Automatic First Down

Staring down a snow-choked chute that has never been skied, I take a shallow breath and shift my eyes to the horizon. All around me, craggy Canadian Rocky peaks pierce the cloudless sky; in the distance, British Columbia’s Kinbasket River slithers through the valley. Looking down again at the untouched powder below, I see my guide, a former ski racer who has performed all requisite avalanche precautions, waving encouragingly from the bottom of the run.

Skiing a first descent is an honor usually reserved for professional ski mountaineers, not recreational skiers like me. But clients of Mica Heli-Skiing, an operator based 90 minutes outside of Revelstoke, B.C., have opportunities aplenty: Of the 9-year-old company’s 250,000 skiable acres, 100,000 acres remain largely unexplored.

Mica’s clients have the option of joining a small group trip or reserving a dedicated Bell 407 helicopter for private use (priced from $55,385 per four-person group for four days, all-inclusive). Complete with two certified guides and a pilot, Mica’s Private tour offers more flexibility and greater access to the largely unskied sections than do the company’s Classic and Premium tour options. "First descent runs are possible on every Private tour, and will be for years to come," says company president Paul Norrie.

On average, 40 to 60 feet of British Columbia powder falls annually on Mica’s property, which is located on the western side of the Rockies. The skiable terrain ranges from steep faces and alpine bowls to low-angle glaciers and forested glades.

The run I am standing over, set well above the timberline at 8,000 feet, is an intermediate-level chute. Once I push off from the peak, I quickly find my rhythm in the powder. White plumes of snow spray again and again in my wake as I bob out of one turn and into the next. I soon reach the bottom, where my guide greets me with a smile. "What are you going to call it, eh?" he asks.

Indeed, with so many first descents at its disposal, Mica offers several guests the chance to name some of their runs. And there is no shortage of runs on a Mica trip: We pack in a walloping 24,000 vertical feet on this day, which is the norm here but far above industry averages of about 14,000 feet.

Following our day on the slopes, we fly back to Mica’s seven-bedroom, helicopter-access-only log homestead, where freshly made cookies, platters of bruschetta, and après-ski cocktails await. The lodge, which was upgraded in 2010 with 1,000-thread-count sheets and a new kitchen, is set on a plateau about a half-mile above Kinbasket Lake. (A second, more luxurious lodge with 14 bedrooms is scheduled to open for the 2012–13 season.)

Before diving into cocktail hour—or making our way to the masseuse and two hot tubs—my fellow skiers and I crowd around the bulletin board, which posts each person’s daily vertical and what runs they skied. I find my tally and, next to it, the entry for my newly anointed run. Named after my mother, who taught me to ski, Lolly’s Line is now on the map for future Mica clients to try.

Mica Heli-Skiing, 250.837.6191, www.micaheli.com

— Kelley McMillan

“There is gold in them thar hills”. I’m not certain where that phrase came from, it’s been a century since Western Canada’s last “great Gold Rush” brought hoards chasing the dream, but it strikes a chord in me every time I hear it. In the last decade another “rush” has surfaced in British Columbia – the rush to open up BC’s backcountry skiing, the rush for “white gold”. Not the kind you put on her finger, the kind that blankets the mountains out west; deep, dry powder snow.
Geographically, British Columbia is the ideal location for skiing and boarding. The province is blessed with millions of kilometers of vast mountain ranges, constant precipitation from the Pacific Ocean and cold Arctic air from the north. It’s the perfect formula to produce a consistently deep snow pack December through April and the result is the best skiing and boarding on the planet.
Six years ago I left the city and headed for the backcountry to chase my dream. There was no better place to go than Revelstoke BC, arguably the Heliskiing capital of the world and definitely in the heart of the backcountry white gold rush.
It was at that time that the government decided to exploit BC’s most unique and bountiful winter commodity – backcountry skiing. Previously to secure a vast portion of crown land for catskiing or heliskiing would take a minimum of ten years (ironically called a tenure). With the goal of doubling the number of backcountry skier days, the government guaranteed a 140 day turnaround for tenure applications. The resulting rush to open Catskiing and Heliskiing operations created a boom in BC’s backcountry.
Today over 95% of the world’s Catskiing and Heliskiing is done in BC at over fifty (yes 50) backcountry operations in the Province. Recession? You wouldn’t know it. With options for single day Catskiing trips at $350/day, to private Heliskiing tours for $20,000/week there is no shortage of skiers and boarders, intermediate to expert from all over the globe, rushing to BC for the white gold.
Why would someone pay $20,000 to go skiing? It’s impossible to explain in words. The rush is far beyond a powder day on a ski hill. In the backcountry there is no bottom, there are no tracks, just lap after lap of deep virgin powder and after every run you’re convinced it’s the best day of your life. To quote one of our regular guests “it’s without exaggeration, the nearest to Nirvana a skier or boarder can go”. It’s one of those things you have to do to understand but don’t worry, you won’t need $20k to enjoy the rush.
Snowcat skiing (think of the grooming machines you’ve seen on a ski hill but imagine room for 12 passengers) has become very popular in North America with the largest growth in the last decade. At less than half the cost of Heliskiing, and no issues with flying in bad weather, it’s no wonder why.
Powder Cowboy Catskiing near Fernie B.C. boasts 6000 acres of big bowls, steep chutes and is famous for “world class” gladed tree skiing. The white gold on the Western Rockies is legendary for quality and quantity, with over 10 meters (over 30 feet!) of dry champagne powder falling every season. The best part, all that snow and terrain is reserved for only 12-24 guests per day. It’s like having your very own private ski resort (Whistler has 4750 acres and a lift capacity of 34,000 skiers per hour) but better! 
Powder Cowboy Catskiing is moderate in price - single day trips for $350/day and 3 day inclusive tours starting at $1800 - but excessive in experience. Guests stay at The Bull River Guest Ranch, an active dude ranch in the summertime, which has a new multimillion dollar post and beam lodge with large dining room, bar, indoor and outdoor fireplaces, stone floors, wireless internet and retail store. The Powder Cowboy guests stay in cozy log cabins with a true western feel. Après skiing amenities include a massage service, outdoor hot tub, sauna and games room. Every night their “Red Seal” chefs prepare a fabulous gourmet feast that will be as memorable as the skiing and riding.
One mountain over in the Lizard range of the BC Rockies sits the legendary Island Lake Lodge Catskiing. Immortalized on film in the early 90’s by filmmaker’s like Greg Stump, the images of Scot Schmidt and the late Craig Kelly (both were investors in Island Lake) shredding its magnificent mountain peaks, deep dry powder and 800 year old-growth forest created a two year waiting list just for a seat.
Island Lake was the catalyst for the white gold rush to follow, and an anomaly in the industry as the only Catskiing operation in the world to own its operating lands - 7000 acres of perfectly gladed, private ski terrain. Twenty years later, Island Lake is the largest Catskiing operation in British Columbia hosting up to 36 guests at a time in three snowcats. It continues to lead the industry as the most luxurious and decadent Catskiing operation, with four lodges, a full spa, hot tubs and a 3000 bottle wine library. Island Lake recently put out a cookbook with Whitecap Publishing, which is on the way to becoming a Canadian best seller. Island Lake is high end Catskiing at its finest - single day trips for $390/day and 3 day inclusive tours starting at $2679 – and thanks to the white gold rush, now you can actually get a seat.

For those of you happy to exchange the “gold in your pocket for white gold in your face” the ultimate Heliskiing or Heliboarding experience is Mica Heli Guides. This is it, small group Heliskiing: just you, three friends and a quarter million acres of the best ski terrain and deepest driest snow on the planet.
Mica Heli Guides tenure is one and a half hours north of Revelstoke BC. Deep in the backcountry and accessible only by helicopter, Mica Lodge and Chalet provide all the luxuries you would expect from a high end heli lodge - gourmet meals prepared by a professional chef, massage room, ski shop, retail area and living room with Satellite TV and wireless internet. Three day “Classic” tours start at $4990 Canadian, and a “Private” week runs $18,250.
Forget down days! A bold statement from a Heliskiing operation, but one that Mica Heli Guides can back up. Over the last 7 years Mica Heli Guides has averaged only 1.5 ‘no fly’ days per season! Mica’s unique location, situated between the moisture laden Monashee Mountains and the cooler air of the Rockies, produces weather patterns that provide consistent, deep, dry powder from December through April.  On the rare day they’re not able to fly, they go Catskiing. Bottom line is you’ll be skiing or riding every day!
Catskiing and Heliskiing in the BC Rockies are “top of the must do” list of every serious skier or boarder. Once you get a taste of the white gold there is no turning back, that powder is highly addictive and there’s no substitute. It’s now September and the rush has begun in Revelstoke. Another epic season will soon be upon us. Snow has been falling up high, winter is in the air and one thing is for certain; “there is cold in them thar hills”.

Darryn Shewchuk

Into the Deep - by Martin Olson for Canadian Powder

What are you waiting for? Perfecting your powder technique is practice anyone can enjoy

Who can remember when powder skiing was considered the last domain of expert skiers? A myth has grown that deserves to be exposed. The truth is that any skier with fair technical skills can enjoy powder. If you can carve a reasonable parallel turn, then the right skis and a bit of courage is all you need to take the plunge and enjoy the greatest sensation in skiing-and one of the greatest sensations in life! This issue has several tips to better surf the pow but the first step is to exorcise the Big Four common mistakes:

Common Mistake No. 1:
SITTING BACK
Skis will bend easily in powder and work better in the snow. Stand in the middle with a normal, balanced position. Turns will be easier, and your thighs will thank you, too.

Common Mistake no. 2:
MAKING ONE TURN AT A TIME
Powder needs rhythm. Think of the path as a serpentine track, not a left turn and then a right, then another left… Start with small turns and make them rounder as speed increases. Make up and down movements rhythmical as well, so you flow down the hill instead of zigzag.

