‘THE GRASS IS GREENER IN THE MEADOW’ WORDS: COEN BENNIE-FAULL PHOTOS: COOPER JAMES STANKOVICH
A SEAT ON THE PLANE DOESN’T GUARANTEE THE EXPERIENCE OF THE DESTINATION. As humans, we are the drivers of our own destiny; luck, timing and the connections you hold play a role in the outcomes of our lives, but ultimately, we are the pavers of our path. In the mountains however, our own personal realm of control is trumped by the complexities of the environment and the collective capabilities of your companions. Belittled by the enormity of the surroundings, personal interests become dwarfed by mutual objectives and our voice, muffled against the hum of communal anxieties. In a world where we fight for personal significance and control of our destiny, the mountains have a way of humbling our intentions. In the midst of one of the driest starts to a winter Interior British Columbia has ever seen and in search of the quintessential Canadian winter experience, January in Revelstoke left a lot of unanswered questions this year. We’d come for the steep and deep for which this place is synonymous, but when we arrived we were left scratching our heads. Driven by the purpose of creating a ski documentary, my brother and I were left waiting on a Hail Mary to turn our season around. Easing the pain of yet another let down pow day by indulging in one of Revelstoke Mountain Resorts’ legendary Outpost burgers, Aussie transplant Murray Elliot’s phone pinged, sparking a sly smile across the table. The cold air of the interior mountains means winter is always out there for those up for the search, and the extensive hut system that the ACC (Alpine Club of Canada) has on offer was the last stone unturned. As luck would have it, a group had cancelled last minute at one of the most sought-after huts in the area and
Murray’s phone received the answer to our prayers. Usually reserved six months earlier via a lottery system and with a booking fee approaching a house deposit, the Bill Putnam/ Fairy Meadow hut is located deep in the Selkirk Range north of Rogers Pass, and boasts a plethora of glowing reviews across the internet. With only three-days to plan, pack and prepare, we threw the offer out to anyone within ears reach we thought would be up for the challenge. We assembled a motley crew of friends of friends and booked ourselves in, knowing little to nothing about what we were in for. We arrived by heli on a brutally cold -30o morning and had a small glimpse of the terrain from above and a brief snow report from the departing group as we loaded and unloaded gear beneath the turbulence of the helicopter blade. As the last load lifted and disappeared down the valley we were left with the sudden realisation we were entirely on our own, but with a giant backyard of possibility. Despite the cold temps, we set off a short reconnaissance tour to find the sun and our bearings, but the glowing enthusiasm of the group was quickly replaced by cries about cold toes and we retreated to the warmth of the hut, tail between our legs. This wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. We were one of three groups who’d jumped on the last-minute opening at the hut and over a few easing whiskeys by the fire it became ever apparent that the short window of planning meant we were wildly under-prepared. Coen Bennie-Faull, finding a steep line on a blue bird day. 145
