Posts tagged with “Gone Postal”

When asked why people move to Whistler most people I meet on chairlifts and in coffee shops usually say something about the deep snow and massive winter storms before mumbling off into some sort of sentence about “living the dream.” Myself a snow starved powder hound, the distance between dream and reality has nearly been erased with the recent blast of winter and Whistler’s alpine about to open.

The problem with all of this snow, of course, is the problem of work. And the problem isn’t lack of work (because the work on my desk never seems to end), the problem is powder days trapped in a snow globe which doubles as my office. As a freelancer I can only call the 20cm Rule on myself so many times before the desk-jockey in me begins to get stressed and angry at all the snow.

Nothing a little powder therapy can’t help, though.

Anyhow, this week I had hoped to get to the 12^th Annual Whistler Film Fest and circled-off a bunch of features to catch on the silver screen. Unfortunately, Powder-Jer and Office-Jer conspired against Film Fest-Jer and the only event I could get to was the #WFF12 Opening Gala with partner-in-crime, Jack Crompton. It was a fun night, the red carpet and lights were as red and bright as anywhere, we ate popcorn, drank wine, applauded, and, eventually we shut the place down.

But in the end, I missed everything else and by the time this year’s Whistler Film Fest left town I was struck with a few regrets on what I missed. Here are the top five people and events I missed: Read more

I don’t want to jinx anything by suggesting that summer is over, because it’s not (I hope), but with Lot 4 & 5 clearing out and the Sea to Sky starting to fill up with Labor Day Weekenders headed home, the reality is that September is here.

September! Whoa.

In any other town with a demographic as young, fit, and good looking as Whistler we’d all be thinking about finding the newest & hippest coffee shop, re-arranging our class schedules to optimize time for not going to school, and trying our best to impress whoever it is we’re trying to impress in English 101. For most of the rest of the world this weekend marks the beginning of dorm life, Uni drinking binges, and diets made up of Kraft Dinner, multi-purpose vitamins, and cafeteria scraps.

Not so in Whistler. Here, we have to wait a few months before a malnourished diet kicks in. In the mean time, for those navigating Jobless September and detoxing through Sober October, Whistler should provide plenty of opportunities for creative and fun ways to enjoy life here.

Being my first fall in Whistler, I figured I’d use my Gone Postal column to crowd source the best of Whistler in the Fall. From you, the loyal WIA readership, I’m wondering what is the:

- Best place to eat during the Fall?
- Best Fall family activity?
- Best reason not to go to Vegas?
- Best Fall deal that every Whistler resident should make use of?

So that’s that. Would love to hear from you and we’re stoked to figure out the rhythm and flow of life in Whistler this fall. Thanks again for your warm welcome to Whistler and – if you see us around the Village or on the Valley Trail – we’d love to give you a high five!

-Jer

If the 4:07am wake-up call wasn’t enough of a clue, the loaded to the nuts backpack should have been a dead give-away. Ice axes, cramp-ons, rope, snow-pickets, climbing gear, gloves, camera, water, food, extra socks, headlamp and almost none of the 10-essentials filled out my pack as we prepped ourselves for voluntary pain and suffering.

As my body started moving around the dark hours of morning fetching food and adjusting to the beginnings of a new and what would be a long and grueling day, the fog in my brain started to question my good intentions.

• “You don’t mountaineer, you ride chairlifts.”
• “What business do you have on a glacier, you’re a rock climber.”
• “Who are you to climb mountains, they will crush you.”

Thankfully, my rock-climbing partner is a true mountain man and he’s been pushing me to get out deeper into the mountains to experience the more grizzled side of mountain sports. That, and I was awake at 4am: I was committed.

Being a relative rookie to climbing long routes over a mixture of snow, rock, and ice I suggested we tackle an introductory climb. The route he chose as my introduction to mountaineering is not well travelled because of how “easy” it is – the north face of Mt. Slalok via the Stonecrop Glacier above Upper Joffre Lake.

Kevin McLane’s Alpine Select Guide gives the route a PD+ rating; i.e. Peu Difficile, a little difficult with some technical climbing and complicated glaciers. And I would agree, the route is technically not very difficult at all but after 13-hours of constant movement over steep mountain terrain, my legs were destroyed. I found this to be true: easy becomes exhausting if you give it enough time.

1. The view of Mount Matier from Slalok’s peak.

2. Newly christened mountain man.

3. Pretty mountain things.

4. Off the mountain and finally relaxed.

Beginning on the well manicured Joffre Lakes trail system we approached our route early and quickly. Once at the campsite we found a steep approach ridge leading us into our first section of rock as we scrambled towards the snowfield. The rockfall hazard was apparent and so we moved quickly and carefully through this section before roping up at the bottom of the snowfield. Finding perfect snow, we made decent time and covered significant ground before coming face-to-face with a large glaciated ice field.

