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For those who dream of pristine powder and the thrill of the slopes, Fifty Places to Ski and Snowboard Before You Die maps out must-visit destinations around the globe. Stunning photographs take readers around the world, from Alaska’s Tordrillo Mountains to Switzerland’s towering Matterhorn and Chile’s legendary Portillo resort.

Need-to-know tips advise travelers on where to stay and when to go, and expert interviews reveal the rich history of each destination. As seasoned locals share anecdotes about life on the world’s most striking slopes, readers are transported from après-ski in Cortina to helicopter rides over unspoiled Alaskan powder.

Whether you’re jetting off on your next getaway or just traveling vicariously, Chris Santella’s guide will inspire any skiing and snowboarding enthusiast—amateur and black-diamond expert alike.

Why I Fly Fish:
Passionate Anglers on the Pastime’s Appeal and How It Has Shaped Their Lives

Fifty Places to Bike Before You Die:
Biking Experts Share the World’s Greatest Destinations

Fifty Places to Fly Fish Before You Die:
Fly-Fishing Experts Share the World’s Greatest Destinations

Fifty More Places to Fly Fish Before You Die:
Fly-Fishing Experts Share More of the World’s Greatest Destinations

Fifty Places to Play Golf Before You Die:
Golf Experts Share the World’s Greatest Destinations

Fifty Favorite Fly-Fishing Tales:
Expert Fly Anglers Share Stories from the Sea and Stream

Fifty Places to Sail Before You Die:
Sailing Experts Share the World’s Greatest Destinations

Fifty Places to Go Birding Before You Die:
Birding Experts Share the World’s Greatest Destinations

Fifty Places to Dive Before You Die:
Diving Experts Share the World’s Greatest Destinations

Fifty Places to Hike Before You Die:
Outdoor Experts Share the World’s Greatest Destinations

Fifty More Places to Play Golf Before You Die:
Golf Experts Share the World’s Greatest Destinations

Once in a Lifetime Trips:
The World’s Fifty Most Extraordinary and Memorable Travel Experiences

This book would not have been possible without the generous assistance of the expert skiers and snowboarders who shared their time and experience to help bring these fifty great alpine venues to life. To these men and women, I offer the most heartfelt thanks. I especially want to thank Matt Hansen, a fine tarpon angler and ski writer who helped me polish off my figurative skies after a few years off the boards and made many fine introductions on my behalf. I also wish to acknowledge the fine efforts of my agent, Stephanie Kip Rostan; my editors, Jennifer Levesque, Samantha Weiner, and David Blatty; designer Anna Christian; and copyeditor Rob Sternitsky, who helped bring the book into being. Finally, I want to extend a special thanks to my wife, Deidre, and my daughters, Cassidy and Annabel, who’ve humored my absence during seemingly endless deadlines … and to my parents, Tina and Andy Santella, who are not skiers, but always encouraged me to pursue my passions.

Growing up at the foot of the Wasatch Mountains in Utah, I was fortunate enough to have parents that encouraged skiing as a family activity. My brother, sister, and I often rode the bus to the world-class ski areas just a short distance away, an activity that fostered independence, adventure, and a thirst for powder. Those mountains rarely disappointed us, and even as youngsters, we knew we had it good.

It wasn’t long before skiing turned into an obsession: the freedom and joy of speeding downhill over a snowy landscape, the raw beauty and challenge of being immersed in an unforgiving environment, and the bonds formed with friends and family during such life-changing experiences. Today, skiing defines much of my life. It’s what I do with my family during the holidays, where I go on vacation, and how I make a living. But I never knew how deep it could take me until I stepped out of my comfort zone and started exploring new places.

During those early days of my youth, I believed all I needed was the Wasatch and later on, the Tetons. It’s true that you could spend a lifetime in those snow-bound mountains and be perfectly content as a skier. But that ignores the size and breadth of our world. I’ve since learned that few things compare to the reward and exhilaration of sliding over snow as a traveler—experiencing the same liberating sensations of skiing but doing so in an altogether different place. Consider how much fun it is to ski at Alta, Utah, or Mount Baker, Washington, or Squaw Valley, California, and then do the same thing at, say, Zermatt, Switzerland. As skiers and snowboarders, we possess the tools to enter a community or mountain environment that can instantly feel like home, even if it is very far away and has its own distinct character.

