April 2007 | Escape the Pace
Escape in the Clouds
By Crai S. Bower
All obligations drop away as we cut over the Kicking Horse Ski Area and descend deep into the Purcell Mountains. We’re ten minutes and four ridges away from setting down on Bald Mountain, home of Purcell Mountain Lodge, a backcountry gem nestled in the Canadian Rockies. Chopper Access Only means “you can’t get there from here,” though you can hike in and out in the summer.
I’ve awaited this trip for several years, vacillating between skiing virgin runs and wandering along the glacially fed creek beds amid a profusion of alpine wildflowers. I finally chose winter when my friend and renowned Seattle architect, Ray Johnston, offered to join me.
Purcell Mountain Lodge, which rests on the largest alpine meadow in Canada, serves as the ideal “turn off, tune out” locale for several reasons. First, it is so remote that even the materials used for construction of the post and beam structure were delivered by helicopter. Second, the lodge resides completely off the grid, utilizing hydroelectricity from a nearby stream. The lodge, which constructed its own water treatment facility, was awarded a 2004 Starfish Award for environmental excellence from the Oceans Blue Foundation.
Summer or winter, Purcell remains the El Dorado of destinations. Though I traveled this time to ski, huge blankets of spring blooms, lumbering bears and migrating elk tantalize the summer visitor. Long trails invite hikers of all levels, while the sedentary take up residence on the deck off the library—watching the day unfurl, spread out and close like a good read.
Ray and I first spy the lodge as the A-5 banks past Sir Donald, the region’s highest peak at 10,816 feet. To the south we spy Copperstain Mountain (8,000 feet). We note fresh tracks down the face, a series of Nordic purls stitched together from craggy peak to the top of the tree line where, we’ll discover later, the giddy run becomes hysterical.
The lodge stands like a lone caribou in the enormous meadow. Covered in snow, it would be easy to miss—the obvious intention of founder Paul Leeson, who developed the idea of a luxurious backcountry chalet while guiding telemark tours through the 200-million-year-old range. Leeson originally built a yurt at the headwaters of the Spillmacheen River to accommodate guests. In the summer of 1989, along with many hands, he began construction of the lodge. The first visitors arrived at Christmas.
Inside, we meet guides François Xavier (F.X.) and Kelsey, Bonnie the New Zealand housekeeper, and rocker-cum-chef extraordinaire Stéphan, a magi of the kitchen (he concludes each evening’s menu description with a song). The young and zealous crew beams, reflecting their good fortune to work here, always the best selling point in hospitality.
As lead guide, F.X. provides a comprehensive avalanche awareness course and practicum. Though the conditions and slopes here make avalanches extremely rare, we are in the backcountry, so no skiing without first finding a few buried beacons. Once we pass the test, we apply skins, an adhesive carpet material, and begin our trek up Heartbreak Hill.
I assume “skinning up” will prove an exercise in random thoughts, but twenty minutes can pass completely void of thought. Talk about escaping. If I wasn’t working so many new muscles I’d assume I was dreaming.
Suddenly, and to my joy, F.X. calls “skins off.”
I’ve only skied ten yards when I feel the backcountry hook. It isn’t the lack of lift lines, but the insane freedom of coursing down a totally open slope in thigh-high powder, no people, no sounds, just me, a hill and the snow. And then we hit the trees, with more lines to follow than a Matisse painting. Soft snow invites aggressive turns, the 45-degree pitch is an afterthought. We finish, skin up and repeat.
Spent yet strangely energized, we return to the lodge. Stéphan’s menu, elk tenderloin stuffed with wild mushrooms and chévre, carrot and leek sauté, and brandied asparagus followed by amaretto pecan pie suggest we’re dining in Yaletown or Belltown, not a mile and a half above sea level, sequestered beneath the heavens.
Ray, awed by the skiing and seduced by the “local” wines and exceptional cuisine, nods his satiated approval. We make plans to revisit Canada’s largest alpine meadow—filled with purple asters, Indian paintbrush and lupine come August.
Crai S. Bower spends plenty of time in downtown Seattle and Vancouver, reviewing restaurants and hotels. ‘Escape the Pace’ provides him with the opportunity to ‘turn off ’(the road) and ‘tune out’ (the wold).
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