Crossing a small corner of the ice we were able to avoid crevasses and continue our route on the now slushy snow, making our way to the final long section of 50-degree snow before topping out the mountain. My climbing partner, good man that he is, kicked stepped up the entire last section without swapping leads leaving a nice tidy staircase for me! Good thing too, or I might not have made it back.

After some time spent on the peak, we geared up, made our descent down a fun and exposed scramble, slid down the Tszil Glacier, and willed our heavy legs over every root, boulder, and stump back to the truck for the end of the day – and I’ve been recovering ever since.

Keep exploring!

“A few hours of mountain climbing turns a villain and a saint into two rather equal creatures. Exhaustion is the shortest way to equality and fraternity – and liberty is added eventually by sleep.” -Friedrich Nietzsche

Italian words and phrases have a tendency of turning the ordinary into something spectacular; words like cappuccino, gelato, Mafioso, vino, and even spaghetti sounds really exotic if you say it just right. Via Ferrata is just such a word, except it’s not transforming the ordinary into the spectacular – Via Ferrata is spectacular.

Via Ferrata is the Italian word for “the Iron Way,” a system of cables and iron fixed into the mountainside allowing access to mountain terrain previously only available to rock climbers and adventurers. Originating in Italy during wartime as a means of moving troops quickly and safely through steep mountain terrain, Via Ferrata has morphed into a one-of-a-kind adventure activity.

This week local photographer Erik Mauer and I had the chance to walk Whistler’s Via Ferrata with an adventurous Washington, DC couple and led by our guide Matt of Whistler Guides. After gearing up with ice axes, helmets, harnesses and safety sauce, aka sunscreen, we began our trek to the base of the climb.

A short & mellow hike brought us almost immediately to the Whistler glacier and the chance to put our ice axes to use. That said, by this point in the tour the most used piece of equipment in the group was the camera. It’s easy to be amazed by the mountains and, even though the Peak-area of Whistler is my winter playground of choice and I see it daily from my home patio, I’m always awed when I stop to really look at it.

Now, gazing up at what we were about to climb, awe turned to “This looks awesome, let’s get’er done.” As an avid rock climber I was curious to see how the Via Ferrata would stack up against and feel different to rock climbing. In rock climbing there is a certain amount of risk, strength, and technical skills required to climb a steep mountain face, however, the views, exposure, and feelings of adventure and of conquering a climb are like nothing else.

Whistler’s Via Ferrata offers all of the perks of climbing, but with no experience necessary and the added bonus of a knowledgeable guide who also doubles as cameraman. And trust me, you’ll want both!

The actual climbing starts off pretty mellow and progressively becomes more difficult but is always fun. As you begin feeling more confident, try using the iron steps less and less and ascend the mountain using the natural rock features for foot and handholds. You’ll really get a sense of what it’s like to be on the side of a mountain climbing up it. Either way, you’re bound to have fun!

Maybe the best part though, is popping out over the top of the climb and watching jaws drop and eyes pop as tourists exploring Whistler’s Peak via chairlift are shocked someone would climb up. The comments are predictable and you’ll feel pretty good about yourself walking around the tourist area with an ice axe on your back – you can just feel the admiring eyes on you in this moment, your moment of Edmund Hillary-esqu glory. Bask in it. After all, you deserve it; you just climbed Whistler’s Via Ferrata!

Buona fortuna!

Check out Whistler Guides to climb the Via Ferrata or to try out other adventure mountain pursuits. Their professional guides are passionate about the mountains, know how to travel safely through them, and are a lot of fun to be around. To book a Whistler Guides tour check out their website www.whistlerguides.com

In whatever town or city you grew up in, eventually you came to know of a place whose history is a bit foggy but whose history somehow mixed itself into your memories, foggy as they might be. Usually, these places serve diner coffee, oversized pancakes, and just enough greasy spoon to make last night’s shenanigans seem better than they actually were. Every town has them and they’re all exactly the same: a place where folklore and legends begin.

I have a hunch that Southside Diner might be one of these places.

I had heard stories that, after particularly rowdy Whistler nights, it is not uncommon for line-ups of passed-out bodies to be lying in the general vicinity of Southside’s entry; morning cooks, kitchen staff, and servers literally stepping over the smell of drunk at 5am on their way to work. Whether these are stories, truths, or half-truths, this is what I have heard. My guess is the stories are true’ish yet completely accurate as far as folklore and legends go.

Being new to Whistler and always down to check out something new, my family and I figured we should investigate. Not wanting to upset the morning Advil crowd with the unruly morning sounds of our two children, we elected to wander into Southside at 9am where, it turned out, we were the quiet table.

We were lucky, actually, to get a table; the place was packed with locals grabbing before-work brekkie, bleary-eyed middle-aged dudes trying to get up the nerve for another day on the mountain, and out-of-towners recapping the week before rushing off to catch their flights. Those were the people to our left.