Common Mistake no. 3:
FEET TOO FAR APART
A wide stance on eastern hardpack may increase stability, but in soft snow it can have the opposite effect. Although it sounds counter-intuitive, keeping your feet together helps keep your weight equally distributed and is a big boost to balance.

Common Mistake no. 4:
SKIING TOO SLOWLY
Point the skis downhill and let the power that comes with a bit of speed turn a struggle with the snow into controlled, effortless, swooping turns.

BONUS TRAINING TIP:
Have you noticed that you don't need powder to practice these pointers? Powder prep can be done on almost any skiable slope, so when you step out of the helicopter and Mike Wiegele says, "Follow me," or you're simply following your kid into the trees at your home hill after the dump of the season, you'll be first in line.

As The Crow Flies - by Colin Adair

Now, I'm not one to buy a pig in a poke, but every once in a while you get an offer you can't refuse. How about an all-inclusive heli-boarding trip to a little-known place called Mica Heliskiing on the western shore of the Rocky Mountains? Throw in a crew that includes snowboarding legend Jamie Lynn (filming for Oakley's upcoming The Community Project) and you've got yourself a deal. A no-brainer, for sure.

But we all know snowboarders can be about as organized as two left feet, right? When it comes to finalizing the details of a snowboard trip, it can often be a case of the blind leading the blind. I wasn't about to miss the boat on this one, though, even after the rider roster flip-flopped like a cold fish on a hot day. I received a series of phone calls from cameraman Gabe Langlois in the months preceding this trip. It went something like this...

"Hey, Colin, it's Gabe. I'm putting a trip together to Mica Heliskiing in March with Tyler Lepore, Travis Rice, Bryan Iguchi and Jamie Lynn. Seven days of Heli-boarding. Interested?"

"Does a bear shit in the woods?"

(One month later)
"Yo, Colin. Gabe here. The trip has changed a little. Iguchi and Lynn are out, but Bjorn Leines is in with Tyler and Rice. Cool?"

"As a cucumber."

(Two weeks later) "Colin, it's Gabe. I just got back from Japan. So epic, but I didn't call to brag. Jamie Lynn is back in for Mica Heli Guides, and Iguchi is still out. Bjorn might be out, so we're looking for someone else. Trevor Andrew? Kyle Clancy, maybe? Rice and Lepore are in for sure, though. We'll figure it out soon, OK?"

"A watched pot never boils, my friend."

(Two days before the trip) "OK, Bjorn can't get away from the X Games, so he's out. Kyle Clancy is a definite. So are Jamie, Tyler and Travis. Things are looking good. We'll meet you at the heli pickup at the Mica dam. Hope that's to your liking? If not, too late, fool!"

"Kosher."

(The night before the trip) "Hey Colin, it's Gabe. I was supposed to pick up Travis in Kelowna at the airport, but he got turned away by customs. He's gonna try to sort it out, but I don't think it's gonna happen. We're looking for a replacement right now. See you at Mica Heli."

"These things are sent to try us, Gabriel. Adieu."

And that's the way the cookie crumbles when you're dealing with the logistics of professional snowboarding. You've got to change horses midstream, roll with the punches, zig with the zags, and let sleeping dogs lie. I hadn't been heli-boarding in donkeys' years, so it really didn't matter who was coming. All I know was that birds of a feather flock together. So when all was said and done, we'd have a kickass crew to work with. Who am I to upset the apple cart, anyway?

When you explain to people, both inside and outside of snowboard culture, that you're going on a heli-boarding trip, there are always crocodile tears. When they ask who's going and you say, "Jamie Lynn," there's a twinge of something else in there. Better to tell the truth and shame the devil, I always say. It's the type of trip most people only dream of going on, something you see in glossy magazines and fancy videos. I consider it my duty to go on these trips and have these experiences for each and every one of you. It's a sweetheart deal, my friends. Somewhat lopsided, of course, but we each benefit in our own way. My job is to bring home the bacon for all of you to see, smell and taste. I take it very seriously.

Mica Heliskiing is a first-class operation. It hung out its shingle two seasons ago and quickly gained notoriety in many ski and snowboard publications. With 4,700 square kilometres of terrain to choose from, 12 to 18 metres of annual snowfall (40 to 60 feet), and only 15 percent of the terrain actually ridden, you can't ask for much more. It's a fly-in, fly-out operation based on Kinbasket Lake, about two hours north of Revelstoke. The lodge is mint, the food top-notch, and the only thing to complain about is what's on the satellite TV.

Now, a seven-day heli-boarding trip isn't all fun and games: there's serious pressure. How can I get the window seat in the helicopter again? What shades should I rock? iPod or no iPod? The biggest problem, really, is the weather. Obviously, you can only fly in certain conditions (although you'd be surprised just how bad those conditions can be). It all boils down to logistics. How much heli time to burn each day? What's the weather forecast? What time is the sunset? How's the snow on the north aspects? You don't want to bet on the wrong horse and use up all your flying time because bad weather might be coming in. At the same time, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, so when it's sunny, the temptation to fly willy-nilly is tremendous. None of this matters if your budget is unlimited, but even for us media slobs, the well can run dry. Killing the goose that lays the golden egg is a great way to get yourself a front-row seat at the unemployment office.

Helicopters are a strange and fantastic invention. Watching them land and take off is one thing, but being in one while it's flying is the business. The exhilaration is almost enough to make you forget about how many dollar bills are flying out the window each second. As the crow flies is the only way to work with a helicopter. It's not a sightseeing trip; there are lines to be bagged and snow to be plundered. Every rider is different in what he sees and what he wants to ride, so keeping everyone happy can be tricky. Luckily, this trip was organized Dutch-treat style, so everyone had an equal say. However, the squeaky wheel gets the oil, so some individuals often benefit more than others.

The heli-boarding experience is as much fun as it is stressful. The situation can get at sixes and sevens in no time. Flying time adds up quickly as the group decides what to ride, where to land, and where to shoot. Communication in the helicopter is limited to headsets, and only one person can speak at a time. Red herrings pop up like spawning salmon in a shallow stream. Frustrations can rise quickly, and decisions can be rushed in order to minimize flying time. If you didn't pee before takeoff, then all you want to do is land. Anywhere. Quickly. But the riders will hum and haw and ask for another pass to look at another line while you suffer in silent agony. Damned if you're not gonna throw a homie to the wolves next time he asks you to scope his landing.

Once touched down, it feels as if you can let the grass grow under your feet (and safely piss at will - downwind, of course). The calm and quiet of the mountains takes over, and everything returns too normal. It can be easy to put the cart before the horse, but with each passing hour the crew's horse sense grows. Getting down to business comes easily once boots are strapped onto boards.

Speaking of boots, Tyeson carmody had big ones to fill when he replaced Travis Rice. Fortunately Tyeson has size 13s. Gabe and I have had the pleasure of riding and filming Tyeson in the past, and we're familiar with all the feathers in his cap. The others in our group weren't as familiar with his riding, but after multiple sick lines everyone could see that this cat lands on his feet. One more than one occasion, he looked like the cat that swallowed the canary. I'm pretty sure he was just trying to impress on of his childhood riding idols, though.

The name Jamie Lynn takes many shredders to a nostalgic place in their memories - right next door to that place your dad goes when he talked about his high-school years. His contributions are priceless. The man is a living legend yet remains active through his art, graphics and soulful riding for Lib Tech snowboarders. Most pros cite him as an influence, while others just refer to him as Mr. Lynn. Sitting next to him in the heli was a thrill for each of us in our own way. The effortless style he's so famous for was evident as he made easy turns down steep faces. We weren't about to polish the apple raw and ruin it for him, but we were in the presence of someone very respected. And when he talked, we listened.

Tyler Lepore is one of the most underrated snowboarders out there. That's not to say he isn't respected or known, but few realize how good he actually is. He makes it all look like duck soup and goes whole hog with a style you can't label. His stature and off-snow personality are a stark contrast to his fast, aggressive riding.

Kyle Clancy was the first to admit he was a fish out of water in the big-mountain terrain. Mostly known for hitting big jumps and rails, Kyle didn't have itchy palms when it came to picking lines. Instead, he surveyed the landscape and made hay while the sun shined by bagging one of the best lines of the trip. There was no casting pearls before swine with this guy. He loved every minute of this Spring Break in Canada.

Downtime on a heli-boarding trip is difficult. You know what's out there, and you're dying to reach it. Every break in the clouds is a glimmer of hope that you'll get another chance to go back to the salt mines. Time is finite, and each day that passes without leaving the lodge feels like an eternity. Poker games, music ,movies, catnaps and hot tubs are all fine time-killers, but none keeps you from constantly looking out the window. Each morning for us was met with cloudy skies. This meant late starts and missing the light on the north-aspect slopes, which always have the best snow in the spring. However, this also meant amazing conditions once the clouds parted. A stable snowpack saw new deposits several times during the week and fresh snow to cover old tracks.

The strange reality of snowboard trips is that even though they're all the same, they're never alike. The quest for good snow, good times, adventure and fun hasn't changed since the first Neanderthal threw a couple of mammoth tusks under his hairy feet and slid down a snowy slope. Whom you travel with, where you go and what happens while you're there is always what makes a trip stand out. If you want the trip of all trips, booking a week at the Mica Heli Lodge is the way to go. It's the ultimate experience, but unfortunately it comes with the ultimate price tag. However, the road to hell is paved with good intentions and the proof of the pudding is in the eating.

Skimbaaja

The chopper hovered in from of the cliff wall known as Pillow Talk, Heliskiing, British Columbia. Team riders Christian, Sara, Moss and Karla scouted out their lines. The helicopter landed with only one skid on a knife sharp ridge, dropping of the skiers more or less in motion.

