Now that Marmot Basin鈥檚 50th year of operation is complete and the parking lot mud has dried like cement in your boots and tire wells, it鈥檚 time to turn your gaze over to another mountain鈥攖he mountain known as Whistlers, a rounded, mellow hump; an iconic landmark in Jasper National Park.
Its comforting bulk has always been there, in the western corner of our eye, graciously accepting all the abuse of elements and weather, reflecting sunbeams, unprepared hikers and alpenglow鈥攁n old, comforting friend to all.
The Jasper SkyTram鈥攁top Whistlers Mountain鈥攊s also celebrating its 50th anniversary. Built in 1964, it was a complicated and costly undertaking, and with its completion, Whistlers was and still is the self-proclaimed 鈥渂ig boy鈥�, bringing dramatic mountain weather, easy access, mind boggling views of lakes and mighty mountains to countless thousands.
Marmot Basin in the 1980s and 鈥�90s used to close much earlier in April. Some diehard, never-get-enough skiers, naturally and without conscience, turned their gaze, sunscreen and energy over to Whistlers. Those days were carefree and innocent, there were few restrictions or rules in place and that allowed many of us鈥攖he youth of Jasper then鈥攖o take advantage of incredible and fun opportunities.
It was like a gun going off to start the 100 metre sprint. The race was on to stuff ourselves into the first tram going up the mountain. Skis and poles rattled against the windows of the tram car, as SkyTram staff cringed, dogs panted and whined and skiers stood with their Vuarnet sunglasses, big permed hair, K-Ways and a collective, bizarre assortment of 1980s garb鈥攚hich later morphed into early 1990s grunge attire.
Packsacks stuffed with lunch, wine skins, baby oil (for sun tanning), space blanket (for absolute sun exposure), shovels (for digging the sun pit), foamy (for lounging), Hibachi (for the apr猫s ski BBQs) and an open, all-is-good attitude.
We were the lucky ones. We got to ski Whistlers, the North Bowl and all the surrounding skiable terrain!
This is what we did: boot pack right to the top, then put on the skis, jump the cornice rollover and ski the North Bowl, quite possibly the coolest thing we could ever do in JNP at that time. We鈥檇 go way, way down to the bottom on spring corn snow, taking a thousand turns鈥攐r at least it sure felt like that鈥攐f pure, absolute skiing bliss. At the bottom, there were serious high fives, blithering, delirious voices, descent buzz and exclamations that bounced off mountains that have lived for an eternity.
We then all slowly recovered, leisurely coming down from the high; heartbeats mellowed, sweat stopped running and with a sigh, winding into a smile, we shouldered the skis for the long, long hike back up.
On the other side, towards Hogs Heaven, skiers were laying down some real, sweet turns; their rhythm, could tangibly be felt鈥攖hose simple, arcs in the spring snow empathized opportunity, youth, great snow, a desire for open places, and a plea: 鈥減lease never end.鈥�
Just like a terrorist attack, it only takes one incident to forever change lives and opportunities. One spring day in the 1990s, an average guy boarded the SkyTram.
How could anyone predict how things would go terribly wrong?
A crazy carpet hidden in a packsack fooled the eyes of the tram staff, and needless to say, it did not go well; an out of control crazy carpet in the North Bowl sadly ended with a death on the mountain.
The management of the Jasper SkyTram really had no option; pressures from insurance companies, the dreaded large lid of suing and liability sealed the sad fate of our innocent youth and the wonderful times we all had up on Whistlers.
I look up at the mountain today, he is still a benevolent old friend, the same as he has been for many millennia; an aged, rounded, mellow mountain who every now and then shows his teeth, just to remind everyone that in spite of his good nature, he is a mountain, a cornerstone of the town of Jasper and JNP.
But on certain days in May, a breath of nostalgia teases my now short hair and calls me to dig out the old K-Ways. I can still feel the corn snow under my 190 ST Rossi鈥檚, calling out to Storm my dog (who is eighting my turns), 鈥渓et鈥檚 go.鈥�
I can still smell the m茅nage scent of Coppertone, red wine and hamburgers that was left to linger in the air of the North Bowl at Whistlers Mountain.
Loni Klettl
Special to the 51暗网
Loni Klettl is a born and raised Jasperite, whose father Toni Klettl was one of the last park wardens to raise his family in the backcountry. Loni, an alpine skier who competed in the 1980 Winter Olympics, has been skiing Marmot Basin and Whistlers Mountain since her childhood and has been sharing her memories of the good ol鈥� days on her Facebook page. Printed here is one of those stories.