I’ve also learned that no matter where you go—from the deep snows of Japan to the steeps of Chamonix or from the gritty ski bum culture of Silverton to the international flair of Portillo—skiers and snowboarders share the same language. They might use different words, and it might be untranslatable to English, but when their faces are plastered with fresh powder, or a big smile extends over their red cheeks at a bar, you understand them perfectly. And they understand you.

Ranking such locations is often an exercise in futility. Every ski area has its own merits—it often comes down to good snow and good people—but there are specific zones that hold great influence over the sport. In Fifty Places to Ski and Snowboard Before You Die, Chris Santella expertly compiles those areas into a comprehensive guide for skiers and snowboarders looking to make their own personal pilgrimage. From the little areas at the end of a country road to huge resorts full of nightlife and high-speed lifts, Santella makes it easy to dream of what adventures may wait. Each place has its own heartbeat, soul, and culture, and each helps define what it means to be a skier or snowboarder. Having experienced even a handful of them makes me forever grateful that my parents put me on skis all those years ago. By doing so, they introduced me to a world far bigger and more beautiful than I ever could have imagined.

So before your next adventure, go through this book and pick one … or pick them all. Either way, you’ll know you’ve got it good.

Freestyle hero Glen Plake makes his way to the top of Glacier Ronde in Chamonix.

For some, the coming of winter snow means the beginning of three (or four or six) months of self-imposed exile to the great indoors. For others, it’s the time when the calendar really snaps to life.

I wrote Fifty Places to Ski and Snowboard Before You Die for those who appreciate the exhilaration of racing down a mountainside and the special sense of solitude that only an alpine snowscape can provide.

“What makes a destination a place you have to ski or snowboard before you die?” you might ask. “The chance to take in sweeping mountain scenery? To push your skills to the limit on dizzying steeps or monstrous moguls? To walk in the turns of some of the sports’ most celebrated practitioners?” The answer would be yes to all of the above, and an abundance of other criteria. One thing I knew when I began this project: I was not the person to assemble this list. So I followed a recipe that served me well in my first nine Fifty Places books—to seek the advice of some professionals. To write Fifty Places to Ski and Snowboard Before You Die, I interviewed a host of people closely connected with the alpine world and asked them to share some of their favorite experiences. These experts range from celebrated Olympiads (like Jonny Moseley, Tommy Moe, and Billy Kidd) to equipment manufacturers (like Tait Wardlaw) to journalists (like Leslie Anthony). Some spoke of venues that are near and dear to their hearts, places where they’ve built their professional reputations; others spoke of places they’ve only visited once, but that made a profound impression. People appreciate skiing and riding for many different reasons, and this range of attractions is evidenced here. (To give a sense of the breadth of the interviewees’ backgrounds, a bio of each individual is included after each essay.)

“Skiing” and “boarding” mean different things to different people. For some, it may mean a few runs on groomed cruisers before a leisurely lunch at an Austrian ski hut; for others, it may mean tracking fresh powder in the B.C. wilderness or taming seemingly impossible double black diamonds at Silverton. Fifty Places to Ski and Snowboard Before You Die attempts to capture the spectrum of alpine experiences. While the book collects fifty great ski/snowboard experiences, it by no means attempts to rank the places discussed, or the quality of the experiences afforded there. Such ranking is, of course, largely subjective.

In the hope that a few readers might embark on their own adventures, I have provided brief “If You Go” information at the end of each chapter, including the level of difficulty of each experience (based on information provided by ski areas/outfitters). The “If You Go” information is by no means a comprehensive list, but should give would-be travelers a starting point for planning their trip. (As lodging tastes/budgets may differ dramatically from individual to individual, I’ve tried to offer a general resource for lodging options. For some remote venues, there may be only one option, and it’s been provided.)

Skiing and snowboarding can be risky pastimes, especially given some of the terrain extremely advanced practitioners will attempt to tackle. It should go without saying that skiers/riders should always use good judgment and know their limitations and wear a helmet … and that when skiing/riding in the backcountry, they should go with someone who knows the terrain, and carry necessary avalanche response equipment.

One needn’t travel to the ends of the earth to find a rewarding alpine experience. A good dump of snow on your modest local hill can make for a great day. Yet a trip to a dream venue can create memories for a lifetime. It’s my hope that this little book will inspire you to embark on some new skiing and snowboarding adventures of your own.