The cliff wall had ledges that they could jump down on, step by step. It was like skiing down a giant staircase. On every "step" there was 3 meters of snow. From above it looked totally white. But from the bottom looking up we saw mostly the cliffs, and they were completely black. It was difficult to understand how they were able to find their way down and hold the planned line in a safe manner. In any event, each team member took off from their respective starting points and succeeded, via a number of long, flying leaps, to make their way, cheering, to the bottom. Cool to see such awesome skiing in such a fantastic environment.

After having skied some of the "sickest" lines ever, we took a breather farther down in the woods. We waited for the sun to show itself from behind the fast moving clouds so that Therese, the photographer, could continue to shoot. It was a long wait. Time passed and we began to lose our patience.

Suddenly we heard Karla's opera singing over the area. She is a trained singer and now she let loose with an Italian aria. And as the cream on the top, that old time favorite, Summertime. Opera songs in Pillow Talk, what a treat! We others stood and leaned on our poles and listened. Not an eye was dry. But, dark clouds swept in and that was the end of that day's shoot. With opera ringing in our ears we skied down through Wallbanger ravine towards the valley.

Christian and Moss snuck away and cheated by jumping from a cliff that was sixty foot plus, in other words, approximately twenty meters high. It echoed from the cliffs when Moss dropped with a bang into the snow. Christians binding broke on landing. Then we heard the noise of the helicopter's blades and someone said, "It's a chopper baby." We sleepily stood up, epic run at Mica Heliskiing.

Flying On Your Own - by George Koch

Mica Heli Guides stands alone in the world of powder for two simple but obvious reasons: its terrain (which is massive and private) and its helicopters (which are small and also private). Ski Canada editor Iain and I made a weekend visit to the only heli-operation in the Rockies last April to check out the sometimes chest-deep (not so difficult when you're Iain's size, but even I disappeared occasionally) snow that draws skiers from around the world.

The access route to Mica Heli Guides follows a valley wedged between the Selkirk and the Monashee mountains—both prime heliskiing territory—but Mica is an all-Rockies operation. That's significant in itself. The Rocky Mountains have a bad reputation in backcountry skiing circles—they're said to be too dry, too windswept, too cold, too avalanche-prone. Consequently, the vast majority of snowcat and heli-skiing takes place in the warmer, snowier mountain ranges to the west.

Mica Heliskiing puts the lie to the Rockies' dire reputation. Well, that's not quite right. Vast regions of the Canadian Rockies especially on the Alberta side—indeed are relative powder deserts, and consequently prone to killer shallow-snowpak avalanches. But hidden in this vast range of ranges are certain zones that due to mysterious geographical quirks, are blessed with a local climate seemingly transplanted from the Selkirks or Monashees. Mica Heliskiing is one of those zones.

The cedar and hemlock growing among the more familiar spruce and pine were one indication we were in a unique zone. The most obvious, though, was the snowpack, which, even in a bizarre winter like 2005, was double the depth found elsewhere in the Rockies. Normally, this region averages 1,500-2,000 cm of snowfall per year at 2,000 metres, or just below treeline. Compare that to 400-500 cm typical for the Alberta Rockies, and it seems almost unbelievable we're talking about the same mountains. Despite that precipitative bounty, the weather at Mica Heliskiing is less humid, on average, than the Selkirks, with a bigger share of sunny days. As well, it's less prone to the fog and rain that can leave other heli-ski operators with a frustrating number of down-days.

Last season, if you wanted to be sure your heli-ski holiday booking resulted in actual turns, you couldn't have done better than Mica Heliskiing. All other heli-operators suffered at least one major rain event to their peak elevation. Some lost entire weeks of operation, taking the unprecedented step of sending batches of glum guests back home. Mica Heliskiing also suffered cancellations-because some prospective guests assumed it was rained-out. It wasn't; the show went on throughout January, and in early April, the time of our visit, the snowpack was deep and solid and the fresh powder was well beyond copious.

The overall result: Mica Heliskiing is putting the Canadian Rockies back on the A-list of backcountry skiing destinations, where this stupendously beautiful mountain range belongs.

Mica Heliskiing's mountain lodge stands alone on a broad, open slope with a stunning vista overlooking Kinbasket Lake, a gigantic reservoir that backs up the Columbia River and fills the Rocky Mountain Trench for more than 200 km. The Monashees and northernmost Selkirks rise across the water, the Rockies loom out back. Matt Callaghan, the superlative throttle-jockey transplant from Hamilton who performed the smoothest take-offs and landing I've encountered, would place his little A-star right beside the mountain lodge, its three-bladed rotor coming within a few metres of the front porch posts. He laughingly assured us the missing spindles on the lodge's upper railing weren't from trying to land too close.

The lodge looked small from the outside, but proved roomy and comfortable. After all, if houses only 12 guests (mostly American when we visited, but also a few Euros), who sleep in a mix of eight single and double rooms, each with its own bathroom. The spacious dining and relax areas included great views. During winter, the lodge is accessible only by helicopter, yet it has wireless Internet access and satellite TV. But despite the TV prattling on the evenings (this was a guys' trip), no one seemed to be watching but instead each took turns retelling the day's events or enjoying self-deprecating ski stories from former times.

With so much snow our first night an early grey morning that filled in our view of the lake, we fretted that our first of two days would be spent entirely in the lodge. But our optimist guide Craig Ellis was bang-on when he said it was going to clear by the time our safety procedures (which required wallowing around up to our thighs finding hidden plastic-wrapped transceivers) were done.

Truth be told, I lurched around clumsily most of the first day, never really finding a rhythm in the deep snow and uneven, often steep and treed terrain. I staggered like a hung-over '80s-era rocker from a Pat Lynch article, my turns displaying the mellifluous fluidity of a Helix guitar solo. Iain rambled on the next morning trying to analyze his dreams that centered around skiing massive swallowing powder—and flying. Go figure. Day two was another world entirely and given the limited length I'm allowed to write, I'm happy to write about one spectacular day.

A flight barely long enough to buckle our boots and adjust our various dangling accoutrements brought us to an isolated knoll high above the reservoir. More snow had fallen overnight, but the previous day's humidity had evaporated and the first turn, in which I plunged chest-deep into dry snow, told me this would be a singular skiing day. Our route followed a broad avalanche path down a series of rollers—plunge down, bench out, plunge down, bench out, for 1,000 vertical metres.

The five of us—Mica Heliskiing's lead guide Craig Ellis, Iain and I, and happy American pals Dan and Jay immediately fell into the rhythm that had eluded us the day before. Amiable fellows and enthusiastic skiers, it would have been great to ski a whole week in Dan and Jay's company. Iain quietly remarked several times on their ability, wishing his friends back home, who are intimidated at the thought of heliskiing or catskiing, could see how the pair of advanced but not necessarily expert skiers were enjoying deep powder.

It was a decadent but comfortable feeling not skiing out of a massive 212 chopper with 12 in a group like other operations. Skiing with only four guests makes Mica Heliskiing stand out in the heli crowd. There was never a scramble to go first each run, or who would have to play tail gunner, no waiting for the slow one in the group and no worries about having to keep up with the best skier. Everyone was relaxed and simply enjoying the skiing at his own pace.

Craig's smile seemed to come more easily on day two. Gazing out at the chequered panorama of peaks and cliffs, dark forest and huge open snowfields, overlain by a sky of puffy fast-scudding clouds and patchy blue sky, Craig commented: "You can see how unusual this part of the Rockies is. These outer areas basically look like an extension of the Monashees, broad and round-shouldered and very skiable, while over there, one valley over, you can see those are unmistakably Rockies-like, and they get steeper and cliffier the farther in you travel." Others have compared parts of Mica Heliskiing's area to the Himalayas. I couldn't see it myself—local Canadian analogies plus a couple of adjectives seemed more than sufficient. But there's no accounting for certain writers' verbal flights of fancy.

It would have been great to do a day of full-blown exploration. For me, that's what so much of skiing is all about—talking about, dreaming of, traveling to and exploring new terrain, then reliving the experience at the end of the day. If it was purely and solely about turning in powder, then why ski more than one slope your whole life? I knew there were descents up to an incredible 2,500 vertical metres lurking out there, huge glaciers, massive alpine bowls and narrow ridges spilling couloirs, with the towering peaks of the Rockies' main spine in Jasper National Park seemingly within grabbing distance.

I was lusting to push farther out into Mica Heliskiing's immense terrain, a provincial tenure containing seven major drainages covering an astounding 4,700 square km. To date, several substantial zones have seen only exploratory flights, if that. This season, the company aims to ski the more remote terrain regularly, enabling lucky groups to christen dozens of new runs according to their tastes. Mica Heliskiing is already talking about building a satellite lodge to the south, bringing terrain that's currently too remote to practically shuttle three groups within easier reach.

Sadly, the high alpine avalanche danger remained a tad too substantial for Craig's liking, leaving such adventures sitting prominently on our next-time-around list. There was plenty to do right here in the Molson drainage, thankfully. Our first run was just the outermost descent of row-upon-row of lines marching up the valley, all of them starting just at treeline before plunging into forests chequered with hidden glades and narrow gullies. Safe from the hazards of the open alpine, Craig led us on a series of ever steeper, ever-tighter pillow-hopping forays.

Sadly, the high alpine avalanche danger remained a tad too substantial for Craig's liking, leaving such adventures sitting prominently on our next-time-around list. There was plenty to do right here in the Molson drainage, thankfully. Our first run was just the outermost descent of row-upon-row of lines marching up the valley, all of them starting just at treeline before plunging into forests chequered with hidden glades and narrow gullies. Safe from the hazards of the open alpine, Craig led us on a series of ever steeper, ever-tighter pillow-hopping forays.

