Heliskiing is strictly for the adventurous: Pristine powder, whirring rotors and a sense of exhilaration in British Columbia
Leslie Woit heads to a training camp before pulling on her ski boots
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The whirr of rotor blades, the whiff of jet fuel, the mere mention of hopping from an $8m (£5.3m) machine onto untracked, powder-upholstered slopes – it sets the heart of a certain thrill-seeking type aflutter. Yet no matter how experienced the skier – from twice-a-year intermediates to born-on-snow captains of industry – the first time those nicely flexed knees meet spinning rotors and icy downwash, inevitably, two worlds collide.
“I think I'm going to be sick,” moaned one of our group over the din as the helicopter angled in at speed toward us. At the edge of the landing zone, hands over ears and goggles down, we knelt like disciples awaiting an uncertain future.
What's to fret about? Our shiny chopper is full of smart, successful men and women about to be flown high into remote peaks to ski unpisted, unpopulated mountain sides. Among our group, two have glittering careers at the World Bank, one in the City, another in finance for a Scandinavian public company. They range from competent parallel skiers to speedy, big-air seekers. None has heliskied before but – and here's the clever part – they had all arrived a week in advance to do due diligence at a Nonstop Ready to Heli clinic.
It's rare that any of us is blessed with bottomless powder on our annual holiday to Tignes or Kitzbühel. So when the moment to splurge finally arrives – one day of heliskiing starts at C$720 (£490) while a week at a heli-lodge can easily start at C$10,000 (£6,800) – it makes sense to be prepared. Over the course of six days, our group spends each morning and afternoon on the slopes of Fernie, British Columbia with Jens Mende, Nonstop coach and a CSIA Level 4, the crème de la crème of Canadian Ski Instructors Alliance. He teaches us techniques to help navigate the powder and greet our heli day with as much finesse and confidence as we can muster.
“Look there. Between them, not at them.” From the top of Timber Bowl, Jens focuses our attention on Fernie's celebrated tree-speckled glades. Though typically blanketed in enough snow to cover a three-storey house, the limestone chutes and steeps of the Lizard Range aren't co-operating. Groomed runs are the best we can hope for, so simulating powder-rich heli conditions requires some imagination. We work on stance, alignment, short turns, pole plants and – a vital skill when clouds force the helicopter to fly at low elevations – how to navigate space between the trees.
Across the wide Elk Valley Jens points out tomorrow's target, located on a distant ridgeline. Cat skiing – accessing terrain via piste bashers – might be jokingly considered “poor man's heliskiing”, but it really is a backcountry destination in itself. At Fernie Wilderness Adventures we'll trundle up mountain snow roads inside a heated 12-person snowcat, and descend through gentle gladed terrain and wide open meadows. Depending on conditions, we can expect eight to 10 runs. We'll also gain good exposure to backcountry travel and safety.
Morning arrives in a plume of blue exhaust burping from a classic Canadian orange school bus, our chariot for the short drive down valley. It's a toe-curling minus 15C, and our guide Matt is conscientious about keeping us warm and comfortable. We buddy up, and at the top of each run he describes the route and alerts us to hazards such as hidden gullies and snow roads (not to mention how to survive an attack by a grizzly bear and, more relevant to these woods, a cougar. Never turn your back!)
What's a pine branch in the face compared to that? Our nine runs through dustings of fine sugary-powder snow provide a realistic introduction to Canadian off-piste, through tight trees and scrub brush, open glades and rolling meadows, all fuelled by copious snacks and drinks in the cat rides up.
After a full, rewarding day, there's time for a muscle-easing massage at Spa 901 and a night on the town. Unlike some North American resorts, Fernie manages to maintain “living town” status: the old mining town is peppered with cool boutiques, bars and enough charm to compel a number of former Nonstop clients to emigrate. Originally from Sussex, Phil Gadd moved to Fernie in 2004 and opened Loaf Bakery. A few blocks down, Beanpod is the brainchild of Mary and James Heavey from Ireland. “Never lift more chocolate than you can eat” they recommend at their “bean to bar” artisanal chocolate production shop. James leads me through a tasting, finishing with a delectable, unctuous hot chocolate whose magical ingredients include chilli, ginger, cayenne, black pepper and nutmeg.
Finally, our heli day is upon us. Excitement is high, if time-tempered: a 5am rise and shine is required to reach RK Heliskiing, a three-hour drive north into the Purcell Mountains. Following an arrival buffet breakfast, heli-guides Jeremy Mackenzie and Rod Gibbons deliver the safety orientation and walk us through a transceiver search. Professional and personable, they come equipped with more than 50 years of guiding between them. “We all call it heliskiing, but it really should be called wilderness skiing,” Gibbons explains.
“Other than our two groups of 11,” Mackenzie adds, “you won't see anyone else in 1,500 square kilometres. And 99 times out of a 100 after the first run, people are 'Wow!'” And with that, the pilot's voice crackles over Mackenzie's radio and he signals us to gather round the helipad and assume the position.
Wow, indeed. Our helicopter skims along forested drainage quilted in Douglas fir, gradually rising high into the sunny alpine. Long white slopes, jagged glaciers and gladed forests spin in a 360-degree panorama. We descend one at a time, a linear world of white lies between our ski tips and the valley floor beneath. There is whooping and wailing and a certain amount of perspiration flying in all directions. After four runs, the wind is lashing hard over the Purcells and we are about to be shut down.
“One thing I've learned in my years of mountain guiding,” says Mackenzie, “is don't poke the beast.” Added into our day of pleasing powder turns and getting-there glamour, we're also being treated to a little heli-realism: into every wilderness paradise a little ice crust and wind-affected snow must fall. And a few good wipeouts. Life isn't always a Warren Miller movie but it doesn't mean it's not fun.
“Let's call it a four-finger day and fly home,” declares Gibbons. Snugged into the helicopter, we fly home. Skimming high across Imax-ready peaks and valleys, everyone is quiet now, internalising thoughts of expectations met and goals achieved, or possibly the thundering relief that the box has been ticked once and for all.
Another day closer to his 30 year heli-guiding anniversary, Gibbons' advice is this: “A guide in the field can help make adjustments to technique but we can't teach fitness. And you can't underestimate the effect of adrenalin.
“People are psyched and the adrenalin valve is wide open,” he continues. “They come expecting to get the best skiing they've ever had in their life. Heliskiing is all these things: flying in a helicopter, the mountains, the scenery, the guided group experience. It's different every day and it's not for everyone. But you owe it to yourself to try.”
And sometimes, the two worlds align just fine. “The wind, the helicopter, the snow … I was shaking at the top of the first run,” recalls another member of the group. “By the end I wanted more. I wanted one more run!”
A heliskier is born.
Skiing there
Nonstop Ski & Snowboard (01225 632 165; nonstopsnow.com) is a specialist operator providing ski and snowboard coaching camps in western Canada with a focus on off-piste skills.
The next Ready to Heli Camps are 20-27 February (one week) and 6-20 February (two weeks), costing £1,950 and £2,935 respectively, including airport transfers, hotel accommodation with breakfasts, three dinners, lift tickets, one day cat-skiing, one day heliskiing, ski coaching, video analysis, hosting, and local transport.
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