From the upper reaches of Squaw Valley, you can spy brilliantly blue Lake Tahoe.

A skier hits a kicker on a clear day in the Northern Chugach.

Alaska

Many off-piste enthusiasts dream of one day skiing Alaska—specifically the Chugach Mountains. Tag Kleiner was no different.

“I grew up watching ski films that profiled Alaska,” he said. “The big, fast lines made an impression. It seemed like the promised land. I’d always wanted to go, but have to admit that I was scared. Over the time I’ve spent in the ski industry, I got to know Theo Meiners, who, along with Doug Coombs, pioneered heli-skiing in Alaska. I’d turned down invitations to ski the Chugach before, but when Theo invited me to come up, I decided to go. At the top of each run, I found my bottom cheeks puckering a bit with fear; at the bottom, I was ready to do it again.”

The Chugach Range rests near the top of southeast Alaska and extends roughly three hundred miles, running west to east. Because of its proximity to the Pacific, the Chugach gets from thirty to eighty feet of snow a year—more snowfall than anywhere else in the world. Thanks to cold air that pours in from the Copper River Delta, the quality of the snow is exceptional. “There are several factors that make the Chugach—and more specifically, Alaska Rendezvous—a dream destination,” Tag continued. “First, it’s the Alaska terrain: big, long, steep ramps, steep couloirs and chutes, big open bowls, with lots and lots of snow. The amount of terrain is so vast, you lose all perspective. Think of it this way: Sun Valley, from top down, is 3,400 vertical feet. Some of the runs in the Chugach have five thousand vertical feet, almost twice as much … and they begin at a fifty-fi ve- or sixty-degree pitch. It’s frightening. Second, the lodge has an amazing group of guides. These folks live for this stuff. The love they have for Alaska skiing is contagious. They work hard to make you feel safe and keep you out of harm’s way. Finally, the lodge is very close to the best skiing, and where it’s situated [about forty-five miles up Thompson Pass from Valdez] the weather is better than in Valdez. As a result, few ski days are lost because the helicopters can’t fly. You’re self-contained, with accommodations, restaurant, and bar. Many days, you can see the wall of clouds and fog that comes off the ocean and sits on Valdez. If you’re flying out of there, you’re sitting in your hotel. Where we are, it’s blue skies. On my last visit, I had six potential ski days, and we flew all six days.”

A few more statistics tell the rest of the story: Visitors to Alaska Rendezvous have access to more than 3,500 square miles of terrain; over the years, guests have skied more than 260 of the Chugach’s almost infinite peaks. The terrain has the largest vertical relief of any accessible helicopter terrain in Alaska (while many mountains are not much taller than six thousand feet, much of each mountain is skiable vertically). Lastly, skiers will cover between twenty thousand and thirty thousand vertical feet on an average day!

Tag described the experience of off-piste skiing, Chugach-style. “The helicopter rides aren’t very long because you’re already so close to the mountains. Some of the ridges you land on don’t seem big enough to support a helicopter. Once you get out of the copter and look at what it is you’re going to ski, you want off. You’re alone on the peak with your group and have to figure out how to get your gear on. Then the wait begins. Your guide goes first. You see him for about ten feet and then he’s gone, disappearing because of the pitch of the slope and reappearing in the run-out five thousand feet later. When he reaches bottom, he’ll radio up for the next person to come down. Your first turns are generally very steep—I remember a run called Happiness being especially steep. As soon as you make that first turn, you start working with the mountain. It gets very relaxing. You’re making left turns, right turns, with a big smile on your face. As you get into it, your only concern is whether or not your legs will hold out. I learned a lot on my first trip to the Chugach. One of the best lessons I came away with is that you ski in the mountain, not on the mountain. You’re in so much snow, and the pitch is so steep, it’s better to think of it this way. If you keep your wits about you and make strong turns, it can be the most incredible skiing experience you’ll ever have.”

A few of the other runs you may have a chance to experience while visiting Alaska Rendezvous include Billy Mitchell (which rises in front of the lodge), Clue Land, and Candy Land. “When you ski Clue Land, you can see the Copper River way down in the valley below,” Tag added. “You ski all the way down.”

