ANY SHELTER IN A STORM

words :: Kevin Hjertaas

Is anything more romantic than a backcountry hut nestled high in the snowcovered mountains? Skiers dream of remote cabins with crackling wood-burning stoves casting a warm glow. Dozens of those perfect ski lodges exist across Western Canada, both commercially run or cared for by the Alpine Club of Canada (ACC). But most commercial lodges are booked seasons in advance, and they aren’t cheap. And the comfortable ACC huts in prime ski country fill up fast, especially during high season. That’s why more skiers and snowboarders than ever are questing into the backcountry in search of alternative shelters.

A TIN CAN WITH A VIEW: THE SAPPHIRE COL SHELTER

Three-quarter-inch guy wires—eight of them in total—are drilled into the frame of the Sapphire Col shelter and bolted directly to the granite mountain. Whoever put this tin can here was clearly worried it would blow away. At 2,590 metres, on the ridge between Castor Peak and The Dome, high above Rogers Pass, it’s exposed to wind from all directions and, as the smallest ACC hut, it wouldn’t take much of a breeze to send it flying.

From outside, I watch Chris Rubens open the upper half of its cute wooden split door, allowing a bit of steam from his Jetboil stove to escape. The shelter has no other ventilation; its only small window is fused shut permanently. Wearing his puffy down jacket, Rubens leans out over the lower half of the door and checks the weather. Satisfied that the sky will be blue when the sun finally rises, he returns to the task of boiling water for breakfast and coffee.

There’s really only room for one person at a time to stand up, so I squeeze back inside and onto the lower bunk. I pull the sleeping bag over the ski clothes I wore all night and adjust the backpack I used as a pillow. Other than the tiny stove we brought, there is no heat in the shelter. The ACC website lists the amenities as such: “Heat source: none. Light source: not provided. Stove: not provided. Oven: none. Bedding: not provided.” But damn, you can’t beat the location!

Rubens, Bruno Long and Anthony Bonello have come to capture some ski action for an upcoming ski film titled Farming Turns I’ve come because I’m a sucker and was told it would be fun.

That ACC website also told us that, when it was erected in 1964, “This was the first modern high-altitude hut in the Columbia and the Rocky Mountains.” This statement makes us giggle because there is nothing “modern” about the spartan accommodations now. The two bunks are nothing more than sheets of plywood, and there are no other furnishings. A tiny triangular shelf is built into one corner beside the door for cooking. It’s so crooked that we almost spill our ramen right off the stove. No, wait. Upon further inspection, the shelf is square to the building. It’s the entire structure that is leaning over noticeably.

To access all this luxury, you need to ski tour 1,375 vertical metres from the highway and cross a glacier. It’s worth the effort, though. The 2 by 3 metre metal box sits atop prime ski country. Directly out the door, the north ridge of Castor Peak cleaves the steep, rocky west face and the steep, snowy east face. In short, it’s the perfect launch pad for this mission.

Well before the sun rises to warm our tin shack, Rubens, the athlete on our team, has begun climbing the ridge while the two cameramen, Long and Bonello, circle around below the east face. In less than 30 minutes, everyone is in position to ski or capture the action when the first light of the day hits the face. With every turn, steep powder explodes in the butter-gold light. By mid-morning, the cameras have captured a full day’s worth of content. That’s the glory of sleeping in an alpine sardine can; there’s no time wasted in the morning getting to your day’s objectives.

If Sapphire Col’s shelter were any more comfortable it would be booked all winter. But its rustic nature, coupled with the effort needed to get to it, deter the masses and keep it available for last-minute strike missions. Our little trip left me wishing we could build tiny shelters below every great ski slope.