Last week, Whistler hosted its 21st incarnation of its World Ski and Snowboard Festival. This season-ender-bender started out as an incentive for people to book a trip to Whistler at a time when the snow was still good, the sun out, but people’s subconscious mind had given up on snow sports for the season. So in 1996 Doug Perry started up the World Ski and Snowboard Festival as a way to keep the snow stoke well charged and bring people together under the common bond of skiing,snowboarding, and partying hard.
For much of the festival’s lifetime that is exactly what went down. The 10 days of the WSSF became a time when athletes, industry reps, artists, and fans all came together in Whistler village for a packed schedule of events that saw huge cash payouts, giveaways, networking, and a true chance for athletes to level up in their quest for sponsorship and media attention. I had lived in Whistler for 11 years so when the time came to plan a trip back, I marked my calendar for the time that is almost always guaranteed to deliver great snow, world-class music, and the odd hangover.
A snowboarder hits the flat of the final jump in the Monster Boarderstyle contest, almost an analogy to the WSSF’s delivery of their season-ending festival. Photo: Steve Andrews
I couldn’t have been more disappointed. In fact, I would have been less disappointed if they had cancelled the event altogether. At least then one could have pondered on what could have been. Instead my visit to Whistler last week was tainted with memories of festivals past where athletes pushed the limits of innovation, next year’s gear was on display to demo, brands would woo people with giveaways and epic open-bar parties, and if we were lucky, we might get a few late-season pow days for good measure. But this year, the musical acts were mostly local Whistler acts who were excited to play something other than a stale-booze-stenched bar. The athletic competition dwindled to one novelty-snowboard contest that was the brainchild of someone in Monster Energy’s marketing department. And if there were any industry types here for the week, they certainly didn’t bring any promo budget with them.
Right before the festival came out, Whistler/Blackcomb had quite the announcement to investors and the media. In a public-relations endeavour that included a SoDoSoPa-esque introduction highlighting all the amenities, the resort announced Renaissance: a $350 million investment to the resort. A waterpark, roller coaster, surf wave, and much, much more – this groundbreaking new development is poised to take Whistler’s resort experience to the future. Yet one big part of the ski resort equation seemed to have been overlooked for this huge undertaking – adding more ski terrain.
These two examples- Renaissance and the ghost of the “World” Ski and Snowboard Festival – show the direction that mega resorts are taking to keep themselves relevant. It’s an indicator that the mega resort, at the end of the day, doesn’t really care about skiing and snowboarding… or at least only cares about the sports to draw people in and sell tickets.
But their main goal is to move as many people in and out as possible, getting them to leave as much money behind as they’re able, which of course is counter intuitive to many people’s notion of the perfect day on the slopes.
One can’t really blame the executives in charge. With dwindling ski/snowboard numbers, a changing climate, and an uncertain economic future, diversification is the only way to survive. For a publically-traded company like Whistler/Blackcomb, the goal is to maximize the return on investment to shareholders. The economics of a seasonal endeavour such as skiing or snowboarding can be tricky at the best of times – throw in a bad snow year such as 2014/15, and you’ve got an investment that perhaps doesn’t look so great. So the executives are doing what they can to ensure that the stream of money keeps flowing. That’s fine.
But unfortunately they have lost their way. Whistler mountain started operation 50 years ago, the brainchild of a group of skiers who saw the huge dormant potential within the Coast Mountains. They defied all odds, and within 30 years went from complete obscurity to becoming a bucket-list destination for every skier and snowboarder on the planet. It pukes snow when it’s on, the terrain is a real proving grounds, and the village atmosphere allows one to live a balanced dualistic life of nature and creature comforts. Yet considering Whistler a “Ski Resort” has come and gone.
Are places like Red Mountain the next centers of alpine culture, or just the next four-seasons mega resort in the making? Photo: Lain Reid
I am picking on Whistler only because I know it so well, but they’re simply following suit with what is happening everywhere else. The fact is that ski resorts are transitioning to “Four Season Mountain Resorts”. In doing so, ski culture is taking a huge blow. It seems that more often than not you hear of skyrocketing prices for season passes and accommodation that make it more difficult to actually carve out a living in the mountains. The mega-amalgamation of these huge resorts also push out the small local businesses who simply can’t compete, spelling dangerous crossings for the mountain entrepreneur. Whether it’s Tahoe, SLC, Jackson Hole, or most of Colorado, the ability to carve out a living in a ski town has become increasingly more dependent on the large corporation.
A lot of bad news, yes, but I give this background only to illustrate a certain point: None of it really matters. All that is happening is the divide is increasing between the die-hards and the try-hards. Where the danger happens is when those who put their heart, soul, and sacrifice into a lifestyle revolving around mountain life lose their ability to enjoy the mountains. It’s happening now as the cost of living in mountain communities continues to skyrocket, and the dirtbag shredder is forced to work multiple jobs and share a slice of squalor for the chance to go up the hill on their time off. When that equation is too far weighted toward all work and no play, people’s behaviors will adjust. I saw it in Whistler 10 years ago when a mass exodus to Revelstoke occurred. The market is a bit slow to react, but if this trend keeps up, there will be very little core shredders at the mega resorts. In my opinion, that is perfectly fine.
Ahhh….Silverton
You can’t manufacture culture. We’ve seen the lame effects of those attempts with the perversion of the word “Extreme” over the past 25 years. What is happening now, though, is that the core locales and people will keep doing what they are doing, and a gravitational effect will happen whereby those in it for the right reasons will attract one another. The ski towns that matter will not measure success on skier visits or room nights, but by the volume of the aprés bars and the lineup for first tracks in the morning. Hype will become more and more shunned as people seek out the authentic. Places like Mount Baker, Red Mountain, and Silverton will become more of a destination than Vail, Park City, or Whistler… to a certain clientele. The big resorts will continue to grow and diversify, and attract more tourism “consumers”.
I don’t see the mega-resort as a bad thing. Well, only in that the past is gone and the laid-back culture of Whistler and many of its cousins will never be the same.
But in its shadow there will be other places to go, not the least of which is the backcountry. For even in Whistler you can find deep powder and solitude just a short jaunt out of bounds (if you have the right gear and experience). If you crave a mountain lifestyle, you can have it, you just might have to be a bit more off the grid than others. It’s there, though, if you want it. You just can’t take direction from the mega resorts on what a ski/snowboard experience looks like.
So to avoid being completely bleak and negative, I will say that the WSSF had a beacon of hope in the Halfpipe Fam Jam – a spontaneous event that was not part of the official roster of activities. For one afternoon a group of shredders came out to simply session the halfpipe like the good ol’ days. There was no prize money or TV cameras, yet some of the top pros in the area came out for the simple goal of shredding with their homies. And THAT, my friends, is what it’s all about. As long as we keep that in our sights, the mountain town may just survive.