After several miles of steady vertical and lateral progress, we could see how the Molson drainage hooded abruptly to the north and climbed, finally sealed by a long circling ridgeline enclosing a great amphitheatre of mostly alpine terrain. We did two runs on its forest-fringed edges, but Craig several times mentioned his "Spider senses tingling," and we soon returned to the trees. Despite the relative confinement, we didn't cross an old track all day, and even the tightest lines left room for all five of us.

On one of these runs it suddenly hit me that, were we in a normal heli-skiing group, that wouldn't be the case at all. Often, the eighth-or-so skier would be left with cut-up snow, and the 12th would face a virtually packed slope. And if there were four groups of 12, half the guests would be slithering though moguls. Mica Heliskiing's all-small-group approach, with three groups of four guests, each with one guide, alters the experience substantially. The guide can pick much tighter terrain and know that everyone will wallow happily in pow. With only four people to manage on descents and load/ unload each run cycle, the pace can be simultaneously more relaxed and much faster than in traditional large-group skiing. Except for fuel runs, there's never any waiting for the helicopter. And all this privacy for a price only slightly more than large-group heli-skiing. Amazing! So amazing, I can't imagine it'll last forever.

Ora Pro Nobis - by Les Anthony for SKIER

If you don't know how ski films get made, here's how it should work: Choose a few exotic locations you're sure nobody else is filming at; hand-pick a crew of A-Team athletes with limitless travel/heli-ski budget; line up a few deep-pocketed sponsors who are down with your program; hire a pricey, award-winning cinematographer - or two - for the shoot; invite top-seeded still photographers and a recognizable writer to help give the movie legs in the worldwide snow-sport press; hit the road running.Got that? Good. Now forget it.

Here's the reality: Wherever you go, no matter how exotic, it's unlikely you'll be the only movie company there; most cinematographers are award-lacking, impoverished ski bums who max out their own credit cards on behalf of the film company; the footage being shot could, for a variety of political and business reasons, end up in as many movies as there is athletes; the still photographer is sure he could kill it a lot faster and cheaper if the film crew disappeared into a crevasse, although the athletes - bless their talented, physically fatigued souls - are still the loveable melange of alternately industrious/lazy, predictable/mercurial, fragile/egotistical, soulful/brash thrill-seekers they always were, they're now inclined by design [and contract stipulations] toward little other than serving their own interests which are, per se, generating a series of five-to-30-second moments of inspired [or accidental] bravado that can be sewn together into a killer[see also "sick," "rad," etc.] segment so that their sponsors receive the exposure required to justify threadbare contracts, deem them worthy of renewal and offer the athlete a chance to go out and spend the following winter in the same anxious square dance, linking arms variously with film, photo, comp and PR demands.

It makes spinning 1080s seem like a good way to slow down time and take stock of your existence.

Somewhere in there, if the athletes even care - and shockingly, many do not - they will get to ski. For fun. With no lenses in sight. Unencumbered by any worry that their "seggie" isn't finished or that someone in an office in Europe is adding up logo-visibility minutes under a column headed by their [very likely misspelled] name.

From within the swirling vortex of a transcontinental existence, however, athletes cannot see and surely don't have time even to imagine such halcyon deliverance. And so, dear reader, we must do it for them. Because every single frame of film and each published photo of a pro skier begs one simple indulgence of the viewer, best put embodied in the lingua franca of the church; ora pro nobis - pray for us.

For we are skiers
On the dark road to Revelstoke, B.C., amidst another record stretch of high-pressure during a snow-impoverished winter, Mike Douglas ruminations have, in fact, descended into a litany of prayer: "I hope the weather and terrain are good enough that we don't have to resort to rails...I've never heli-skied with C.R. [Johnson] - I hope he and [Mark] Abma don't want to ski the same kinds of lines I do...I want to step it up gradually, you know - start with a warm-ups, then some mini golf and get to the big stuff last; I hate throwing down right out of the gate...By the way, remind me to buy some Advil when we stop for gas."

This orison seems fitting, because when we arrive in Revie, the rest of the crew are consumed in their own supplications: Mica Heliskiing' marketing director, Darryn Shewchuk, is secretly imploring that we aren't the same demanding pain in the ass other film crews have been; Mattias Fredricksson is beseeching the weather gods for 16-hour work days so e can kill it for his pan-global photo empire; C.R., a walking human sacrifice on skiing's new-school alter, is bargaining 720 Mutes for sleep after arriving directly from Panama; Poor boyz cinematographer "Blue State" Ben Mullin is on his knees begging for a Canadian girl - the closest thing to a female Democrat he'll find on this trip. And everyone is adjuring that Abma, en route alone from Kelowna in his kilapidated pickup and unheard from for hours, will find us. Of course, it's also understood by all that somewhere in the cosmic background, The Great Spirit - Salomon - is crossing its fingers that all and sundry will justify the money it will drop on this shoot.

The combined weight of expectation is about equal to the pressure exerted by a Mayan pyramid leaning on a walnut, so naturally, everyone is happy that after a long, hard drive through nighttime mountains, such malignant background considerations remain upspoken.

It lasts about five minutes and half a bottle of beer.

"Uhhh...we better have an early start tomorrow," drawis Maniacus Freakrisson in nasal, punctiliously syllabic English. "It's a two-hour drive to the heli pickup, I have 500 kilos of baggage to transport, and I want to be shooting by noon."

"Uhhh...we better have an early start tomorrow," drawis Maniacus Freakrisson in nasal, punctiliously syllabic English. "It's a two-hour drive to the heli pickup, I have 500 kilos of baggage to transport, and I want to be shooting by noon."

"Right. We've only got four days," agrees Douglas, drawing a puzzled stare from Maniacus.

"Uh oh...I thought we have three days. I have only 600 rolls on film...but I can maybe get some more..."

"I'm a bag of shit and can't move," mumbles C.R., face down on the floor, fortunate his baseball cap was already twisted sideways when he landed there. "There's no way I can ski tomorrow."

"We will need three heli loads," surmises Maniacus, conspicuously alone in his calculus.

Darryn's eyes widen.

"Who's paying for all of this?" he asks of no one in particular, for which he is rewarded with no answer whatsoever.

The question does, however, seem to resonate with Ben.

"I better call [Poor Boyz boss Johnny] DeCesare," he muses, fingering his credit card.

Everyone wants to know whether, since all of the skiing in the entire rest of a province the size of Australia has been wiped out by unseasonable warmth and rain, there could possibly be anything left at Mica?

Meanwhile, "Where's Abma?" speech balloons rise and vaporize around the room like methane bubbling out of a swamp.

Miraculously, and with even Abma in tow, the next morning goes almost as planned; we make the drive, shuttle loads and move into Mica Heli's comfortable, isolated lodge high above Kinbasket Lake by noon. It being a bluebird day and all, no time is wasted in wolfing down lunch and making a test foray into the wilderness of Mica Heli's vast tenure.

Mica Heliskiing is the latest venture of Island Lake Lodge architect Dan McDonald [see "Helivision," SKIER 4.2], and like his original brainchild, it has spawned a media circus; if you didn't have Mica Heli Guides on your slate sometime over the past two seasons, you would have missed the boat. Few did.

McDonald's unique vision for Mica Heliskiing includes the world's first vacation-property ownership setup for a heli-ski operation, but its major appeal to the appetite of the world's ever-hungry snowsport monster is terrain; an inspiring seven drainages and 1 million acres of sprawling glaciers, fluted faces and serrated peaks. Mica's Heli Guides location on the western slopes of the Rocky Mountains is key: these high peaks are indifferent to the ranges surrounding them - the Monashees, Cariboos, Selkirks and Purcells are peppered with heli-ski ops that can't lay claim to the same bounty of diverse terrain and snow conditions. Rising on the far side of the Rocky Mountain Trench, a province-long, north-south feature visible from space and one of the most prominent of B.C.'spantheon of weather influencers, the sudden rampart delivers and interior-esque snowpack that's higher, drier and more reliable than the real thing. It's an anomaly we're happy to discover, given the recent decimation of B.C.'s vaunted backcountry industry. Operating with only eight to twelve guests a week, there's always untracked at Mica Heliskiing - your own private million acres.

Ten minutes from the lodge at the head of the Harvey drainage we find a well-preserved 30 centimetres of powder on a settled base of four metres. The news sets Maximus Shutterson's trigger finger a-twitching; he runs through two rolls before anyone even has their skis on.

The excitement is contagious enough to morph our leisurely scouting mission into sudden pressure to get something in the can. In short order, athletes and cameramen are sprinkled in strategic locations across the valley's headwall. Any hope of a warm-up evaporates as instructions are shouted, skiers grow quiet and cameras roll.

Despite the shotgun start, Douglas hits his first line perfectly, sailing off a flute and dropping 10 metres. Abma misses his mark, getting sloughed out and subsequently flushed. C.R. nails a sweet line on the largest part of the rimed face and finishes with a huge 360, demonstrating how adept he is at tricking off of tricky big-mountain features.

A second round sees Douglas line up a sweet drop over a bony fin, but when he launches it's only to disappear blind into a cascading Niagara of slough and magically reappear at the bottom, shaking his head at the good fortune. Trying to avoid the same slough flume, Abma gets gnarled out again in some rocks and starfishes down. he has to climb back up through thigh-deep to reclaim a ski. C.R. goes bigger than before and, though he doesn't stick it, comes up on his feet, holding his shoulder and screaming like a girl. It reminds me of the time he screamed like a girl after injuring his hip at the X Games, or the time he rang his bell at Global X, or the time he packed so hard at the U.S. Open he couldn't scream even if he'd wanted to. [He wanted.] We explain to the panicky guides that what sounds very much like catastrophic injury echoing around the valley is merely oneof many painful strains that, at the tender age of 21, C.R. has learned to live with.

