MatadorU – Footloose Diary

A pack of malicious clouds covered the village of Whistler with continuous precipitation on this Tuesday morning of late August. The cool breeze and the leaves prematurely falling from the maple trees almost made us forget about the endless sunny and hot days that made our summer until now.

I opened the door of the local brasserie for business, the old wood cracking with the movement. I chose a reggae playlist, if only to bring a little sunshine on this rainy day.

Through the glass windows, I perceived a mature couple walking towards the entrance.

“Good morning,” I welcomed.

“So,” inquired the husband with a mocking smile while hanging their umbrella, ”has it been raining like this all summer?”

“Actually, we had a gorgeous summer,” I reassured with a laugh.“No drops until today. We desperately needed rain as it started to become dangerously dry.”

I wiped the bar counter and invited them to sit on the red leather stools. “Would you like some coffee to warm you up?”

The couple settled to the bar and agreed to hot beverages.

The clock on the service computer indicated 9am, but the darkness of the outside felt like it was late at night. The flowers surrounding the patio swept to one direction and the dead leaves swirled to the left side of the terrace as a strong wind picked up. We watched the rainfall, sheltered in the deserted yellowed wall bistro.

“So you guys are visiting Whistler for a few days?” I asked the couple.

“We are,” said the man, wiping the last parcels of water on his thick black framed glasses. “Actually, we haven’t been here in 9 years, but we lived here for 17 years, back in 1977.”

“1977!” I repeated with astonishment, “pretty impressive. You were part of the “making of” the town. You have seen it grow from a seed to full tree.”

“We sure did,” affirmed the man while sipping the foam of his cappuccino. “I remember when they put up Red Chair, there was just a few of us on the trails, we were so spoiled. There was only 4 or 5 lifts at that time… and how many today?”

”37.” I answered.

“37 chairs!” exclaimed the man.

“And a lot more people!” I smiled.

“I bet. That’s a reason why we left. Whistler was becoming more of an extravagant resort town rather than the home it has become to us in the recent years.”

“Where did you go after?” I permitted myself to ask.

The man looked at his wife and I could glimpse a timelapse of memories going from eyes to eyes. He explained that they moved to the lower mainland, close to the city, and found jobs there. Her as a teacher and he as a construction worker. And after a couple of years they purchased a home. “That was back in 1998 when houses weren’t in the six figures,” he explained, “but then we realized that we weren’t ready to settle down. So we sold the house and bought a sailboat. We sailed all the way to Mexico and moored there for a couple of years. Some of the best years of our lives.”

Their complicity enlightened the obscurity of the rainy day. They shared stories of their time spent on the Mexican coast, living the life of aliens, making hand made crafts from recycled debris, teaching English to adults and kids, helping building small villages and schools, all in exchange of supplies and food.

“We didn’t have any mortgage to pay, or kids to feed, or job to attend. We were free.” he smiled to his wife.

“But freedom isn’t eternal?” I doubted.

“No it’s not. That’s why after a few years, when the mooring fees drastically increased we decided to sail back to Canada,” he said. “And we were ok with that. We knew we didn’t want to raise our future kids in the city so we sold the boat and found ourselves a beach house on the Sunshine Coast and started a beautiful family.”

“No more sailing?” I dared to ask.

There was something about his smile and the quietness of his wife that made the couple a very mysterious kind. I wanted them to talk about their adventures all day. I didn’t want them to leave.

“At our age now,” responded the man after finishing his last sip of coffee, “sailing in open ocean is really exhausting and expensive. But we did get a smaller sailboat and cruise around the Gulf Islands. Valerie and I opened a small craft store. We don’t make a lot, but plenty to afford what we need.”

That was it: “what we need”. A concept that Whistler has buried long ago under tourism development and big buildings and amenities to satisfy a world based on wants. But that wise gentlemen and his timid wife had all they needed: health, food, shelter, wind, and each other.

Whistler is a four-season resort destination located in the Southern Pacific Ranges of The Coast Mountains, and only a short drive from one of Canada’s largest cities, Vancouver. Its two adjacent mountains surrounded by ancient glaciers offer the greatest vertical rise and best terrain variety for skiing and snowboarding in all of North America. This young century-old town is a not only ‘a place of scenic wonders’,but also a region with a rich history and cultural background.

Originally known as London Mountain, Whistler was found by British explorers in the 1880’s. Its convenient location became a trading route attracting trappers and prospectors, such as John Millar and Henry ‘Harry’ Horstman. In the early 20th century, during a trip to the city to sell fur, Millar influenced Alex Philips to come experience fishing up north. With his wife Myrtle, the Phillips made the three-day trip to the valley. Inspired by their surroundings, they fell in love with the place and decided it would be the perfect location to realize their dream: To open a fishing lodge. They bought 10 acres of land and started to build cabins. With the help of the Tapley’s family, the Rainbow Lodge was completed in 1914. The Pacific Great Easter Railway also reached Alta Lake that year, making the area more accessible, with only one day travelling time from the city. With easier access, renowned hospitality, perfect setting, andexcellent fishing, the Rainbow Lodge became the most popular tourist resort of the 1920’s. Their work inspired others and new lodges opened throughout the valley in the 1950’s.

In 1965, Whistler officially found its name from the sound of Hoary Marmots. The village of Creekside was built that same year with a narrow gravel road and a few hydro lines. Then came the first lifts. In 1966, a new era in Canadian skiing was born in with the opening of Whistler Mountain.

An emerging ski-bum culture arose throughout the 1960’s and 1970’s attracting youthful, fun-seekers and free-spirited individuals. With nowhere else to stay, ski bums occupied empty buildings, or squatted on crown land.

The iconic picture of Toad Hall reminds us of this era, showing bare-bummed Whistler skiers posing outside the squat from which they were getting evicted. Whistler Village became a municipality in 1976 when the garbage dump was changed into a tourist village. And when Intrawest bought and merged Whistler and Blackcomb mountains, also operating a mountain bike park during the summer, the resort of Whistler/Blackcomb became a year-round global attraction. In 2003, when the resort won the bid of hosting the 2010 Olympic Games, a 50 year dream was realized.

The construction of the remarkable Peak to Peak gondola connecting both mountains peaks followed in 2008. In just a few decades, Whistler has grown from a little sleepy fishing village to a word-class, year-round resort destination attracting over 2 millions visitors each year. Nowadays, many establishments, mountain runs, and parks hold the names of the dreamers that built the town. Places such as the Horstman Hut, Tapley’s Pub, Millar’s Creek, and the Phillips cabins at Rainbow Lake commemorate the work and achievement of such visionary pioneers. The five Olympic rings standing,in the now called Ceremony Plaza in the village,remind us of another dream that came true. Once in a while, a bare-naked skier might be seen running through the cobble-stoned streets of the village, reminiscent of the town’s humble and free spirited beginnings. For more information about the beginnings of Whistler, visit: