Whistler/Blackcomb, 
British Columbia 
January 8, 2002 
 

While riding the 7th Heaven Express lift on Blackcomb Mountain we met a guy named Adam, a 22 year old self acclaimed "high end" instructor (in plain clothes)  He suggested we go over to Xhiggy's Meadows to "ski the fresh".  The Meadows looked mighty tasty from the lift.  So when we got to Horstman Glacier and saw that Adam was a superb skier, we agreed to follow him.  We thought that a ski instructor would be a fine guide on his home mountain.  Wrong ... we were to learn that ski teaching and mountain guiding are not even close cousins. 

Adam neglected to tell us that the catwalk to Xhiggy's was difficult and dangerous.  Part of the crossing to the Meadows required sliding on a catwalk for approximately 1,500 meters on the edges of precipitous cliffs.  This was scary indeed and looking down on clouds only added to the mood.  The three of us began climbing a long uphill section that we hadn't seen.  It lay beyond view around a bend in the mountain.  Charley, wisely as it turns out, bailed at this point.  I'd come to wish I went with him. 

Now we were two, just Adam and I.  Our climb up the catwalk tested strength and endurance, while snow covered rocks gouged our skis as we climbed.  The day was cold at 3º Farenheit, but we quickly became hot and sweaty.  At the end of the catwalk we would reach the Meadows by skiing down a couloir, or chute to get in a great run down Xhiggy's. 

Entering the couloir was easy, but getting down and out of it was a nightmare.  Sheer diagonal walls surrounded us.  Eighty feet down, the couloir narrowed to where our skis could not fit across the fall line.  The heels and toes of our skis hit the walls.  It was too narrow and too stripped of snow to ski the chute or to even side slip down it. 

Even Adam's shorter 188 centimeter skis, carefully placed across the vertical couldn't fit.  There was no place where we could squeegee down even a few sections by side slipping.  This could not be skied. 

The floor of this deep, narrow gorge slopes precipitously sixty or seventy degrees downward for 2,000 feet.  We still have our skis on, but there's a solid rock ledge across the chute jutting out of the snow, crossing 40 feet below us.  Even jumping 40 feet to clear the ledge with a perfect landing would result in mortal injury.  There's no safe run out.  The landing would bring you crashing into a field of boulders.  There's just no safe passage. 

Adam is apologizing every two minutes for bringing us over here.  He's sorry ....  he didn't know THERE WAS NOT ENOUGH SNOW to ski the chute. 

Well, "sorry" is nice, but it doesn't help.  He brought us here and we need to find a way out before it gets dark.  Rope, biner and crampons would be nice, but we had none.  A radio or mobile phone would be nice too.  We could call for a sky hook and get lifted out. 

We could not ski down, climb out, or jump down over the ledge.  There seemed to be no way out. 

Since skiing was impossible, I took my skis off and tossed them and my poles down below the rock ledge.  I tried to stand up, but standing was dangerous in this slippery gorge.  Snow was covering ice and ....  "WE HAVE NO CRAMPONS". 

Adam was still apologizing. 

So, I sat in the snow, turned over, with belly to ground and with my head uphill, I kicked footholds in the snow.  I then stepped down descending slowly, ever so slowly, foothold down to foothold, until I was beneath the ledge.  Ah, from there I sat up and began a slide ride down -- collecting my skis and poles as I went.  I landed below the ledge, ruffled, but unharmed and happy.  All my equipment was intact too. 

Adam followed my bailout and he landed safely too.  We stood up very carefully in this wider lower part of the chimney and wondered if our good fortune would continue. 

Well, maybe, but this nightmare held more surprises for us.  The chute was wider now, but so steep and slippery that we could easily fall and slide a terrifying 1,000 feet into a field of boulders.  We put our skis on most gingerly to avoid that slippery fate.  We carefully worked our way down the bottom of the chute and arrived at Xhiggy's Meadows for that great run in fresh powder. 

Adam ceased apologizing. 

Arrrggghhh ....   what we found in Xhiggy's Meadows was fool's gold  --  a mirage.  There was no fresh powder!  Xhiggy's was full of wind packed, Sierra cement.  Turning a pair of skis in this junk was impossible. 

He's apologizing again. 
 
 

With no other choice available, we took a kamakaze dive and plunged straight down.  We accelerated from 0 - 60 in seconds and we were still gaining speed.  Turns were just not possible.  The only way to keep from going faster was to stand erect with arms out as windbrakes.  At this speed and at this steepness it was a guts and glory ride.  Almost an out of control free fall.   We survived.  We made it without a tumble ….  Without a scratch.  It is amazing that we weren’t killed a little.

We amused the gods and they let us pass without a scratch.  It was amazing! 

We would live to play another day 

A happy ending!  I love our happy ending. 

Now I understand why the Ski School offers lessons in Extreme Skiing.  Next time I'm here, I'll study those lessons. 

I will not ski with anyone who says he's been a ski instructor. 

I'll beware of strangers, especially anyone named Adam. 

And I'll stay out of Xhiggy's Meadows. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Clark Goodrich:  webmaster@belleayreskipatrol.org