That the demands of this job exact a toll is never in doubt; what is in perpetual question is that the rewards can be so meager in relation to the risk and physical punishment. When C.R. spends $12,000 to $15,000 to be in a film, it's in addition to the hefty sums his sponsors have already thrown down to have their riders in it. His personal contribution to this sum is beyond what he has been given for travel budget, putting him perpetually out-of-pocket just to be in movies whose sole reward is a ticket to be in more movies and ergo - are you following? - spend more of his own money.

I'd scream like a girl, too.

Next day we start off working mini-golf ridges that flow through a massive basin called Molson Canadian, adjacent to a face that has recently been named - in a monument to indiscretion given the number of film companies cycling through the Mica Heli turnstiles - MSP.

Douglas' first line terminates with a cliff-huck 360 that ends up being twice as big as the eight metres he anticipated, and though he rotates it perfectly, the sheer size of the surprise drop causes him to explode like a watermelon. Both C.R. and Abma are largely on their game, hitting stylie grabs off knife-edge flutes; likewise, however, there are still enough high-impact takes to case wincing among the audience.

For the rest of us, it's an interesting and rare opportunity to observe three generations of ski-film stars at work. Douglas, the oft-cited Godfather of New School, is clearly the most experienced and polished, pretty much hitting everything he tries. Fastidious in approach and perennially solid amidst a well-populated old guard and proliferation of new, big-name talent, he continues to serve notice - well beyond age 30 - winning the prestigious Best Performance by a Male at the 2003 Powder video awards.

C.R., once singled out to me by Douglas as a prodigy teen in blackcomb, B.C.'s summer glacier scene, is one of the new millennium's biggest superstars. A brilliant all-around skier despite being known largely for slopestyle and stratospheric Superpipe performances, he came pre-packages with the chops for big-mountain tricking - notwithstanding the cumulative effects of park skiing school of hard knocks.

"I've got to get these things looked at properly," he grimaces after what looked like another clean stomp, touching one shoulder, then the other. "I just keep putting it off because I don't have time."

And then there's Abma, the 2005 Best Male Performance phenom, a well-known park master who surprised the ski world with ridiculous big-mountain lines and smooth, super-booter air. At this juncture of his sophomore season in the spotlight, he's struggling to get it right; lacking the experience to pick lines best suited to him, he also likely suffers from second-album syndrome and performance anxiety, so rapid has been his meteoric rise. Emblematic of his trial by fire is the back-story to this big opening line in MSP's Yearbook.

"I got called into the shoot in Bella Coola because pep Fujas was injured. I just got there and was in the heli with Hugo Harrisson and Shane McConkey," he tells me, pausing to let the specific gravity of the company sink in. "They've been there and know what they're looking at. Hugo says, 'Drop me here,' and then Shane says, 'Drop me off here.' So I'm all by myself, and I just kind of look around without really thinking and say, 'Drop me off there.' Once I was on top, there was no turning back; I was super gripped, but before I had time to think, I hear the radio and it's saying 'OK, Mark, you ready?'"

That instant, in which Abma put every iota of experience, technique and guts on the line to hurl into the abyss, proved the stuff that movie magic is made of. But it could easily have gone the other way, where blowing a first chance at big-line bravado means a quick ticket to ignominy. It helped that Harrisson spent the winter cartwheeling through his own cirque du Desole, and that McConkey was riding ponies on the comeback trail, but Abma had quickly proved he was the real deal. Which he continues to do with us throughout the rest of a day in which the overworked crew finishes up on a series of unique pillow spines, one of which, Mr.Wiggly, was vetted to much acclaim in TGR's Sould Purpose.

At day's end, C.R.'s left shoulder, which was his bad shoulder, is now his good shoulder, and he's walking like a hunched-over asthmatic. But it's only the tip of the battering iceberg, and he desperately tries massage to restore a bone-weary body. It helps, but the next day he's still so sore that he handfuls Advil in the hot tub for breakfast while praying that the murky sky doesn't clear so he won't feel compelled to ski. But athletes prayers are seldom answered, and it quickly clears off behind a hurricane wind.

Heading out at the crack of noon, we beeline to the Rock Garden, a truncated ridge of unimaginable pillow lines. This time the boys work their way down the ridge from short shots to the big stuff. It's all in the shade, however, with the wind blowing, so everyone is cold.

Still, the snow is deep and dry, and the guys keep warm by boot-packing up hundreds of vertical metres. Not that they have much choice: the heli sits shut down and forlorn nearby, the pilot reading a book because no one can afford the extra cost of a few, short lifts.

Back at the lodge, debate remains open as to whether having wireless Internet in the wilderness is a good thing. Ben walks into the common room one evening and sees everyone taping away on their laptops. "Jesus," he mutters, "this is just like Starbucks."

And why shouldn't it be? After all, we are, to a person, business-men - earning our keep, staying in touch, lining up future business. Engaged, like the rest of the world, in making money both for ourselves and those who employ us.

The fact that, at least to outsiders, the commodity in which we trade seems an intangible balance between risk and recreation matters not. These days, it is, as they say, strictly business. A dangerous, often short-lived business built around the fine line between extreminating and exterminating, where one small mistake in the former could result in the latter - a reality that tends to underwrite the often-misplaced urgency with which it's carried out.

There are other reasons for staying on top of it. Like any business, the world of ski-media is a shark tank of fissioning loyalties and fusing partnerships driven by an ever-evolving vision of what is core and how it should be represented. In fact, animosity runs so deep that some moviemakers aren't even on speaking terms. Slagging each other is a recognized sport.

"The asshole factor in this business is huge, and the only reason we don't kill each other like other competing people is because we get to ski in all the most amazing places in the world," says Ben. "It's the great pacifier."

Unstated competition also lies at the heart of Meticulous Overkillitsson's shotgun approach to the craft. One of a handful of shooters who has mastered the art of beating others to the punch with moviemakers, sponsors and magazines, the onetime writer and editor of Sweden's national ski magazine is widely recognized as one of the world's best outdoors photographers. Talent, dedication and a farmer's work ethic helped boost him to this echelon, but a hyperkinetic personality and business savvy are what keep him there. He is so hardworking, in fact, that it casts other notable overachievers as slugs, a trait that both endears and annoys in equal measure.

Although athletes indeed get fed up with dawn-to-dusk lifestyle shoots on top of demanding action duties [and secretly joke that they can only truly relax when Matticulous is asleep], they can hardly complain; given the over-arching role of exposure and photo incentives in their lives, the still shooter is, in every sense of the word their meal ticket. Thus, when Matticulous complains about motion-camera set-ups being useless for stills, or must carry so many rolls of film that they're spread around the group in two separate heli loads such that he doesn't even know where the unshot rolls are, athletes don't say, "Thank God"; they say, "Where do you want us to go?...Sir."

Which is precisely the case on our final day, which begins midway up the far side of the Harvey drainage near yet another unnamed peak. Despite an enormously successful three days of filming, which could have meant walking away happy for all, last-day mania prevails.

Although it's bluebird again, what's left of the snow is showing effects of being what's left of the snow: barely negotiable after a weeklong party thrown by the sun and wind. It's hard to make anything work, even for Douglas, who ticks a rock on the first landing, blowing a shoe with a sound that resonates with certain injury. Sure enough, he has tweaked his ankle mildly. Aware that a few centimetres either way could have made it so much worse, he keeps it tight on the rest of his shots. Abma also struggles - he is, of course, trying to throw ridiculously difficult tricks onto manky landings - but gets it together in short order. Strangely, C.R. is still on fire, and up for ripping big lines that end in huge drops, a monument to the prostaglandin - negating effects of ibuprofen. God help his liver.

That's the way it is in the movie business, where skiing a shot takes a back seat to a shot of skiing. it could be worse - we could be paying bank to sit on our asses for two weeks in Alaska.

On a last, finally relaxed afernoon at the Trash Chutes, while we while away the hours waiting for the light to change, C.R. entertains everyone by busting spot-on impressions of Swedish athletes. Encouraged by our laughter - and his own ennui - he then offers the most devastating and sadly funny thing I have ever heard. It happens after Amba - who sat morose and silent at the bottom for an hour before spontaneously bootin gup the ridge - suddenly launches and cleans a savage triple-drop on the sketchiest line of the entire thing apparently solely to exorcise some personal demon. A short, sharp, masterful piece of skiing that it's doubtful everyone caught.

As we stare with jaw agape, C.R. opens his mouth somewhere n the background, and the deadly drone of TGR's patented monotone narration drifts in: "...2005, C.R. Johnson and friends head to the promised land of British Columbia, where the snow is deep and the weed deeper looking for the goods. Mark Abma boots up a face, finds what he's looking for the shralps the gnar... The only problem is, did anybody see?"

The real problem is, if it wasn't on camera, would anybody care?

Ora pro nobis

Northern Exposure Words - by Mike Douglas

Once in a while, being the old guy in the group has its benefits. in this case, it has left me alone at the top of a line called Mr. Wiggles. Since the moment we arrived at Mica Heliskiing I've been talking about this line, the one that Jeremy Jones shredded on a snowboard in TGR's Soul Purpose last season. It's a suspended spine of snow with a sheer drop off either side. As it gets steeper, it gets narrower, until you have no choice but to fall off in one direction or the other. Clearly the best line on the slope, it seems my relentless spewing about it, combined with my old-fart status and the generosity of my younger partners - C.R. Johnson and Mark Abma - has let me bypass the game of ro-sham-bo that would typically decide who gets it. So here I stand at the top, PBP cinematographer Ben Mullin ready, Swedish super-photographer Mattias Fredriksson ready, Gonzo writer and second angle camera Leslie Anthony ready. Dropping in 5-4-3-2-1.

Mattias Fredriksson is the reason our rag-tag crew is here. It was his idea to visit BC's hottest new heli op to determine if it's much hyped reputation is justified. Then again, we would have gone anywhere with Mattias. Not only is he one of the world's best ski photographers, he's probably the funniest - bouncing through the scene like a mad scientist, shooting dawn-to-dusk with a seemingly unlimited supply of energy angles and ideas.

