After the helicopter dropped us off at the snug wooden lodge and droned away, a crystalline silence enveloped us. Staring at the wafting flakes and the meadows sparkling with untracked snow, it felt as if we had traveled straight into the pages of a ski magazine. Andrew turned to me, grinned, and, in classic understatement, uttered a single word: “awesome.’’
Since Andrew and I first learned to ski on the slopes of New England, the sport has been a lifelong love. In Colorado, I backcountry ski most weekends, but Andrew frequents New England resorts and longed to ski powder worthy of the Warren Miller flicks we grew up watching. So he enlisted me to help plan a ski getaway. Andrew is the most serious and reliable member of our family, long caring for our aging mother and, as a primary care doctor, lending his heart and energy to his patients. Though he rarely complains, I knew he deserved to cut loose from his responsibilities and that there was little he loved more than powder skiing.
After calling a dozen huts listed by the Backcountry Lodges of British Columbia Association, I settled on Purcell Mountain Lodge, a backcountry ski chalet accessible only by helicopter. It receives a preponderance of light, fluffy snow, offers such creature comforts as three-course meals and a wood-burning sauna, and was designed to accommodate skiers with and without backcountry experience. In recent years, as more resorts open backcountry gates and touring equipment improves, backcountry skiing has become more popular and places like Purcell have become known as good places to learn.
On a sunny day topped with glass-clear skies, we followed Doug Latimer, our soft-spoken, unflappable guide, over two miles of meadows, matching our breath to our strides and settling into a meditative rhythm. Toothy 10,000-foot peaks reared up around us like beautiful, frozen beasts, and few signs of earthly creatures broke the stillness, save for some fresh wolverine tracks.