Over my shoulder and to the right was the din of morning clatter that could only be interpreted as “It’s so good to be exactly where I am right now.” Whether it was the Double Baileys coffee, the tasty large portions of food, or the snow report that created the buzz, the mood was infectious and we were feeling good.

With the ski-lore history in photographs donning the menu and a decent choice of classic diner food to boot, we settled in to make the most of our first Southside experience. And I guess that is what it was, an experience – one we’ll definitely do again if only a wee bit earlier in the morning to see if the Southside folklore is true.

Growing up in the prairies there was not a huge variety of winter activities to occupy my time. The choices were hockey, street hockey, mini-sticks, Hockey Night in Canada, GTing, and whatever else we could find to do not involving shoveling in -35 degree weather.

Strangely, as long as the task didn’t include shovelling (or starting the car in the morning), the cold and blowing snow never really slowed our outdoor activity. We would build forts, write our names in yellow, and slowly trudge back and forth from the toboggan hill hoping to come across a game of street hockey.

It was a nice surprise then, when we came across my parent’s old cross-country skis; big, clunky, old-school skis that attached to boots with duck bills on the toe. Suiting up, we dreamt of adventures and downhill skiing but instead found ourselves trudging slightly faster towards the toboggan hill where we quickly learned the only way to stop was to straight-line until we crashed.

We did it over and over again and, in my memory, we were awesome.

It was with some excitement then that Candace and I first started talking about trying out cross-country skiing here in Whistler. We Googled it, we checked out the different areas, I watched a video of a local pro-snowboarder eating it hard on cross-country skis, and we set a date.

Eventually deciding on the Cross Country Connection for our re-introduction to the sport, they are only a 5-minute walk from the Whistler Village, offer lessons, have night skiing, and the rates for rentals and trail passes are very reasonable (ask about the rental price for locals). There is a great selection of well-groomed beginner, intermediate, and advanced trails that surround Lost Lake offering amazing vistas of the region and, if cross-country skiing isn’t your thing, they also offer snowshoeing.

Bluebird and cold, Candace and I bundled up our 5-month old and we were going cross-country skiing. Arriving at the Passive House (the Cross Country Connection ski-lodge) we were greeted by friendly staff and the smell of coffee and fresh cookies drifting out from the café. The rental process was fast and it wasn’t long until Theresa, the ski-school instructor and long-time local, was showing us some tips and tricks on how to ski safely, efficiently, and with the most amount of fun. Turns out she is great with babies too!

Theresa - ski-school instructor and knows a thing or two about how to make a baby smile!

And though I wouldn’t recommend it, I opted to carry our baby in a Snugglie on my chest rather than pull her in a Chariot with skis. In hindsight, the Chariot would be the superior family option – especially with my beginner skiing skills. In the end, we stuck to the beginner trails, enjoyed the sunshine, and weren’t too terribly adventurous as we skied around the lake and through the golf course.

We had a great time and I would totally recommend you and your family check out cross-country skiing. I assumed, actually, the only people who xc-skied were old grizzled Swedes whose sole transportation was cross-country skis but, as it turns out, the day we were there a 2-year old was out skiing with his parents, another family was pulling a XC-Chariot, we were frequently passed by people of all ages, and, unfortunately, we never came across a single Swede. Everyone was super fit, looked good in those tight xc-ski pants, and was super friendly. We’ll definitely be back!

PS – If you find yourself even remotely close to the Passive House, do not miss the cookies! Super fresh, they melt in your mouth, and they’re only a buck! Perfect.

The very first summer Candace and I were married we were doing a bunch of rock-climbing and living in an interesting little place in Squamish. Interesting, because across the street from us sat the object of most of our dinner conversations: a house that became known to us as “The Crazy House.”

We were never quite sure who lived in the Crazy House nor did we know if anyone actually lived in the Crazy House. The yard was always littered with kayaks, climber’s sorting gear, mountain bikes, skis, dogs, hippies, and skidoo parts. Parking was a commodity and the sheer number of road-tripping license plates assured there would eventually be some by-law made to control these people.

The Crazy House, it seemed, was a place only to shower, sleep, keep the beer cold, and tell grandiose mountain stories before moving on to the next place. And, though we know Whistler has its fair share of crazy houses, we never imagined ours would become the place people would refer to while saying, “Hey, I have a friend in Whistler – you could probably crash there.”

I do understand why people say that though; Whistler is amazing. With the huge opportunity to play in the mountains, eat great food, and party down it is of little wonder there are traffic jams every weekend. It came as no surprise, then, when we started telling people we’d be making the move to Whistler, the common response was, “Must be nice. We’ll have to come visit.”

