swell affair. No one brought pearls or a tie, but they should have. Kelly is a chef who turns good food into exceptional dining. We only lack a gypsy violinist. Several of the group strum the hut’s guitar, which is a good approximation. Bed is usually late, after another two hours of night school. More paper. Lively discussions. Coffee and cake.

It snows lightly most nights, and the days are generally gray. No matter. The pine martin that lives under the hut leaves fresh tracks so we can follow his nightly comings and goings. Each day, the groups of 3 or 4 set out for different destinations, with a different guide. Each reinforces the same points, but in a different style. Sometimes we are on the ridge tops, where white-out conditions prevail. Other times we slice down between the trees, in relatively good visibility.

All three guides have led this course for several years, so there are stories about everything. That slope went last year. So-and-so skied off the top of that boulder, and took half an hour to dig out. This hill is the remnants of an old slide. Watch that bench for late afternoon slipping. The pass has too much, not too little snow, and will avalanche soon.

On our final full day (Friday) it dawns clear. The stars hang brightly in the dark sky before breakfast. Today we have the whole day out of school, practicing what we’ve learned. Three groups, three guides, three different summits. The colours are sharp and intense after a week of subdued tones. On the upper slopes, the surface hoar sparkles under a cobalt sky. We watch the windward and lee slopes for telltale sloughs and pinwheels. The air is still and the temperature mild. The afternoon is spent yo-yo skiing on pristine slopes, in the best Selkirk style. Can life get better than this?

On the last morning there’s cleaning and packing. Outside, bands of cloud make it doubtful the helicopter will come, but it does. At the staging ground next to the highway we group for a final photo, strangers no longer, a week of learning, exercise and sharing has brought us together.