Our Goal was to spend four mid-February days charging the Mica Heliskiing steep and deep. None of us, though, were fully prepared for what greeted us as our heli shuttle made its final approach to the Mica Heliskiing base. Imagine a remote backcountry lodge perched on a bluff overlooking the convergence of five mountain ranges. Now split those mountains with a 100-mile-long lake, add a hot tub, gourmet chef, A-Star helicopter and 40-plus annual feet of dry powder snow. Then throw in a foot and a half of fresh under a spotless blue sky. The stoke-o-meter was redlining before we'd even put our ski boots on.

Screaming out the bottom of Mr. Wiggles, my senses are fully engaged. This is as good as feelings get on a pair of skis - one part survival and one part pure sensation. The funny thing is, moments like this keep happening to each one of us. The next 10 pages are a photo documentation of four epic days at Mica Heliskiing.

A SENSE OF SCALE
With over a million acres of terrain, big doesn't even begin to describe what we found at Mica Heliskiing. The vastness of it all totally warped our sense of scale. On our second day C.R. spotted a cliff he wanted to do a 180 off. What he thought was a 20-footer turned out to be a 60-footer. Luckily, Abma and I were able to point this out to C.R. before he hit it.

Moments like this happened over and over again during our stay. Everywhere we went we found the slopes steeper, the cliffs higher and the snow deeper than we expected. Skiing in the park and at resorts often makes you feel bigger than you are. Out here we were ants on a giant white canvas, hoping the mountain wouldn't stomp us into oblivion.

LIFE AT MICA HELISKIING
The ski lift at Mica Heli Guides is a six-passenger A-Star helicopter. Some of the advantages of this type of lift are obvious - like accessing any line you can spot quickly and easily.

There are plenty of benefits to using a helicopter: you can go exactly where you want to go, they're really fun to fly in and they're ideal when it comes to accessing plush mountain lodges that get so much snow it would be impossible to keep the road plowed.

Other benefits are more subtle: Mark Abma when from a full adrenaline charge on a heavily sloughing, 50-degree face, to the hot tub with beer in hand in 10 minutes flat.

After two days of flying past the craziest pillow lines any of us had ever seen, we decided to dedicate the third to taming the vertical walls of marshmallows. We started on a relatively small ridge, with one end-of-day goal in mind: first descents on the 500-foot wall-of-gnar known as Rock Garden. With the sun starting to fade, I made my way to the top of Rock Garden. It was way too steep and long to straight line, and skiing it felt like trying to control a fall down a stairway with half the steps missing. We questioned if the wall was even skiable, but before the session was through all three of us had successfully descended it. Of all the epic runs we skied at Mica Heliskiing, the pillows are the ones I'll remember forever.

HELIVISION - by Les Anthony for SKIER

DAN McDONALD is possibly the only person on the planet to have started separate catcat-skiing and heli-skiing operations. As one of the principals behind Island Lake Lodge-the Fernie, B.C. backcountry destination blown up in practically every ski and snowboard mag and movie of the 90's-53 year-old McDonald put his heart and soul into building the biggest and best cat-skiing operation in the world. When it got too big, and he became a guy behind a desk telling people why he got into the business instead of the guy doing the things that got him there, he left...for a time. Moving to Revelstoke, McDonald applied his passion for the mountains and skiing to a new project-selling real estate with a heli-skiing operation. Fifteen years in the making, newly minted Mica Heli Guides Adventures represents the birth of a new era in heli-skiing, cementing McDonald's reputation as a leader and innovator. He may be taking a big risk with a new idea but it could well change the industry.

You where a principal from the beginning in Island Lake Lodge. Do you feel you created something different there that changed the backcountry industry?

Yes! The difference was principally our relationship to the industry. The media—magazines, movies—continually need new stories and spectacular places, and Island Lake needed the media. We promoted that relationship, and the media put us on the map. One of the best signs of that is that the two biggest starts in skiing and snowboarding of the early '90's, Scot Schmidt and Craig Kelly, invested in Island Lake. Everyone benefited.

How did things change for you there?

With the market and investment pressures, and being forced by the purchase of the [originally leased] land to increase the size of the operation, my job became managerial, while I'm essentially a builder. I had a vision I wanted to bring to life, and once it was built, it was time to move on. I'll always have a soft spot in my heart for Island Lake... my kids grew up there. It started as a backcountry-touring lodge and grew from that. Its potential is labeled "unlimited" by ski-area development consultants, and it could still become a mega-resort if that's the direction they'd like to go.

Did issues at Island Lake reflect the greater challenges of the industry in B.C.? And do you think that the business model that they adapted is a better one?

This industry isn't for the faint of heart. Island Lake struggled for five years before achieving critical mass, then had a three-year waiting list. Everyone in this business has to expect to start small and take three to five years before cash flow catches up with expenses. Island lake has moved on to a more spa experience on top of the cat-skiing, and I think that's where the industry is headed. After spending $8,000 to $10,000 on a week of heli-skiing, a guy figures he deserves a little rubdown - and he should get it.

What have you learned about building a cat/heli operation, and how are you doing it differently now?

I love Island Lake , but it got too big for one person. Mica Heliskiing will [also grow], but I'm training younger people to take over and do the things that keep me from just skiing and sitting in the lounge, relaxing with family and guests. I'm getting older [he's a recent grandfather by daughter jenny, Mica's VP] and want time to enjoy the things I build. This is a family-run operation, and the dads are stepping up. I didn't start into this business until my early 30's, but my kids started learning at the dinner table. I expect to step back in a year or two, and my kids and the experts can run the hands-on operation. It's better to hire pros in a particular field and let them do the work they're good at than try and do it all yourself. I guess that's what I've learned.

What's Mica Heliskiing all about? What are you trying to do there, if anything, that you couldn't do at Island Lake?

The business model we've adopted is timeshares in more small lodges onsite to fund the short-term projects. We polled customers last season and found that people from all over the world want to spend more time in B.C.'s mountains summer and winter. We expect to build 20 units in timeshare style. Customers will be involved in the process, with open access in the summer and probably two weeks early and late-season heli-skiing. The rest of the time units can be used for regular heli guest accommodations. Our regular season is the beginning of January to the end of April, but we could have heli-ski camps n the glacier right through the year. It would be expensive, but there could be a market. Combined with a fishing/heli-hiking summer program, we have it all.

How do you feel about the previous and current tenure processes?

I first flew over this area in a helicopter with Scot Schmidt and [mountain guide] Phil Hind almost 15 years ago. and our mouths dropped open. The potential was immediately obvious. But then [our tenure] application was left sitting for 10 years. We went through six years of meetings that went nowhere. It took a change of government to see any action, and there have been real, positive changes for this industry/ we support the [current] government's policy and think they're doing the right things. They guarantee a 140-day turnaround in decisions, and they've met or beat that promise in all of our dealings with them. They've made great progress on the issue of shared or overlapping tenures. We hope they stay in power, or at least that the structure they've put in place remains.

What do you see as the short—and long-term prospects for the cat/heli ski business for British Columbia?

We believe that the government is correct in calling for a doubling of backcountry skier days. I remember when Fernie was at 100,000 skier days, and they knew it would take 300,000 days to be profitable, and everyone scoffed at the prospect. Then Charlie Locke took over, brought in the marketing machine and had 350,000 days in just two years. It's a marketing issue, and we believe the market is here for everyone in this business.

Is this a well-regulated business from the safety standpoint? Could rapid expansion in the number of operations create a short-term hardship for the under-funded mom-and-pop operations, leading to corners being cut and safety compromises?

The Heli-skiing and Cat-skiing Operators Associations a well-run, mandatory membership organization, with a management protocol that members must adhere to. it determines guide and personnel training requirements and certification, along with equipment standards and maintenance, and each member is inspected yearly on these issues. The ACMG sets the standards for guiding, and they've been asked by HeliCat Canada to increase the number of guides being certified. They've responded by increasing the number of courses, examiners and certification programs, and there has been an increase in the number of people taking courses.

Who's coming to Mica Heliskiing, and what's the percentage of skiers versus boarders?

Mica Heliskiing is the last frontier in the Rockies, and our neighbours are CMH Monashees, Mike Wiegle, and the Columbia Icefield. We have all the extreme terrain you could want, and love to take people there. We expect to target that group the image that put Island Lake on the map. Even the middle-aged guy with intermediate skills is happy if he can just see the extreme terrain from his 20° powder run. That's the beauty of using smaller helis [A-Stars]; you cater to a group of four's desires and don't have to ride at the ability level of the lowest common denominator in a group of 12. Our focus is 10 percent Canadian, 40-50 percent American, and the rest European - mainly Britain and Germany. They fly into Kelowna and get shuttled here. It's a small world these days. At Island Lake it was at least 50 percent snowboarders. This past year, we have 10 percent and expect that to grow. Even then, some older snowboarders also bring skis, just for the challenge.

UPDATE:
Only six months after writing this article Dan MacDonald and his Partner Patrick Callahan purchased the Island Lake Resort Group Ltd (Island Lake Lodge Cat skiing and Powder Cowboy Cat skiing) - they have plans to further develop the area.

High-End, Polished Powder - by Lukas Huffman

The second backcountry product we sampled was the high-end, polished-powder, no-bullshit approach to bagging vertical courtesy of Mica Heli Guides. I will begin my report with an overview of the Mica Heliskiing Lodge. It's perched on top of a huge clear-cut hill a few hours north of Revelstoke. The view from the lodge is what sets the tone. Now, I don't usually go on about pretty views, but this was impressive and sure to move anybody—no matter how extreme you are. A giant lake spreads out about a thousand feet below you, and on the other side of that lake are enormous B.C. mountains rising up to create the horizon. The giant peaks taunt you with constant reminders that you are small and they are big.