And people weren’t kidding! Visit, they have. Had we moved to the Canary Islands people would’ve said the same thing, but the drive isn’t as good. And so, in our first few months of living in Whistler, there has not been a single week there have not been guests in our home for at least a couple nights at a time. In fact, it is looking like our sleeping closet, floor space, and couch is running at a no-vacancy rate all the way into mid-May.

For some reason, people just like coming to Whistler.

Read more

Growing up in Saskatchewan with aspirations of becoming the next Craig Kelly, I started out my shred “career” a few shots behind the 8-ball. That didn’t stop the dream, however, and as soon as I turned 18, and could afford a tank of gas, I headed west. I eventually landed in the Lower Mainland’s suburbia where snow was easily accessible and only an inconvenience about once a year when the city was hit with snow and the ensuing panic.

In many ways, keeping the snow in the mountains where it belongs was nice, and it kept my snow-life and my real-life in the city easily distinguishable. Commuting for snow was reasonable and an ok trade-off because I had responsibilities like a job (which I know for some reading this column is a new word) and a cool community of people that we loved to be around.

Reality hit last year, however, during the mayhem of the once a year snowfall in the city. My son, who is now three, had no idea what this white stuff was and, if you can imagine putting double-sided tape on the paws of a kitten, you can imagine his tentative steps in the newly fallen snow. Something had to change.

Getting ready

And so, before securing a place to live or landing a job, we bought Whistler Blackcomb season passes and enrolled our 3-year old in the Valley Kids ski-school program hoping, even praying, he’d learn to love the snow.

Cheaper than daycare and with world-class instruction, we’ve found Whistler Kids to be absolutely amazing! Not only do the kids learn the Aussie language, they learn to ski. In the couple months we’ve lived in Whistler we have seen the transformation of a kid who had no context for snow begin to love it – talking, singing, and dancing about skiing all the time! Jo, Victoria, Lizzy, and the rest of the instructors over at Whistler Kids have been instrumental in helping our family settle into Whistler life, simply by helping our son love the snow. Thank-you!

Jo and Si

And here’s the greatest thing: for the first time last week I got to do runs with my 3-year old. He’s now graduated from the gondola to the chairlift and is cruising down Bear Cub, Emerald, and the Olympic chair. Talk about a proud dad, I even had to tell him to slow down once! And even though a snowboarder hit him on his second run, he’s still stoked and talking about doing jumps and “going cruising” by himself. As strange as it seems, fresh pow and bluebird have now been relegated to second spot; now my best days on the mountain are with my son and, in my opinion, Whistler just got a little more awesome.

First chairlift ride

See ya next week for more Whistler “firsts.”

PS – Please don’t put tape on your kitten’s feet.

The ski team

“Umm, is that the price? Do you have a local’s discount? Well no, my driver’s license doesn’t say Whistler but I promise I live here. No really, I’m totally local – been here like six weeks or something.”

Hi. My name is Jeremy Postal and, along with my wife and two beautiful children, we are brand new to Whistler. Living in Whistler has always been in the cards for us but for one reason or another the stars never quite aligned and we never actually made the move.

The nearest we came to moving here was in the spring of 2000. Candace, my wife who was then my fiancée, had just landed a job lifeguarding at Meadow Park Rec Centre and I was starting to have dreams about living the dream. Unfortunately, we didn’t have a place to live so – like all good dirtbaggers – we were sleeping in our busted up old car in Lot 4. That is, until the formidable Jack Crompton caught wind of us and made us sleep on the floor in his basement with 30 other people – a debatable upgrade.

Good guy that Jack Crompton, but we never came back.

Fast forward to roughly six weeks ago, it’s Christmas time, and Whistler looks like Dr. Seuss’s Whoville. We landed a place to live, it’s snowing, we now have a couple kids in tow, and parking in Lot 4 is free again! Not a bad start to our new life in Whistler.

Being new to town, everything in Whistler is still sparkly and new to us, and everything is feeling like a strange combination of Las Vegas, Santa’s Workshop, and a breath of fresh air. As a family, we can’t wait to explore and discover Whistler for the very first time.

And that’s what Gone Postal is about: exploring and documenting Whistler for the first time. We live here, sure, but we’re still in tourist mode and there is so much to experience. Each week Gone Postal will be highlighting our “firsts” and, even though our firsts might be run-of-the-mill experiences and events for you, it’ll do you good to remember your first time. I’ll be covering everything from my first ride up the Peak chair to discovering lakes and finding great places to eat. There will be stories about our first bear experience, the changing seasons, local festivals, fun places for our kids, ski-school, great patios to enjoy an icy-wobbly pop, rock climbing, and the first time we don’t tell a tourist the whole truth.

Welcome to Gone Postal. All we’re trying to do is figure out life in Whistler, make a few friends from scratch, share some memories, and hopefully add some awesome to a town that is already oozing with it. We think the best is yet to come.

Now where’s my local’s discount?! After all, I know Jack Crompton.