A Perfect Whistler Day

Not today, but the other day we had a day that was a perfect day (reference). We were slow to respond to the sun peeking over the snow-capped mountains and through our bedroom window. It wasn't until 8:00 am that we successfully mustered the strength required to rise out of our cozy confines; which might as well have been noon, because it was looking like it could be a rare bluebird pow day in Whistler.

Groggy eyed but determined to finish her latest sourdough project, Helen left the bedroom, brushed her teeth, turned on the stove, and got to shaping English muffins. Supportive as ever, Adam stood behind Helen providing much appreciated emotional support. He even whipped up a couple eggs to transform Helen's fresh sourdough based English muffins into a tasty breakfast sandwich.

As we ate our sandwiches we debated the best way to spend the day:

1. Ski Blackcomb (our generally preferred mountain)
2. Ski Whistler and boot-pack (Hiking uphill while carrying skis) the Flute Bowl
3. Stay cozy and play our new video game addiction - Subnautica

Option 3 was tempting - our legs were ready for a break after skiing hard for several days in a row- but ultimately we chose option 2. Over the past week it snowed 60 inches, with 10 of those inches coming in the last 12 hours, the conditions were just too good to miss. We'd also been monitoring Symphony, the lift required to get to Flute Bowl, and the mountain had been struggling to open it for the past few days, which meant the fresh snow was free to accumulate. The conditions on the Flute Bowl were almost guaranteed to be pristine, and we couldn't pass up the once in a season, potentially one in a lifetime opportunity to ski Flute Bowl in perfect conditions.

The time was ticking and we needed to get a move on. Even though it was a weekday we knew the recent snowfall meant we would still need to contend with Whistler crowds. We loaded the skis into the Subaru and zoomed to the Creekside parking garage as fast as our little Crosstrek could go (which is, admittedly, not very fast). When we arrived cars were swarming the parking garage like powder-hungry sharks in a sea of snow. We joined the fleet of cars circling the garage and prayed that we could find a parking spot. After a full lap around the garage, as we were about to give up hope, in the the corner of the Small Car area pinched between a pillar and a minivan we spotted a narrow sliver of open concrete. Adam looked at Helen and said "get out and scream if I'm going to hit anything, we're backing it in!" With the savvy of a street parking San Franciscan, Adam expertly guided our Subaru Crosstrek into the spot; only centimeters from the car and millimeters from the pillar.

With the last parking spot secured we donned our ski gear and began our journey up the mountain. In the first Gondola we pulled out our phones to check the lift statuses and were devastated to see that the Symphony lift was closed. Without Symphony there would be no skiing of the Flute Bowl. Our hopes and dreams of a powder day boot pack were crushed. We chastised ourselves for not going to Blackcomb, "Why didn't we check the lift status before parking!?" However, we were already at Whistler and we weren't going to let this ruin our day. We had faith that if we just braved the 30+ minute lift lines at Harmony we could still salvage a fun day, even if it wasn't the day we planned.

After getting off the Creekside Gondola we skied to the base of the Garbanzo lift. Then from the top of Garbanzo we skied to Emerald. As we rode up the lift, ready to make our last traverse to the Harmony, Helen insisted on checking the lift status one last time. With some exasperation Adam pulled out his phone and to his overjoyed surprise Symphony was open! The plan was back in action! From the top of Emerald we bee-lined to the Peak Chair lift. While in line, we were entertained by the best most confident skiers on the mountain as they jumped off a 30+ foot cliff, known as the waterfalls, into 60 inches of fresh snow (usually losing at least one ski in the process). With each attempt the line would hoot and holler, clapping ski poles together in appreciation of their bravery.

Peak chair carried us to the Whistler peak. At the top of the mountain we were engulfed in whiteout conditions and ripping winds reminiscent of Strawberry Hill at Snowbasin. The conditions on this side of the mountain were looking less than ideal for our run down Flute Bowl, but again we had faith. We skidded cautiously along the catwalk, doing our best to calm the waves of vertigo that often accompanies skiing through a whiteout.

Then, as we approached our destination, the winds died down, the clouds parted, and the sun shined directly on Flute Bowl. Adam swears he could hear the faint sounds of orchestral music. Finally, at the base of the thematically named Symphony, we rode our 5th and final lift; then skated to the boot pack trail head. We made it. We were only a short walk away from our dream run. We popped off the skies, threw them over our shoulders, and began to hike up the mountain. Hiking with skis over your shoulder in ski boots isn't ideal, but as we climbed we took periodic breaks to reclaim our breath from the endless breath-taking views.

After a some deliberation on the best place to drop in we eventually found an untouched patch of snow going all the way down the fall line. Adam dropped in first.

He hooted and hollered all the way down so that everyone on the mountain could share in the unmatched glee of skis floating effortlessly above the ground on a fluffy cloud of whimsical joy. Helen went next, in full kid mode, giggling and screaming, swooping smoothly across the buttery snow. At the bottom we both shared a kiss and a moment of euphoria, knowing this was one of the best ski runs we'd ever get.

Our spirits had never been higher. We skied back to the Symphony lift, recounting the joys of our run. Content to call it a day we rode up and took the fun way back down the mountain. If you noticed we took four lifts just to get to the base of Symphony (Whistler is very large). By the time we made it to the bottom the fresh powdery snow under our skis transitioned into slushy moguls, but this wasn't entirely unwelcome, because the warmer base temperatures meant that we could sit outside and end our perfect Whistler day with a nice cold beer and some oh-so Canadian poutine.