The Mica Heli Guides lodge has been designed to exploit this view. Both floors of the lodge are outfitted with huge windows facing the lake and mountains. Whether you're eating breakfast, putting on your boots, or reading in the afternoon, the scenery is right there keeping you company.

The detailing of the lodge is out of some in-flight luxury magazine. Downstairs is a cute dining room with a heated stone-tile floor. There's a burl-wood staircase, big overstuffed chairs that swallow tired bodies, and—the hallmark of modern existence wireless Internet, ensuring that jet-setting extremists can check stocks or just keep up with their MySpace cyber buddies. Even the bohemian DCP booked a plane ticket to Russia while we were perched up there on the mountainside.

Let's get into the real action of this backcountry product. Mica Heliskiing claims to have the "most skiable acreage in North America" (over a million acres). I don't doubt it. They charge their clients by the amount of vertical skied in a run, and Mica Heliskiing provides lots of long powder runs. No messing around you better train before you show up, because your legs will throb and your heart will race. You get what you pay for—and you pay for what you get.

Our crew had some overcast weather on the first day, which turned out to be a blessing. This meant that we rode the Mica Heliskiing pillow stash. Holy crap! I have never seen pillow lines this long. The snow was deep, so the riders looked like a pair of goggles and a hat in a cloud of snow falling down twenty pillows at once. Of course, the second and third days were sunny, so it was on. The heli dropped us off on any peak we chose, and we terrorized the taunting mountains. We barely saw a fraction of the "most skiable acreage in North America," but we got the picture. The dudes at Mica Heli Guides are holding a lot of terrain back there.

Of note: Cartwright was the MVP of this episode. He confidently did one of the biggest cliff drops (a solid 50 feet) I've seen all winter. This was in the beginning of January, and his quote after riding away from that was, "The preseason is definitely over." I collected my dropped jaw and mustered up a, "Touché, my friend."

Once we were all full of five-star shredding, we would head back to the lodge and watch the Alpen glow on our mountainous companions. We were the only people staying at the lodge while we were there, so the guest-to-staff ratio was pretty much one-to-one. They were eager to please and took care of any needs we could think up. We would all wind down the days sitting by the fireplace, each of us surfing the Internet and watching the stars out those big windows.

This experience was very intimate. (The lodge is currently capable of holding up to twelve guests at a time, but they have plans to expand). It feels like you have the mountains to yourself—just you and your close friends out there making tracks and getting a lot of attention from the staff. This is a backcountry product with all the amenities, including more vertical than it's physically possible to handle. I leave Mica Heliskiing with that impression. We were all fully pampered, just the way any backcountry enthusiast would want to be.

After our week of sampling the backcountry buffet at our disposal, we all went our separate ways: DCP and Simon went back to Whistler, Jon and I went to Vancouver, and Gallup vanished into smoke signal. We'd successfully managed to explore two different British Columbia backcountry offerings. Chatter Creek was the down-home, blue-collar approach to getting' 'er done, including deep-ass powder, as much fun snowboarding as we could handle, and some hilarious social terrain. Mica Heliskiing was having the whole damn mountain range to ourselves. As you can tell, upon comparison, one isn't better than the other just apples and oranges. I guess it all depends on how you like your backcountry.

FULL CIRCLE - by Les Anthony for POWDER Magazine

Mica Heli Guides visionary Dan McDonald brings it all home with his purchase of Island Lake Lodge.

THE PRESS RELEASE WAS SHORT AND TO THE POINT: "Dan McDonald and Patrick Callahan, owners of Mica Heli Guides in Revelstoke, B.C., have purchased the shares of Island Lake Holdings Ltd., effective April 5, 2005. Isladn Lake holdings is the parent company of Isladn Lake Lodge and Powder Cowboy Catskiing in Fernie, B.C."

What looked like simply another merger in B.C.'s burgeoning backcountry scene, however, was anything but Mica Heliskiing Creek has become the darling of the province's decade-long boom. One circling gaze from the top of a run near 11,000-foot Mount Clemencies and its 7,000-foot lines unveils elements of the Swiss Alps, Alaska, the Coast Range, and Himalayas - in short, shi terrain that blows the doors off anything else, anywhere else. McDonald is clearly creating a one-of-a-kind operation: shocking terrain, a unique set-up, and a full-swing media circus that has every snow magazine and moviemaker in the world vying for time.

The roots of that boom can be traced in large part to the success and exposure of Island Lake Lodge cat-skiing, which McDonald helped found in 1986, only to reluctantly sell out 12 years later, in the early 90's, when video had ascended to primary artier of the snow-riding experience, the steep-and-deep imagery and ethos of Island Lake loomed extra large. So much so that even though it was booked solid into the next century, by the mid 90's you would have been hard pressed to find a skier or snowboarder older than 10 who hadn't heard of it.

Portrayed on film and in magazines by Scott Schmidt and the late Craig Kelly - both of whom ultimately became investors - Island Lake cat-skiing captured the desires and demands of a generation of mountain enthusiasts. And it all pointed directly to McDonald, one of three partners who were the original architects of Island Lake. For the man behind B.C.'s hottest heli op to buy back the very operation that had started it all was part poetic justice, part karmic destiny, and all smart business.

"I'm ecstatic," says McDonald of the acquisition. "I never imagined we'd get it back; having Mica and Island Lake fulfills a dream because what I really wanted in the first place was a heli ski component."

In the late '80's, McDonald was constructing his childhood vision of a beautiful log cabin by an alpine lake from which to conduct ski touring. He and his partners weren't so naive as to think it wouldn't be a hard go financially. When Glen Wortley and Steve Kujit - a couple of core Fernie skiers who would eventually become guides - brought up the idea of cat-skiing, McDonald's first reaction was, "What's cat-skiing?"

He caught on fast. After purchasing a Piston Bully snow cat from the neighboring ski area, Island Lake started offering tours in 1989. Shortly thereafter, McDonald began working on a heli skiing application for Island lake, but gave up after six years of frustrating bureaucracy. Looking for somewhere more amenable, he, Schmidt, and a couple of mountain guides flew around the terrain North East of Mica Creek in 1991.

"Scott and I were looking at each other saying,'Wow!'" he recalls. But somewhere else held the tenure, so McDonald bided his time and waited for the license to come up for renewal. "You know why they call it a 'ten yur'?" says McDonald, with a hackneyed but too-true quip in the trade. "Because it takes 10 years." Eventually, McDonald gained control of Mica, and in 2001, finally constructed a lodge high above the eastern shore of Kinabasket Lake. Mica Heliskiing flew its first customers in 2002 and went fully operational by 2003. Last season, you couldn't spend 10 minutes with the global crop of mags or movies without coming across a credit.

McDonald has quietly and successfully brought another unmatched backcountry operation to the fore in an industry exponentially more competitive than it was a decade ago. And once again, he's poised to change it all.

"Our idea is to build a heli village at Mica Heli Guides," he says. "A condo hotel and shared ownership with clients who would get first dibs on heli skiing every year."

It makes both business and environmental sense. "You're not putting so much pressure on the land to make a profit this way - not so many trips up the mountain." And while Mica Heliskiing will surely deliver something new, what of Island Lake? The upper land block with its four lodges will largely remain as is. On the lower block, McDonald is currently working with Fernie Alpine Resort on a proposal to develop an intervening section of land. But in typical McDonald fashion, the community is also being consulted.

"A community that's behind you is the ultimate agent of success," he says. "I got what I wanted and now I'd like everyone else to get what they want. I don't know exactly what it will become, but it will be something spectacular."

Given McDonald's history, you have to believe him.

- Leslie Anthony

THE UNTRACKED LINE - by Evelyn Spence for SKIING Magazine

If you book a trip with Mica Heliskiing this season, you could be making first descents: The newest operation in the Revelstoke area has just one full season under its belt. And if you book a trip five years from now? Well, you’ll still be able to put your mark on the map. Mica Heliskiing has explored only 15 percent of its territory which spans almost two thousand square miles of glaciers and peaks in the northernmost Canadian Rockies.

This place is big. John Candy big. When you hear the guide tell the pilot, “Let’s try the next velley, eh?” remember that the next valley could mean Wood River (over 300 bowls); Harvey Valley (4,000-foot bowl-to-gully-to-tree lines); or the Mount Clemenceau area (7,000-foot descents). In a single day, expect to hit teep ice fields that meander through thousand-foot rock walls, carve rolling glaciers, and plunder 40-degree tree runs.

This outside playground was a long time coming. After current owner Dan McDonald’s permit request spent a decade languishing in British Columbia’s bureaucracy, the 2001 election brought in a new administration that processed his application within 140 days. It was worth the wait: Within a year, Mica Heliskiing was up and humming. Today, Mica Heliskiing’s plush, million-dollar alpine lodge sits 2,500 feet above Kinbasket Lake, staring down the rival ranges of the Monashees, Selkirks, and Rockies. Let the gratuitous powder surfing commence.

Snowpack
Located on the western slope of the Rockies, Mica Heliskiing gets as much accumulation as the neighboring heli-skiing ranges—sometimes 60 feet a year. But because it’s higher and colder, the snow is significantley lighter. (Last January 29, almost four feet piled up.) March is tops for depth. Check avalanche.ca/weather/bulletins for avalanche conditions.

Terrain Highlights
With territory that would dwarf a dozen Whistlers, Mica Heliskiing’s variety is mind-blowing. Request the Kinbasket Valley for steep, 3,000-foot faces; the Dawson Valley for a consistent 35-degree, 5,000-foot highway straight down the Iroquois glacier; or the Harvey Valley for old-growth tree shots.

Weather
Storms tracking out of the Pacific slam into the Selkirks and Monashees, which push them northeast into the Canadian Rockies and Mica’s home turf. When there’s nothing brewing in the west, Kinbasket Lake—a 133-mile-long body of water that never freezes over—serves up lake-effect snowfall like clockwork. If the visibility is soupy, the pilot just heads to another microclimate.

