Learning to Ski in Whistler
My earliest memory of learning to ski was trying to get down a dry ski slope backwards aged 10, in a class of 30 bored kids.
Falling.
And then never trying again.
That was in Sheffield. I can’t even remember why I was there, or why I thought learning to ski on a slope made of crossed ropes in South Yorkshire would be a pleasant experience. But I wanted to mention it, because it serves as a contrast to my experience of learning to ski – properly, and forwards – in Whistler last week. Which, I can wholeheartedly say, was INCREDIBLE.
I was up in Whistler (just an hour and forty five minutes from Vancouver. Who knew?) to cover the annual
World Ski and Snowboard Festival (WSSF)
, and decided to face my fears while there by taking a full day ski lesson with the
.
I’d taken a two hour lesson at local Vancouver mountain, Grouse, the month beforehand in prep (mostly so I wouldn’t look like an absolute wally by turning up without even knowing how to put on my skis). That lesson was hard – but not really because of the skiing. It was just physically exhausting. The day was a scorcher, especially when combined with the fact that our instructor took our poles from us and didn’t let us take off our skis for the full two hours (even when climbing hills. WITHOUT POLES). It was a great introduction, but it completely wiped me out.
So it’s fair to say I approached the full day lesson at Whistler with a dash of trepidation. On the Pacific Coach on the way up to Whistler, I pictured myself, sunburnt nose glowing and wobbly legs akimbo, careering down the hill out of exhaustion by noon.
My nerves weren’t exactly soothed when I signed in for my lesson at the
desk just next to the Whistler Village Gondola.
“
You’ll have the best time
,” the guy behind the desk chuckled. “
Although, you’ll probably spend most of it on your bum.
”
Oh god. What if he was right? What is everyone else in my group was way better than me and I just couldn’t pick it up?
I tried to fake some confidence as I met the rest of my group outside the snow school at 9:30am. The ski lesson I was taking is called Max4, which does what it says on the tin – there will never be more than 4 people in your lesson. This means you receive maximum support and attention throughout the whole day. I was relieved when everyone else seemed just as nervous as me, and also that each person in my group was over the age of 5. I’d had a last minute panic that no other sane adult would be learning to ski in the middle of WSSF, at the end of the ski season. But, luckily, there were three others just as a bonkers as me (and there’s a whole other snow school for kids. Phew!)
Chatting nervously, we got to know each other and our friendly instructor Mark (who just so happened to be from Watford) on the gondola on our way up to the Olympic Station, which is where the learner’s area is.
I’d selected the Level 1 lesson, which is aimed at complete beginners, so we started off with the ultimate basics. Putting skis on. Taking them off. Holding the poles properly. If you’ve not really skied much before but feel confident with these bits, go for the level 2 or 3 class. We practised stopping and turning on a little slope, before heading up to the magic carpet mid-morning. If you’ve never been on a magic carpet before, it’s basically one of those slow moving people conveyor belts you get at the airport, taking you up the slope which isn’t steep enough for a lift. A magic carpet is also much less intimidating for a learner than a lift.
Our first go down the learner’s slope came with only one challenge: just don’t fall over.
And you know what? I didn’t. And
I bloody loved it.
What I’d picked up in Grouse came back to me, and by the second or third go I was feeling pretty confident with making turns and stopping on command. The sun set the snow alight, so it looked like there were a thousand diamonds at our feet. Around us lay a rolling winter wonderland, the incredible Whistler Mountain rising up above us. The atmosphere was fun and lively as everyone around us had fun getting to grips with skiing. There was a sense of solidarity among us as we wobbled and narrowly missed each other. As my skis cut through the powdery snow (there had been an incredible 12cm snowfall the night before), I felt awake, alive, free.
“This is it,” I thought to myself when I completed my fourth fall-free run. “This is why people love skiing so much. I finally get it”.