Tag Kleiner has many fond memories of skiing the Chugach. One involves a little inspirational chat. “I’ll never forget one run I took with Theo Meiners as my guide. It was a little later in the week, and we’d been skiing progressively steeper and steeper terrain. We landed on a ridge, and after getting our gear on, Theo launched into what he must have considered to be a pep talk. ‘What percent of Alaska ski terrain is avalanche terrain?’ he asked. He answered his own question, ‘A hundred percent. Everything you see is avalanche terrain. If it happens, it’s a thirty-second event. You have to fight with all your heart for those thirty seconds if you’re to have any chance to survive.’ Then Theo turns around and is off down the mountain. I’m taking his talk in, looking at the other skiers, and thinking there’s no way I’m going first. Then the radio crackles, and Theo calls up.

TAG KLEINER is the global director of marketing at Smith Optics. Originally from Colorado, his skiing adventures have taken him all over the world to experience not only great skiing, but the amazing people that make the mountain lifestyle their passion. Tag currently lives in Ketchum, Idaho, with his nine-year-old son, Holden, and six-year-old daughter, Hazel, both of whom have been bitten by the ski bug.

If You Go

Getting There: Greater Valdez is home base for skiing the Chugach Range; it’s served by Alaska Airlines (800-252-7522; www.alaskaair.com). You can also fly into Anchorage and take a commuter flight with Era Alaska (www.flyera.com).

Season: Alaska Rendezvous Lodge operates from the first week of March through the first week of May.

Lift Tickets: A week at Alaska Rendezvous (888-634-0721; www.arlinc.com) begins at $6,500 and includes lodging and twenty-five thousand to thirty thousand vertical feet of skiing a day; shorter packages are available.

Level of Difficulty: High. The sixty-degree inclines will intimidate most seasoned skiers.

The steeps may make you think twice, but the corn snow in spring is accommodating … and many runs are but a short flight away from Tordrillo Mountain Lodge.

Alaska

Corn snow in a wilderness setting. Opportunities to view Alaska’s totemic wildlife. A pristine river teeming with trophy rainbow trout and king salmon. As the founder of a leading fly-fishing magazine and a former editor of a leading ski magazine, it’s no surprise that Tordrillo Mountain Lodge’s unique combination has some appeal for Tom Bie.

“Terrain-wise, with the glaciers and the access and the couloirs, nothing I’ve skied compares to Tordrillo,” Tom declared. “You can find some really extreme terrain, as you’d expect. But many of the landing spots with challenging conditions have big bowls below that are ideal for less experienced skiers. Tordrillo is a place where skiers or snowboarders of modest ability can experience the thrill of heli-skiing.”

And you might also get to meet and even ski with Tommy Moe, one of Tordrillo’s owners, and an Olympic gold medal winner (Men’s Downhill, Lillehammer, Norway, 1994).

Mention Alaska heli-skiing and it’s the Chugach Range southeast of Anchorage (see this page) that generally springs to mind. Tordrillo Mountain Lodge may change that. The Tordrillos are a compact range seventy-five miles northwest of Alaska’s largest city. They rest between the Aleutian Range (to the south) and the Alaska Range (to the west and north), and span some sixty miles. Several peaks eclipse the eleven-thousand-foot mark. A combination of volcanic and glacial activity through the ages has carved an endless array of couloirs and towers; many runs range from three thousand to four thousand vertical feet. (One chute, which the guides have dubbed “Manhattan,” is only fifty feet wide, and boasts one-thousand-foot walls.) With a yearly average of six hundred inches of fluffy snow and some 1.2 million acres of terrain to choose from, fresh powder (or in the spring, soft corn) is always in reach. On clear days—and there are a number of them—you can look out to see Denali (Mount McKinley) in the distance.

Your home, as you explore the Tordrillo, is a five-thousand-square-foot log cabin set on the banks of Judd Lake and the Talachulitna River (which we’ll return to later). You can look out at two eleven-thousand-foot volcanoes from the deck or from the lakeside wood-fired hot tub. During the latter part of the season, it’s not uncommon to see black bears, moose, and occasionally even grizzlies foraging around the lake or exploring surrounding hillsides.

