Ralph Klein's going onto glory brings on memories of Calgary long ago. Turn the time machine to the winter 1988. Olympic mayhem has beseeched the city. I am a college reporter taking in the madness with my laminated press pass. I have access to almost everywhere, and there is free liquor anywhere you can set-up a card table. At some point during the pre-Olympic festivities I find myself at the St. Louis Hotel drinking free draft with the King Ralph and the rest of the media vampires, nestled in for the weeks to come. I remember eating a hotdog and thinking what a great hotdog it was.
Fernie Fix Blogs
Fernie videographer Dylan Sigger encapsulates what it's like to cruise the mountain as a little ripper in Fernie, BC! From hitting the ski cross course to trails in trees to fresh lines, I would say they have it pretty good at Fernie Alpine Resort this spring.
Recently I toured with my super group,The Death Ballad Love Tellers, featuring Victoria musician David P. Smith and Edmonton musician Ben Sures. We've been doing this project for three years and this year at the end of our February tour we recorded an album of handwritten Death Ballads in Victoria. This year's shows were especially good and the recording/ touring process was rewarding.
Despite the name, there is only a relatively small area in Iceland that is covered in ice. For the most part, the small Island nation is covered with picturesque, lush, and rolling pastures. And being at 64 degrees north latitude, in the summer month Iceland sees almost 24 hours of sunlight a day! Known for its sweaters, volcanoes, and Bjork, I, like most, knew very little about Iceland. It was a comedy of errors as I attempted to navigate through morning rush hour traffic in downtown Reykjavik, having not slept on the red eye flight out of Toronto the night before.
A blog entitled “Tales of the Young and Seasonal” would be remiss not to include at least one entry dedicated to the one activity that rivals the young and seasonal’s love for skiing: sex.
You drive out onto the first American pavement past the first set of white roadside crosses. The first rolling yellow hills. The first patch of Big Sky. The first important intersection you come to on Highway 3 is what locals call the Four Corners. To the rear to the South, highway three to the border, duty, rubber gloves and taxable love. To the North, Whitefish, Occupy Costco Calgary Chapter Kalispell. To the East, a labyrinth of backroads and Leather-face farmhouses.
Out of all relationships that develop on the hill, there is none quite so volatile as the skier-snowboarder relationship. The long history of rivalry and one-upmanship between the two sports still palpable: within the first ten minutes of meeting someone new in a ski town, you can expect to be asked “do you ski or snowboard?” and to be judged on your answer.
Here's what some choose to do when it's NOT an epic pow day in Fernie, BC. As the snow is bound to fly, take advantage of these sunny days and explore Fernie Alpine Resort!
The first time I entered the Arts Station, the building was across the tracks near some large poplar trees. It was boarded up abandoned and scary. Friends and I would scamper up the tree with packsacks full of stolen whisky and sawed off pellet guns. We'd crawl along the roof and enter through a broken window. After some some generous imbibing we would run about shooting at each other with our altered air pistols. If luck was on your side you'd escape without a pellet imbedded in the back of your head.
Midweek powder on a day off must be the best kind of powder. Yesterday morning, even though I slept in (I know, I know, for shame), there were fresh tracks in Cedar Bowl waiting for me when the upper ridge opened just before noon. And even after several delicious turns in knee-deep powder and a ride up both the T-bar and the Boom Chair, there were still plenty of fresh turns to be found for my second run. And my third. And my fourth.
The sun was still bright as we set up camp, under the watchful eyes of near by Muscox. They ran around us to gain the ridge above camp, where they held their position all night. Occasionally giving us a grunt to let us know we were on their turf.