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Whistler Memories

snow action team 04.11.2015

Now Australian based photographer Robert Reichenfeld headed to Whistler as a 17yo ski bum back in the summer of ’74..

It really was hippy heaven, though I didn’t envy the British guy who lived in a cave.

© www.robertreichenfeld.com

© www.robertreichenfeld.com

I’m not sure where I first heard about Whistler, probably Powder Magazine, which I dutifully read cover to cover. I remember being inspired by an article titled “Me and Truck” about a ski bum travelling around different areas and having adventures. So when the opportunity came to leave school a year early, at 17, I was drawn to Whistler like a moth to a flame. “North America’s highest lift served vertical drop” of 4,250 ft at the time was a definite draw card – substantially more than the hills of 200 – 800 ft vert I was used to.
Being young and naïve, I didn’t realise at the time that Whistler had only opened in 1966, after all I was only 10 then, and that seemed like a long time before. Work was easy to get, and my first job, in the summer of 1974, was as prep cook at the Keg and Cleaver restaurant on Alta Lake. It was a day job, but thinking ahead, I lied about my age (drinking in BC was 19 at the time), so when I turned 19 (or so I said) I switched to waiter training, starting as dishwasher, before moving on to busboy and finally waiter. The tips were good and it left my days free to ski.

Now that's a pillow line! © www.robertreichenfeld.com

Now that’s a pillow line! © www.robertreichenfeld.com

One thing I couldn’t figure out during my first summer there was where the actual ski runs were. I’m not stupid, but I’d only skied in the east where we’d be lucky to get a few feet of snow all winter, at best, and mostly relied of water canons which we laughably called snow guns – people who grew up ski racing in eastern Canada, like me at the time, all became very adept at negotiating variations of boilerplate and blue ice!
Anyway, the main run to the village was called Lower Franz’s and while the trees had been felled, they hadn’t got around to clearing them yet, so it was just a jumble of big fallen trees and rocks. This didn’t make sense to me. Well by Christmas it was a playground of massive bumps, and by February, it was groomed like a highway. Amazing what prodigious snowfall can accomplish. 1974-75 was an epic winter, and even now I have fond memories of skiing pillow lines through the trees on my circa 1969 Head Killy 800 208cm SL skis.
Whistler has always been a melting pot, and a magnet for skiers and thrill seekers the world over. Even in my share house the guy in the next room was a fully trained Swiss saucier (five star sauce chef), working as a liftie running T-bars for the Garibaldi Lift Company (his shack was a welcome refuge on cold windy days), and another housemate was an American draft dodger, of which, due to the Vietnam War, there were more than a few.
The construction boom at the time meant more enterprising individuals found It easy to get building materials from the town dump, and the squatter cabins at the time were legend. Many of them close to the dump (now the location of Whistler Village) to make it easier to haul their booty home. I was lucky enough to spend some time in a cabin created out of a converted milk truck, right on the shores of Alta Lake. It really was hippy heaven, though I didn’t envy the British guy who lived in a cave.

© www.robertreichenfeld.com

© www.robertreichenfeld.com