Martin Griff / The Times of Trenton
Comfy, cozy and intimate aren't words I would normally use to describe a giant of the Rockies, Canadian or otherwise; especially not one with 4,200 acres of delightfully skiable terrain, 3,250 feet of vertical, 139 trails and nine lifts. Yet despite its spectacular size, stats and mountain vistas, Lake Louise somehow feels surprisingly comfy, cozy and intimate.
I’m skiing Lake Louise with Mike Moynihan, the area’s Director of Sales. The 18 inches of fresh snow that Mike promised last night has yet to materialize. We’ll just have to make do with the 12 or so that have blanketed most of the higher elevations.
We haven’t skied more than three runs together, yet it seems that instead of skiing at one mammoth ski resort, I’m constantly discovering the ins and outs of a handsome quilt comprised of many different, multi-hued patches. It’s as if each lift here marks the start of an entirely different patch or ski area. And each area has its own special character, its own unique runs and its own brand of skiers.
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A Great Place for the Kids
The Larch Area is as a great a place to warm up as any. It looks feels like a blue and green wet dream. Most of the runs off the Larch chair are wide and gently sloped groomers with playful names like Marmot and Bobcat. Skiing between the boulders in the aptly named Rock Garden, I feel like a kid all over again. “Hey Mom, hey Dad, watch this!” Mike just shakes his head.
A Killer Place for Mogul Maniacs
Directly opposite the Larch Express lies the Ptarmigan Quad. Riding up the chair we peer gape-mouthed down at the relentlessly steep and deep bumps on Exhibition. It was here that a young and fearless Mike met his Waterloo.
“At the time,” Mike explains, “I was a naturally overconfident teenager. What was supposed to be my dream glory bump run, showboating under the Ptarmigan chair, became a nightmare of such Titanic proportions, I still have trouble skiing Exhibition to this day.” (Mike, it should be noted, is a truly excellent skier; strong, smooth, fast and, Exhibition aside, utterly fearless. - ed)
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As we ride the chair, wide-eyed and drooling, we dutifully note that almost all the runs off the Ptarmigan chair are unsparingly steep and heavily treed or mogulled or both.
A Place for Lovers of The Steep & Deep
The Paradise and Saddleback Powder Bowls off Mount Victoria and the Whitehorn and Boomerang Bowls off Mount Whitehorn look and ski steeper still.
Standing at the top of Paradise Cornice, a seriously precipitous and sweet bowl made even sweeter by knee-deep freshies, Mike cautions, “You’ll want to ski between here and there for the first fifty feet. Then you can ski anywhere you like. We’ll meet up where those skiers are, down there.”
And so we ski… and ski… and ski.
At some nether point between delirium and ecstasy, I find myself wishing I could come back in springtime when a winter’s worth of snow has had time to accumulate and stabilize. When all those wicked chutes like Mineshaft, Fallen Angel, Wounded Knee, Free Fall, Gravity Pull and The Beast are open and safe to ski.
A Place That Feels Like Home
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At day’s end, we ski back down to the main base area and a whole new piece of the quilt. The runs here look to be about as wide as football fields and are only marginally steeper. To my eyes and bone-weary legs, it’s the perfect terrain for novices and beginners who are looking to develop their skills and build their confidence; and for dead tired skiers like me to call it a day.
A very sated and satisfied Mike turns to me and says, "You know, Lake Louise is so big, I can ski here every day, and never ski the same run twice. By the end of the season, I find that there's still so much more terrain that I haven't even skied." Amen.
That evening, I leave Lake Louise, scratching my head. How can something so huge feel so comfy, cozy and intimate? Is it because of its patchwork quilt of ski areas? Is it because of the drive up through mile upon mile of pristine, untouched wilderness. There are no commercial signs here. No neighboring towns. No strip malls. No gauntlet of ski-in, ski-out condos, hotels, motels, McChalets, glitzy boutiques, trendy restaurants or ‘happening’ bars vying for your almighty tourist dollar.
Or is it because when I finally stagger into the handsome Whiskeyjack lodge, at day's end, and peer under the cafeteria table, my boot bag is still there. Contents intact, just like I left it. Just like at home.
For more information, visit www.skilouise.com
About Dave Fonda
Dave Fonda
My wife, Jayne, will tell you that I’ve been living, breathing, eating, teaching, selling, watching, reading and writing about skiing since 1965. I even paid much of my way through college working in a ski shop in Montreal. Eight or nine years ago, I quit my advertising agency job and became Eastern and Senior Editor at now defunct Ski Press Magazine. I now write for nj.com and
Snow East Magazine
. I live in Waterloo, Quebec, Canada with Jayne, our dog, Zach and two cats, Smoothie and Peachie. I believe we should ski our age (at least one day for every birthday) and can’t wait for retirement.
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