There were a lot of hot chicks at Gaper Day this year. Unfortunately, most of the gape-hards from our crew were too old to talk to them.
Our old balls just dangled uselessly in our tattered old one-pieces as we watched girls in short shorts bail off the chairlift.
Yes yes, it’s fair to say that Gaper Day has taken on a whole new vibe. The party has reached a critical mass that’s extended well past its roots.
When we showed up at 10:15 and couldn’t find a parking spot, we knew that a large force of gapers, possibly the largest ever assembled, was about to let itself loose on Blackcomb’s closing day.
We missed the ceremonial stair race, which has always served as the official kick-off of the day’s festivities.
A party foul, to be sure. But we weren’t the only ones.
In spite of all the gapers, apparently only about 12 people risked a summer’s worth of injury on the concrete steps this year.
Either way, we got to the Wizard Chair in time to merge with a flock of dinosaurs, rockers, hot-doggers, witches and butterflies and get herded through the gates into a mandatory bag search.
TJ Burke, a local ski instructor, had to pour out an entire 15 pack of Coors Banquet beers.
Luckily Harkin Banks, a local freestyler, had been up the day before shredding the sneaky 35 cm’s that fell on May 28th.
And his backpack was carrying a bit more than his avalanche gear.
Either way, I soon discovered that my “No Nonsens” (actual spelling) one-piece was, much like milk on hot San Franciscan day, a poor choice.
I’ve learned over the years that one should prepare an outfit for a hot Gaper day, and a separate one for a cold Gaper day.
But like most lessons that I’ve learned in my life, I chose to ignore logic and wear an insulated fart sack on a day that climbed well into the double digits.
Eventually we connected with Doglotion’s Jamie Bond. And even though Doglotion has been Biglines’ sworn enemy since the inception of the internet, we established a shaky truce and started pounding out hot laps off The Jersey Cream chair.
The snow was a bit slow, but the Jersey lift line was peppered with slashable berms, rockrides and creek ollies.
Very fun times.
Jamie lamented the “lack of a cohesive gaper unit”, yearning for the days of gaper past that saw dozens of hot-doggin’ hooligans shredding en masse, human slaloming, spreading their eagles off everything in sight and generally disturbing the piste.
We managed to assemble a small but dedicated squadron of gape-hards. And we did our best to uphold the traditions as best we could:
-We rediscovered our affinity for party-shredding through melting mogul fields
-Jamie rappelled, completely unnecessarily, down the Café Cliffs (X-TREME!)
-For a few hearty souls, DEATH was chosen over DOWNLOADING
-We dished out high fives to our winter homies who we might not see until next season
-And we poured a little out for the ones who weren’t there
-We raised glasses, many glasses, to say thanks for the 2015-16 ski season
-And we laughed. Oh how we laughed.
I’m not sure what the hundreds of other gapers were doing during that time. Judging by the state of the crowd by the end of the day, I’d say they were drinking.
I’d say they were drinking a lot.
The scene at the kids’ Castle looked a bit like Wednesday night at Buffalo Bills, only all the lights were on.
And if you cut into the woods off Ross’s Gold, you ran the risk of bumping into a molly-fueled gropefest.
But that’s neither here not there. This next generation of gapers seemed to be having a nice time.
They were really given’er.
That being said, I’d say it’s on us—the gape-hards who have been to the party more than once—to lead by example next year (and this includes me).
We have to ride down the god damn stairs, load the lift at around the same time, wait at the top and open the day with a 1000-strong party shred underneath Solar Coaster.
We’ll drink beers and get weird.
But we’ll maintain enough motor control to ride the dirt down to Merlins at the end of the day.
If nothing else, there will be a lot more chicks than there were four years ago.
Huge thanks to an injured Mark Warner from the Low Pressure Podcast for hobbling around and snapping photos.
And a massive shoutout to Whistler Blackcomb for another season and also to all the staff for being such good sports on a day that’s become a fairly debaucherous affair!