Tom described how a typical day of late-spring skiing unfolds in the Tordrillos. “In June, it’s a pretty casual morning at the lodge. You want to give the snow some time to soften up, and the lodge is remote enough that you don’t have to compete for runs. Generally, you’re not in the helicopter until nine or nine-thirty. At Tordrillo Mountain Lodge, they use an AStar [that is, the Eurocopter AS350 B3e, known for its power, speed, and agility]. A ride in the AStar sets the tone for the day; it’s safe to say that some people are more frightened by the ride than the skiing. AStars have a lot of glass. Pilots who’ve made it this far are extremely talented, and they like to show off a little. A guest sitting next to me—a guy who’s done some skiing—grabbed my leg three times a day as we flew. I can’t blame him—it’s a little disconcerting as you fly along and suddenly a three-thousand- or four-thousand-foot cliff falls away.

“The first day out, you’ll do a few warm-up runs so the guides can get a sense of how well you ski. On my last visit, I skied with Tommy Moe for several days. He’s a hero to many people who followed his Olympic performance in 1994, and they’ll invest a considerable amount of money just to be around him. For being such an accomplished skier, he’s very patient, and has the perfect demeanor for talking to people. He and the other two owner-guides (Mike Overcast and Greg Harms) put everyone at ease; you’d follow them off a cliff if they told you to. Tommy has a way of assessing a group’s skiing ability in a levelheaded manner. He wants to push people to help them improve their abilities, and he can throw out tips on technique without being at all condescending. It was funny—at one point, Tommy jumped a little ledge and went fifteen or twenty feet in the air. One of the visitors looked at me and said, ‘How does he do that?’ I replied that this is what downhillers do when they retire.”

Despite the late start, spring skiers can expect to ski ten or twelve runs a day, with each run covering 1,500 to 3,000 feet. “You’re in Alaska in June,” Tom added. “You could ski all day and night. On my first day, it was 5:30 P.M. and we were still going. With the corn snow, even forty- to forty-five-degree drops did not seem too daunting.”

Toward the end of the season, Tordrillo segues to a program that mixes spring skiing and fly-fishing—Cast and Carve. After a morning on the slopes, guests return to the lodge and swap skis/boards for fly rods and waders and climb back into the helicopter to explore the Talachulitna. “The lodge has several hybrid kayak-rafts that are rolled up and placed in the cage of the helicopter,” Tom explained. “Then you take off downriver, looking for good spots to fish. Sometimes you can even spot pods of king salmon from the air. When you touch down, you pump up the rafts and float downstream, stopping to fish along the way. The Talachulitna is a very pristine river, like the upper Madison River in Yellowstone. It has beautiful rainbow trout; they jump like crazy. The salmon generally run fifteen to twenty-five pounds, and they’re fresh from the sea. Both Tommy Moe and Mike Overcast grew up fishing and are expert kayakers, so the Cast and Carve is a natural for them.”

TOM BIE is the founder, publisher, and editor in chief of The Drake, a respected fly-fishing journal started in 1998. Tom served as editor of Powder magazine from 2004 to 2007, and still pens ski-oriented pieces in addition to his fishing writing. Tom’s ski travels have taken him from Alaska to the fjords of Norway to Chile to Soviet Georgia. He calls Colorado home.

If You Go

Getting There: Guests gather in Anchorage, Alaska, which is served by many carriers, including Alaska Airlines (800-252-7522; www.alaskaair.com). From here, it’s a forty-five-minute floatplane ride to Tordrillo Lodge.

Season: Early February through April for ski packages; mid-June through early July for ski/fish packages.

Lift Tickets: Seven days of skiing/lodging/transportation list at $11,000; a five-day Cast and Carve visit is $8,000.

Level of Difficulty: While there are plenty of steep couloirs for the experts, the Tordrillos also have terrain well suited for intermediate skiers/boarders.

A boarder shreds at Lake Louise, one of “the Big 3” at Banff.

Alberta

Banff National Park, with its monolithic mountains, shining glaciers, and abundant wildlife, is as beautiful an alpine area as one could hope for. For skiers and snowboarders, it’s an added bonus that the park—which generally has strict limitations on commercial enterprise within its 2,564-square-mile area—is home to not just one, but three ski areas: Mount Norquay, the Lake Louise Ski Area, and Sunshine Village.