Mark gave us a different task for every run down the hill: follow the person in front, make four turns, stop parallel to the slope. He tailored the lesson to each of our abilities, and I felt supported and encouraged at every point. I bid a firm goodbye to the doubts and nerves that had plagued me in the morning.
As you can see, the learner hill was also pretty empty as it's the end of the season. In my opinion, this makes April the perfect time to come if you're a learner. You don't need to worry about anyone looking at you, or ploughing into anyone by accident.
Before I knew it, it was 12pm and time to ride back down to the village for lunch. We glugged orange juice and wolfed down hearty wraps as the busy village bustled around us. We got to chat to Mark a little bit more, and discovered that he, much like everyone else (myself included), was completely in love with Whistler.
“I’m the classic story”,
he laughed. “
I came here six years ago for a ski season. And then I just never left
”.
Having packed in some energy for the afternoon, we headed back up to the learner’s slope to perfect our technique. We also used a steep ledge to practise going a bit faster controlling our speed. Time flew by – we had a good chat, admired the surroundings, and asked Mark any questions we had about skiing. It was chilled out, relaxed, and fun. I didn’t feel under pressure to push myself into what I didn’t feel comfortable with. At one point though, I did crane my neck to check up the Upper Olympic green run, which would be the next step up from the learner hill.
“
It won’t be long before you’re ready for that
”, Mark said when he noticed me looking. “
End of tomorrow, at the rate you’re going
.”
I wasn’t sure about that. Having never done a proper ski run before in my life, it felt big and scary. But so had the idea of skiing at all before my lesson. So I silently challenged myself; before the end of tomorrow, I would try that run.
As 3:30pm rolled around, so did the end of the lesson. I felt tired, but completely elated. If I hadn’t needed to head back down to the village I would have kept practising until they shut the hill.
The next day, Phil and I headed back up to the learner slope. Phil has been snowboarding since he was five, so it didn’t take him long to get bored. I sent him to investigate the green run while I had some solo practise time. It was the first time I’d been alone on the mountain, and I loved the peaceful feeling of gliding slowly down the hill, being so in control that I could ski around people when they stopped suddenly. The icy air pinched my face and fingers, the wind whipped my hair back. It was lovely.
Before long, Phil came back declaring the green run was fine, and that I’d be able to manage it. His definition of “fine” being a bit different to mine, I was dubious. But I remembered my promise to myself, and I knew I couldn’t leave Whistler without trying a run. My newfound confidence carried me on to the Olympic chair and to the top of the run. Looking down the slope, I gulped. It looked steep. Like, really steep. There was a long straight bit then a bumpy steep bit in the middle. I saw two people fail to turn and go careering off to the side on their bums.
“
There’s only one way down
”, Phil reminded me gently when he saw my expression.
So I went for it.
I probably almost snapped my poles in two from gripping them so hard as I snow-ploughed carefully down the first part, determined not to fall. I was scared, but somehow my skis knew what to do. The steep bit in the middle was a challenge; but I just kept remembering how good and confident I’d felt on the learner slope. The only difference here was the gradient. So I threw myself into it, making confident turns at some points and skidding down a bit awkwardly at others, but staying upright. I looked up at one point and found that we were already back on the learner slope which completes the run. I set my skis straight and sailed down it with ease, coming to a stop at the bottom. I’d actually done my first run.
Unfortunately though, it was time to take off our skis and return them to the rental, and I felt a definite sense of wistfulness as we did so. Thanks to my lesson, I had so much courage and confidence on the slopes, which I never thought I’d have. All I wanted was to practise more, but there was just no time. Contrary to the picture above, I'm unlikely to be Olympic standard any time soon. But I've had a solid start.
If you’re thinking of learning to ski, I would strongly recommend the Whistler snow school. I personally can’t wait to take a level two lesson. But for now, I’m counting down the days until next winter.
Have you ever skied in Whistler? Where did you learn to ski? Any tips for me? Let me know!
