Wednesday night I packed up my home in Fernie and towed it to Red’s lower parking lot, which slid in undetected. The McDirty brothers had booked the Chateau Bolerosa for the week, while I slept in the luxury of an A-frame (thanks to F.A.R.). While unqualified skiers waited for Red’s notorious fog to clear off the Lynx run, I hooked up with some friends to scope Roberts, and rip some hidden powder. One of Red’s attractions, in addition to the friendly low key locals, is the week old patches of ‘fresh’ snow. The 3:00 lift closure gave us an early start on the après ski scene, followed by the 5:00 meeting, where we were informed that all men would ski Lynx for day 1 – lame, but it had to be done.

With competition on our minds the Fernie crew headed to the Rock Cut for a quiet bite to eat. As I arrived, my mind flashed back to previous years’ events at this pub; a half hour long, twenty-person snowball fight with strangers, along with some borderline-legal mishaps, which will remain unspoken. Once inside, I realized my detest for reading menus, so I let Auntie Marnie order for me as I grabbed a picture of beer and schooled McRealdirty in some ‘Big Buck Hunter’. As time slipped by, bucks were slayed, and beer was swilled; food was forgotten, ice and fries were thrown, guns were drawn, dogs were roam’n, and beer was spilled. The Fernie crew was on the verge of getting rowdy, so I had to remind them of our mission and call it a night.

Friday’s Lynx line was rough and intensity was low; my head hurt, and body was weak from the tail end of a cold and lack of sleep. A quick bite to eat and a snooze on the long, aptly named Motherload chare recharged my mind and body for some more ripping with friends, Reubarb and Vonwhorelickstein in particular. At the 5:00 meeting informed us of the twenty some men who were qualified for Roberts, and the sixty who were qualified to party; I was one of the lucky later. Throughout the night different games were created, such as the ski pole toss through the A-frame and out the door at beer bottles; finding creative, painful body parts to rub muscle relaxant on, sliding rails on foot, drinking contests, more fry throwing, bumper shining, and once again, trash talking - gun slinging video games. The women of our crew, who were I’m sure bitter at us boys, received the pleasant surprise of seeing their favourite judge standing fully equipped with nothing but a towel, which he used as a cushion to lean against the motel door frame.

Saturday morning came early, people puked, Chateau Bolerosa leaked smoke, Baileys was downed, and we were back on the skis. Judges put their cloths back on, while the ladies mentally took them back off; and qualified skiers waited, somewhat Poon style, for Roberts to clear. Meanwhile, I hooked up with friends to shoot some pics, laugh, joke, freeski, and enhance my appreciation of life. 3:00 came just in time to quench my thirst and poach a hot tub in preparation for the nights’ celebration. Four members of the KB (Kootney Brigade), and two Whistlerites stood on podiums, drinking and spraying champaign as drunken masses cheered. An intermission on stage allowed for more pops, as the infamous Toques prepared to rock out. And rock out they did, attracting the migratory crowd from the loft, many of which were beautiful ski bunnies that knew the meaning of giver. At times, Holden joined the instruments with his freestyle talent; skiers pressed their asses against the window for an interesting backdrop to the set, and everyone boogied to the beats. Around the unprepared bar sold out of all alcohol, the Toques shut things down and people boarded in and on the short bus, dispersing to other parties throughout Rossland.
Sunday allowed for some quick laps before packing up stinky gear and driving home. Once again this was a fulfilling trip that stressed the body but relaxed the mind. I am already anxious for next years tribal gathering, where I will once again meet new and interesting faces, and catch up with old familiar ones.

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Other Articles by Daryl Treadway:

Mike Berard Interview
The Castle: Always STEEP and once again DEEP