Dan Markham still recalls the first time he set eyes on the mountains of Banff. “I grew up ski racing in eastern Canada,” he began, “and at one point, I came west to compete in a race at Mount Norquay. I remember looking up at the immense peaks as we made our way into the park, wondering how it would ever be possible to ski on these mountains … though I hadn’t realized that these were just mountains, not ski areas. When we reached Norquay, I saw the lifts but still thought the mountain was a monster. It made an impression. I made my way to Calgary to go to university and raced up in Banff, and became an alpine ski instructor. After working around Calgary for a number of years, I eventually made the move to Banff—after getting engaged in Lake Louise and married in Banff! The ski areas at Banff have been part of my life for thirty-eight years!”

Banff is Canada’s oldest national park, and was established in 1885; it comprises much of the southern section of the province of Alberta’s border with British Columbia. That the region’s famed hotels (Chateau Lake Louise and Banff Springs—not to mention the ski areas—exist in the national park is thanks in large part to the Canadian Pacific Railway and the laws of supply and demand. The railroad created a supply of westbound train seats from the eastern population centers; it was hoped that some recreational centers would create a demand. The railway did not underestimate Banff’s appeal, and the park soon gained international recognition for its hiking, golf, and sightseeing. Its reputation for skiing would come a few decades later. Mount Norquay was the first ski area in the Canadian Rockies, with its first runs cut in 1926, and a rope tow built in 1941. The first permanent lift at Sunshine Village was installed in 1945. Plans for a ski resort at Lake Louise were launched in the early 1930s, though the first lift didn’t open until 1954.

Each of the three areas—which are marketed and operate under the umbrella of “Ski the Big 3”—has its unique appeal: Mount Norquay is a more intimate venue that’s popular with Banff residents, and boasts night skiing; Sunshine Village rests at the highest elevation, and thus guarantees the most snow—an average of more than thirty feet; Lake Louise serves up the Big 3’s most challenging steeps. But the eight thousand acres that the areas occupy share the distinction of being situated on a UNESCO World Heritage site, and that may be their most compelling quality. “There are many places where you can ski steeps and find great powder,” Dan continued. “Look a little harder and you can find places with great terrain without lift lines. The areas around Banff have those things, but you also have this incredible interaction with Mother Nature, both in terms of animal life and unspoiled alpine terrain. We like to joke that, in Banff, the people are fenced in and the animals roam free. Elk and deer are as common around town as dogs and cats—this in part because the ungulates feel protected here from the wolf packs at either end of the valley. Sometimes you’ll see wolves along the road; you’re fairly certain to see mountain goats approaching Mount Norquay. In the early and late season—that is, before and after hibernation—it’s not unheard of to see black and grizzly bears from the slopes. If you’ve had snow at night, everyone is out trying to get first tracks. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried to get the first tracks, only to find I’d been beaten—there’d be cougar, elk, or wolf tracks on the hill.

“I like the fact that the resorts are not crowded with condos. That can create a feeling of congestion. Though Banff is definitely a tourist town, winter is our off-season. It’s just not crowded. If you’re into backcountry skiing, your options are endless. You can go up a chairlift, go through a gate to the backcountry, and you have thousands of acres where there’s no mechanized access. Or you can drive along the road between Banff and Lake Louise, see a line you like, pull over, and off you go.”

Like so many seasoned skiers, Dan has found himself seeking new challenges. After about fifteen minutes on a snowboard, he set his sights on telemarking, and that’s where he’s focused his energies the last ten years. “We’re still a minority on most hills, the Big 3 included,” he said, “but there’s some great teleterrain at all three areas. Whitehorn Chutes at Lake Louise is a series of consistent couloirs that fan out to nice powder. They’re almost hourglass shaped. You can always get fresh tracks in there, though you have to let the chutes settle a few days after a big snow. Over at Sunshine Village, I like Bye Bye Bowl. It’s a long, constant fall line with a concave roll near the top of the mountain. You can drop left or right; either way, you come down to a bowl. It faces south, and there’s tremendous sunshine on a clear day. At Norquay, it’s not the runs that get me so much as the social experience, especially at night. It’s only five minutes from home. It’s fun to see friends, grab a pint, and take a few runs.”

Given Banff’s unspoiled beauty, one can anticipate some tremendous views from the Big 3. “The alpenglow when the sun first breaks is beyond belief,” Dan said. “At Sunshine, you see it reflecting off of Mount Assiniboine. At Lake Louise, it’s best from the summit or near the Poma lift. When I see that early alpenglow, my day is made. Whatever happens after doesn’t matter.”

