After enjoying our last day skiing Whistler mountain on Sunday and Blackcomb on Monday the time has come and the inevitable must to be realised - Leaving Day. I can't recall ever feeling such a mix of emotions: sadness at leaving where, for the last 6 months, I called home; excitement at the prospect of moving onto to somewhere new and unknown. It's undeniable that over the course of an entire winter season you can do so much and accomplish things you'd never imagined, but for every new experience or fresh tale to tell there's at least one thing you wish you'd done (or about a dozen you know you shouldn’t have brought with you, as you try to cram every last possession into a suitcase that you swear MUST have shrunk since you arrived).
Fittingly, it was a hot, sunny day as we left the village, a sure sign that the winter season, and with it my spell as a Whistler resident, had come to a timely end. But the snow-capped mountains made me nostalgic for those powder skiing days. There's no doubt that it wont be the last time I see those breathtaking peaks in the flesh.
But in spite of all of this, the thought of spending the summer in Whistler, staring folornly at grassy slopes which only a few months before lay under metres of snow and frequenting the same haunts as during winter but without the usual few hundred people competing for the same few inches of elbow room, doesn't appeal in the least. It's not so much that I'll miss Whistler for what it is per se, rather I'll miss what it becomes when the temperature dips below freezing, the chairlifts are running and there's good skiing to be had - that is, one of the most exciting places on earth.
Fittingly, it was a hot, sunny day as we left the village, a sure sign that the winter season, and with it my spell as a Whistler resident, had come to a timely end. But the snow-capped mountains made me nostalgic for those powder skiing days. There's no doubt that it wont be the last time I see those breathtaking peaks in the flesh.
But in spite of all of this, the thought of spending the summer in Whistler, staring folornly at grassy slopes which only a few months before lay under metres of snow and frequenting the same haunts as during winter but without the usual few hundred people competing for the same few inches of elbow room, doesn't appeal in the least. It's not so much that I'll miss Whistler for what it is per se, rather I'll miss what it becomes when the temperature dips below freezing, the chairlifts are running and there's good skiing to be had - that is, one of the most exciting places on earth.
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