Visitors to Whistler need to bring five things – extra money, sturdy shoes, patience, a sense of adventure, and some more extra money. Workers at Whistler just need patience.
Our little party of two seniors, one adult and two kids has just arrived at the upper village hotel that will be our home for the next couple of nights. Kirsty and I are patiently waiting to check in, but, unfortunately, both of the counter staff are tied up with one of ‘those’ customers. You know, the mom who moves through life like an iceberg through a fleet of leaky canoes. “You don’t understand! I know I booked from Wednesday, but I meant to book from today. And besides, my daughter has heatstroke from the car trip. She absolutely must get into a pool straight away!!”
Ah, here’s our room. Now, what to do for the rest of the afternoon? Oh good, here’s one of those helpful folios with brochures from all the local attractions. It’s mid-summer, so the options extend to things like zip-lining, marathon runs along forest trails, mountain bike adventures and, of course, that (no) bear watching tour that Nanette and I tried unsuccessfully a couple of years ago. We add up the prices. We add up our collective cash and available credit limits. Ok everyone, let’s just relax at the pool, then catch the free shuttle to the main village after dinner.
Morning dawns (as it always does). We open the curtains to see that the Blackcomb mountain gondola, which just happens to pass by our hotel, is already operating. I have one of my more inspired moments. “Hey everyone. If we climb the maintenance ladder on that tower, we could grab the rails on one of the gondolas as it passes by and get up the mountain for free!” For some reason, my suggestion is ignored, and the majority decision is to dash downstairs, grab a quick breakfast, then shuttle back down to main gondola station in Whistler village.
Even before we reach the village, we deduce that the whole Whistler area has been invaded by Poms. Our suspicions are confirmed when we see the long, but orderly line of tourists at the gondola ticket office. As we wait, a helpful young lady in Whistler uniform wanders up and down the line assuring people that, yes, the gondola is safe and, no, you can’t jump out no matter how badly the English cricket team is currently faring, and yes, that really hot thing up in the sky is called the sun – no – S. U. N. – sun.
Up we go. Nanette and I have done the gondola trip before, but it’s exciting to see it afresh through the eyes of the kids. “Look – there’s our hotel!” “I think I can see all the way to Vancouver from here!” “Where are all the bears?”
Everyone – get ready to hop out quickly when the doors open. All here? Well done! Now, we just have to follow that steep, slippy, slidey trail down to the open chairlift that goes to the peak. What? You need to … oh, yes, it probably is a good idea to go before we’re bumping along suspended a hundred feet from the ground.
To our surprise and relief, we arrive at the peak without any loose clothing, phones or children dropping through the somewhat loosely termed ‘restraining bar’ of the chairlift. Time to try out that new suspension bridge and viewing platform. Not sure the kids will be willing to brave the abyss but … hey, stop that – no you can’t jump up and down to see if you can bounce your sister off!
It’s a clear day. The sun is hot, but the breeze is cool, and the views are spectacular. Traffic on the suspension bridge is one-way, so we follow the crowd along, then up, yet another gravel track back to the chairlift station. We join the long sweaty line waiting for our turn to descend. What? You need to go again? You’ll just need to hold on until – oh, look, there’s some people getting married on mountain bikes!
It’s now early evening. We’ve successfully descended from the peak to the village via open chairlift, gruelling hike back up that steep, slippy, slidey gravel path, gondola across from Whistler peak to Blackcomb peak, then down the other gondola (the one that runs right past our hotel). We’re exhausted, but so caught up in that Whistler vibe that says “the day isn’t over until either you can’t move any further or your wallet is really, truly empty” that we’re now standing in another line, waiting patiently for a dinner table to become available. A snatch of overhead conversation more or less ‘says it all’. A family is passing by. The older teenage daughter is in a wheelchair, nursing a leg in a very new looking cast. “I know it hurts, but we’ve paid for three more days, and tomorrow mom wants to go and …”
LamondG 