DAN MARKHAM has been skiing at the three resorts at Banff for almost forty years. He is a certified instructor in alpine and telemark skiing, and sits on the Canadian Avalanche Centre’s board of directors, acting currently as vice president. After stints with various ad agencies, the Alberta premier’s office, and the Canadian Pacific Railway, Dan now serves as director of marketing and sales at Ski Banff–Lake Louise–Sunshine.

If You Go

Getting There: Visitors generally fly into Calgary, which has worldwide service on many major carriers. Banff and the Big 3 are a ninety-minute drive away.

Lift Tickets: Tri-area day tickets run $89.95 CAD; multi-day tickets are available. Tickets include night skiing at Mount Norquay and use of the shuttle service between the three hills. See details at www.skibig3.com.

Level of Difficulty: The Big 3 offer varied terrain over almost eight thousand acres. Difficulty is rated 22 percent beginner; 45 percent intermediate; 33 percent advanced.

Accommodations: You’ll find a host of lodging options and packages at www.skibig3.com.

The odds of finding another skier on the Antarctic Peninsula are fairly low … though you may get a first descent.

Antarctica

“Antarctica is like a rose,” adventurer Doug Stoup ventured. “There are many thorns, but its inner beauty is just insane. You can have forty-knot winds and temperatures of forty degrees below zero. But then again, where else can you ski down an empty mountain right to the sea and be greeted by scores of whales, hundreds of seals, and thousands of penguins? Over twenty-seven expeditions [to date], I’ve really fallen in love with the continent.”

Antarctica is not one of the world’s most welcoming places. This is evidenced by the fact that there are no indigenous people on the continent, despite the fact that it encompasses more than 5.5 million square miles, roughly 1.5 times the size of the United States! (A contingent of five thousand scientists from the twenty-seven nations that are signatories of the Antarctic Treaty maintain a year-round presence on the continent; another twenty-five thousand or so tourists visit each season.) A great majority of the landmass—an estimated 98 percent—consists of ice and snow that has an average thickness of seven thousand feet; scientists believe that up to 70 percent of the world’s freshwater is contained here. Put another way: If the ice stored in Antarctica were to melt, the world’s oceans would rise two hundred feet. While precipitation can reach the equivalent of thirty-six inches of water on the Antarctic Peninsula, the continent’s wettest region, only an inch of precipitation reaches the South Pole. During the winter months, when temperatures hover in the balmy range of –40°F to –90°F, seawater surrounding the continent freezes up to two hundred miles offshore, covering an area even larger than Antarctica’s landmass. In the summer (December through March), the freeze recedes, and a brief window opens for sailing to the more northerly portions of Antarctica. The continent is quite mountainous, with peaks (like Vinson Massif) more than sixteen thousand feet high; the lure of scaling a never-before-climbed peak has attracted many adventurers.

Given its location and inhospitable terrain, it’s not surprising that the Antarctic continent went undiscovered until fairly recent times. Captain James Cook, in his relentless search for the “southern continent,” crossed the Antarctic Circle in 1773 and again in 1774, though ice prevented him from ever reaching the landmass itself. (He did, however, come upon New Zealand and Tahiti on this voyage.) Sealers and whalers worked the icy waters around Antarctica in the early 1800s, and subsequent national expeditions sponsored by Britain and Russia confirmed that the landmass was indeed a continent and not merely a collection of islands. Over the next one hundred years, many expeditions were led to Antarctica. One of the most scientifically productive was the Belgica expedition, conducted by the Royal Geographical Society of Brussels in 1897–9; certainly the most famous was Sir Ernest Shackleton’s 1914 attempt to cross the Antarctic continent on foot. (Despite having their ship Endurance crushed by pack ice some eighty miles offshore, Shackleton and his crew emerged after a twenty-month ordeal—including an eight-hundred-mile crossing in an open boat—with no loss of life.)

Suffice it to say, a ski trip to Antarctica is not well suited for the occasional traveler or casual alpinist. First, there’s the crossing of the Drake Passage—almost five hundred miles, from Cape Horn to the Shetland Islands, at the northern tip of the continent. Whether you’re on a larger, expedition cruise ship or the seventy-five-foot Australis