The Guide's
chaperones are all fully certified by one of Canada’s two guiding organizations. A few—like lead guide Craig Ellis—work with Mica Heliskiing all season, while the rest freelance in the Revelstoke area.

The Lodge
The three-story log homestead is remote but deluxe; think heated floors, filtered glacier drinking water, and a hot tub with a panoramic Rockies view. Most rooms have single beds and shared baths, but there are a couple of larger suites.

The Chow
Beware heli belly; Mica Heliskiing doesn’t scrimp on the grub. Expect slabs of French toast, prosciutto sandwiches on foccacia, and mixed berry mousse. The culinary trump card? Salmon in a ketchup/Coke sauce. (No, seriously—it’s good.)

Bang For Buck
If you’re comparison shopping, don’t just look at dollar signs. Rates here are stiffer than at CMH and Selkirk-Tangiers, but you get (relatively) quiet A-Star birds and small groups—just four skiers per guide instead of a dozen.

Must-Know
Pack light. The helicopter has to shuttle you, your gear, and the wine and steak. Don’t hog the basket.

-Evelyn Spence

MICA HELI GUIDES // REVELSTOKE, B.C. — Henry Georgi

Dan McDonald has a dream: to create the best heli-ski experience on the planet. That’s a tall order, given the proliferation of quality heli ops in British Columbia, but it’s a challenge McDonald is up to. After all, he brought us Island Lake Lodge, arguably one of the finest cat-skiing operations on the planet.

On my way to check out his new venture, Mica Heli Guides, I pass through Golden, picking up local skiers Billy Soderin and Brad “Pancake” Dean for the long road trip to Mica Creek. McDonald meets us at Mica Dam, and we head over to the heli pad. Waiting for our lift to Mica Lodge, the base of the heliskiing operation, we ogle the map. We’re smack dab in the middle of heli country: McDonald’s tenure sits between Wiegele World and Robson HeliMagic to the north, and Great Canadian Heli to the south; CMH’s Monashees operations is next door to the west; to the east lies Alberta and the Canadian Rockies of Jasper National Park.

When the chopper arrives, we load up and head for the far shore of Kinbasket Lake. Exiting the Mica Creek arm, our destination suddenly looms. And the view is stunning—almost Alaskan. The three-story, 12-guest lodge sits in a clearing [that’s “clearcut” for non-B.C. residents], about 600 metres above the lake. Behind it, 3,300-metre Mt.Harvey rises steeply. Our shit-eating, ear-to-ear grins mirror our stoke.

Next day, grey skies give way to blue. With guide Nick Morris, we jump in the A-Star and head up Molson Valley. Five minutes later we’re stepping into our skis for the first run of what turns out to be an amazing day of thigh-burning faceshots in completely untracked. With 4,000-metre Mount Clemenceau beckoning in the distance, terrain-wise it’s everything you’d expect from a first-class operation.

Back at the lodge, we kick it with beers on the deck and continue gawking at the surreal views. McDonald spreads a map across this desk. With a pencil he shows us where we’ve been skiing, then draws a dramatically wider circle around the rest of his terrain. We stare, slack-jawed. With a full day of solid turns under our belts, we’ve barely scratched the proverbial surface.

When McDonald had called a couple months earlier, he’d described his new venture at Mica Heliskiing as “Island Lake times 1,000.” No kidding. With seven different valleys stretching from Kinbasket lake to the Alberta border, it looks like his dream may soon be yours, too.

—Henry Georgi

Seven Steps To Isolation - by Jesse Huffman for Transworld Snowboarding

What does the word "vacation" mean to you? A getaway, something leisurely, an escape from the daily grind? For snowboarders, and Canadians in particular, vacation means something very specific: good snow, good terrain, and not too many people to mess all the good snow up.

Now, by just traveling to Canada you most likely have the first two requirements licked. And with a snowmobile you might accomplish the third—but what if you want to get really removed? What if you want to get away from any other skiers, snowboarders, or snowmobilers and have all that good snow to yourself?

If you were a man named Dan McDonald, you'd build your own lodge deep in the Canadian backcountry and start up a heli-operation called Mica Heliskiing. In the interest of providing TransWorld readers with the tools to make their own vacations better, I set out to investigate this self-sufficient hideaway in the backcountry of British Columbia. How did the lodge get there? Is the riding worth the isolation? What sort of person would camp out in the Alpine wilderness for the months it takes to build such a getaway?

Also on this mission were veteran photographer Mark Gallup and a cadre of experienced backcountry researchers including Shin Campos, Brandon Ruff, Jon Cartwright, Shandy Camps, Jonavan Moore, and David Meloncon. The following information is a report on what we learned firsthand—just what it takes to make it on your own, and the rewards you can reap for being successfully self-sustained in the British Columbia backcountry.

1. SCOUT YOUR LOCATION
You know how the saying goes—location is everything. Your remote hideaway won't be worth jack without sick riding. McDonald and his partner Pete Tashman scouted three locations before choosing the current Mica Heli one for its quality helicopter-landing area, easy access to the mountains, and good water.

Dan did a good job choosing the location—besides breathtaking mountain vistas, his spot definitely isn't running the risk of overpopulation. It's a two-hour drive north from Revelstoke to reach the helicopter pickup. The road follows the Columbia River to its origin at the Mica Creek Dam and the Kinabasket watershed, one of the biggest reservoirs on this continent. A helicopter then flies you past the dam and across the Kinabasket Lake to your final destination—Mica Heli's lodge, deep in the mountains.

2. BLOW UP A BUNCH OF ROCK
If you're gonna go to the trouble of building your own cabin in the woods, it'd better have a good view. Nothing gets old quicker than watching moss grow on the back of a row of poplars. If you're near the Kinabasket Lake, you might as well perch your lodge on a hillside about a half-mile above the northern part of the watershed, looking out on the Canoe Reach River.

Dan situated the lodge in this unique location because it provides an amazing 270-degree view of the river. To build the lodge there, a thousand square feet of rock had to be blown up with twenty sticks of dynamite. Much of our time in the lodge was spent enjoying the impressive wraparound view of the river and the moody weather it generated.

3. POUR A FOUNDATION
Even if you're just building a single-story cabin, you'd better start with a good foundation. After leveling off an even platform for your lodge, pour concrete directly over that bedrock to make a foundation. Although you'll probably be sleeping in tents at this point in the process, you should have the foresight to install water heated elements in the concrete floor. Mica Heli Guide's lodge has this luxury, an amenity we all appreciated after a hard day of riding. While our boots dried upstairs by the fire, it was warm enough to roam around on the stone floor with bare feet.

4. PUT UP A TIMBER FRAME Let's face it—vinyl siding really clashes with those 12,000-foot peaks surrounding an Alpine hideaway. Why not use something more rustic that complements your all-natural setting? Logs are simply the classiest way to go in the backcountry. Start with some local timber—those 80-footers work well for the first floor. Can't figure out how to get the timber up the mountain? If you don't have a few trucks, an excavator, and a trailer to destroy by trial and error, you'd better let Dan's personal experience guide the way. He ended up using a highway tractor truck and a tow truck to carry logs up the hillside and assembles them using a backhoe. The top two floors were made from a timber frame package that traveled 400 miles by track and eight miles by a tugboat across the Kinabasket.

5. BUILD A LODGE
Before you expect your friends to travel 500 miles from the local airport to spend the night, you'd better get some lights and plumbing. When we arrived at Mica Heliskiing in the fall of 2003, the windows and a majority of the electrical lighting had just been installed. All the outside walls were up, but the interior wasn't quite finished. We slept in the hypothetical rooms, where bare framing supplied the only indicators of doors and walls. The workers were going at it around the clock while we were there, putting up drywall, finishing the electrical work, and painting. Deep in the second night of our trip, a confused Mark Gallup fumbled about in a dark closed-off room. No, it wasn't a weird dream—his bedroom had just been drywalled into a room without a door.

Thankfully, Dan saw fit to have one of the bathrooms as well as the kitchen finished before our arrival. Every meal of the day was cheffed by the able Mike Mark and Pam McSkimming. With Mike's cooking and catering, the dining room was the hangout spot of choice, especially because of the heated floor.

6. SELF-SUFFICIENCY This is the most important and defining step for a successful mountain getaway¾it means you don't have to go anywhere to get anything, which is good when going shopping means a 30-minute helicopter ride and two-hour drive. For electric power, the most common choice is a diesel generator. Dan's lodge is powered by a 75-kilowatt generator, which draws off a 2,100-gallon fuel reservoir. The same glacier-fresh water that gets bottled and sold at mini-marts flows out of the faucets, a resource Dan plans on harnessing for hydroelectric power. The lodge runs a satellite communications system for phone and Internet services, which means you can actually phone home or check your e-mail. Sanitation is handled by an on-site septic system.

For the most part, the Mica Heliskiing lodge stands and operates alone. What did it take to get to this point? Three months in tents with black bears lurking around, one destroyed truck, one destroyed excavator, two blown-up generators, one destroyed snowcat, one 30-foot boat sunk thirteen times, and various other incidents of equal ilk.

7. ENJOY
After all that hard work, it's important to remember why you've situated yourself at least 200 kilometers from the nearest outpost of civilization and over 700 kilometers from the nearest city. This should be the easiest step of the D.I.Y. getaway, but if you've been left confused by the past five months of hard labor, just have Mica Heliskiing lead the way. Take half the mountain of Whistler and stack it on top of itself, and you might approach the amount and type of vertical the Mica helicopter services - runs up to 7500 feet - and the only people you have to contend with for fresh tracks are each other. Cabin fever doesn't set in when you get 30 miles of untracked powder to yourself every day.