Golden, Canada — THE summit of Typee cuts the sky like a serrated knife. A wind-whipped cornice falls away sharply to the Pequod Glacier a thousand feet down to the right. To the left, a gentler powder slope reveals our ascent, a foot-deep diagonal line in the snow, leading to where we now stand.
At the summit cairn, our guide clasps each skier's hand. The women get a kiss on the cheek. It's an Austrian tradition that Tom Raudaschl brought with him to British Columbia, and as we're about to take off on one of the last runs of our stay in the magnificent Selkirk Mountains on the province's southeastern edge, it makes me feel even more giddy, and somewhat wistful, in the crystalline air at 9,484 feet.
We strip the plush nylon climbing "skins" from our skis, pack them away and click into our bindings. Raudaschl leads the way to a north-facing pitch where the snow is shin deep and creamy. I follow. The heavenly flying-dropping sensation could go on forever, as far as I'm concerned.
Let the rest of the skiing world be seduced by high-speed gondolas, cappuccino-serving kiosks and condos just a quick schuss from the lifts. I'm going to savor every moment of this run, the payoff for the oldest and purest form of skiing in one of the finest locations for backcountry skiing in the world.
Isn't it a little ironic, I think, gliding along in silence, that here in British Columbia both ends of the skiing continuum seem to be flourishing. Real-estate-driven, tech-heavy resorts like Whistler Blackcomb and the recently opened Kicking Horse Mountain Resort attract big numbers of people and money. At the same time, the rustic, "earn-your-turn" backcountry experience is enjoying a renaissance.
Of course, this is why I came to British Columbia, where the future of skiing is being played out on the vast mountainous canvas of the province. That -- and the fact that the sliding here is simply some of the best anywhere.
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A rustic retreat
IN the twilight, Battle Abbey lodge glows with the promise of warmth -- and dinner. It is perched (reminiscent, indeed, of an abbey) right at tree line, on the brow of a steep, snowy canyon deep in the Battle Range in a remote corner of the Selkirks.
Built of local granite and timber cut from the hillside, it is half-buried in snow, smoke curling from a central chimney. No other lights, no road, no other sign of human life is visible for 50 miles.
