This article originally ran in Powder magazine. The trip was one of my first assignments with a ski magazine and stands as one of the best times I ever had on a ski trip. – MB
I’ve just drunkenly navigated the steep staircase to the balcony of Fernie’s legendary Griz Bar only to find myself at face level with a pasty white ass flexed and poised to sprint. The cheers of a few hundred people reverberate from inside the bar and suddenly the ass is off running. I follow just in time to see a flash of white sliding chest first across 50 feet of beer-soaked tables and crash to the floor in a naked, tangled mess. The individual rises victoriously and dashes for the door, conveniently disappearing as quickly as she came. The crowd roars its approval, pours more ale on the table and begins the process again.
I’ve made the 3-hour drive from Calgary across the rolling, auburn foothills of the Rocky Mountains. With me are Ryan Oakden and Dave Treadway, both former residents of this recently expanded East Kootenay powder haven and just a couple of the countless rippers that this town has cultivated with it’s potent mix of steep terrain and endless snowfall. For many Alberta skiers, Fernie has become a viable alternative to the resorts that their own province offers. When considering Fernie’s smaller crowds and deeper snow, its no doubt Calgarians are willing to sacrifice an extra hours drive for an entirely different ski experience. I’ve come in search of the Fernie I knew years ago as a ski bum fresh to town, hoping to wash the city off me in a bath of Kootenay champagne.
Ten years ago, Fernie was just another backwoods ski town with a few t-bars and a huge surplus of A-grade, B.C. powder. But in the past decade, Fernie has underwent a massive expansion and the resulting growing pains that plague resort towns in progress has taken some casualties in the form of some time-honored traditions. The most famous being the now-defunct Mogulsmoker, a season opening party which buckled due to concerns over liability and the usual pitfalls of unregulated, alcohol-fueled events. Fortunately, they haven’t yet been able to scrap the Chinese Downhill, which in its second year has become more popular than naked female ass sliding in beer. Well, almost as popular.
“Ok, listen up.” Race organizer Ross Janzen explains to the crowd of forty racers that has assembled on Fernie Alpine Resort’s polar peak.
“Here’s the rules…there are no rules, do whatever you want. First one to the bar wins.”
The bar crowd stirs as the first skiers come into view, hot on each others tails in a full tuck through the bottom of Currie bowl. Momentarily disappearing from view, the skiers reappear at the top of the concrete stairs that lead into the dry courtyard. Men become separated from boys as P-tex and concrete do war on the rough surface of the courtyard steps. The frontrunners are out of their bindings and running for the staircase as 200 people scream from the balcony. Gingerly sprinting across the bars hardwood floor, 17-year-old Fernie local Luke Nelson makes his first appearance in a drinking establishment and slams his hands down on the bar, claiming the $500 pot and earning the title of “Fastest man in Fernie”.
The idea of the Chinese Downhill is far from new but, rather, originates from a classic ski movie that has inspired more than one Fernie tradition. Once a year, a hundred stretchy-clad tributes to Harkin and Sylvia fuel up on schnapps and load the Great Bear chair with a hunger for worm turns and twister spreads. In retro fashion, the posse rips classic runs dating from the early days of Fernies history; the steep tree skiing of Snake Ridge, the perfect fall line of Cedar Ridge and the deep stashes hidden in Easter Bowl. Bound by the doctrine of Hot Dog day ritual, participants stay within the boundaries of pre-expansion Fernie Snow Valley. At days end, when the wine skins have bled dry and the 30-year-old skis have lost their novelty, those involved migrate back to the bar and continue the celebration in a haze of Canadian whiskey. Caught in the crossfire of one of these raucous parties, Oakden, Treadway and I sneak out in search of more mellow pursuits.
Northwest of Fernie Alpine Resort, on the opposite side of the Lizard range, lies a covert paradise of tree skiing uncluttered by lifts, infrastructure and, ultimately, people. A recent addition to the deluge of cat skiing operations that have proliferated throughout the Kootenays, Powder Cowboy Cat Skiing has become the hidden jewel of Fernie. With 6000 acres of terrain that encompasses everything from mellow to manic and only 28 skiers a day to enjoy it, you’d be hard pressed to find a better day of skiing within three hours of Calgary without the use of an A-Star.
We arrive at the working dude ranch well after dark and are treated to a three-course lamb dinner under the glassy-eyed, taxidermic gaze of several stuffed elk, a welcome change from the alabaster ass that stared me down upon my arrival in Fernie. The Western theme is as big here as the terrain; the next day, under a gently falling canopy of snow, Treadway and Oakden paint fluid turns on a canvas of white 1500 feet long. We loop the same slope until our tracks begin to intersect in entangled ribbons then move on to the next slope in a day long attempt to one-up the run before. In two days of skiing I see little evidence of any other skiers as we rip lap after lap of boot deep powder, disbelieving of our luck and selfish in our shameless overindulgence. On our final day, we gather at the cat exhausted and happy, laughing at our good fortune. I look around to meet wide smiles and wider eyes full of stoke and think, “definitely worth an extra hour to me”. – Mike Berard