First Turns in the Backcountry – Amiskwi Lodge
With this being my first multi-day ski trip, there was a lot to think about before the trip began—and this may have been one of the more stressful parts. Starting with gear: I had bought my ski crampons but hadn’t yet used them. They weren’t a requirement for the trip, but they were recommended. I went over my beacon and probe, and took the Avy Savvy online course to brush up on my AST 1. We even drove up Mt. Washington in Guy’s truck so I’d feel more comfortable handling mountain passes.
Avalanches were front of mind. The week leading up to the trip had avalanche forecasts at a level I’d never seen across all elevations—Extreme—meaning large avalanches were certain. I found myself obsessively checking forecasts all week, hoping for a shift in weather and ratings. EJ, who was also coming on the trip, was even more dialed—collecting data from multiple sources and writing everything down.
Then there was food planning and packing. Everything gets packed into liquor boxes—your own breakfasts and lunches, with dinners organized in pairs. Just what do you cook for 12 people—appies, dinner, dessert—that can stay cold or frozen, especially when you don’t have Guy? Gear-wise, it’s a lot: all your ski gear, plus a swimsuit and towel (there’s a sauna), into a duffel and a backpack.
This is an alpine ski trip to Amiskwi Lodge out of Golden—not guided or catered—and we’ll be there for a week.
The drive and ferries lined up well. We had binoculars in the car, and EJ was busy spotting avalanches as we passed through the mountains—a calming passenger activity.
On Saturday night, the group met for dinner in Golden.
Sunday morning we woke to clear skies, packed the last of the frozen food, and headed to the helicopter staging area. After the safety briefing, we learned we’d be doing a hot landing (engine running), so we’d approach low and off to the side while two people unloaded gear. We boarded in full ski gear—helmets, boots, everything. All 12 of us plus the pilot fit into one helicopter; the gear went in another.
We flew over the mountains with incredible visibility —recent avalanche paths visible everywhere, steep terrain all around. My anxiety was high, and I wondered if I was in over my head. I’m an intermediate skier at best. As we neared the hut, visibility dropped a bit, but we could see beautiful glades nearby—and I could feel myself start to relax.
At the lodge, two custodians stay in a small nearby hut. They chop wood, dig out stairs, switch propane tanks, and help keep things running, but otherwise we’re independent. The main log hut—with its red roof—is picturesque. Inside, it’s spacious: a large kitchen, two woodstoves, and well-organized storage. There’s a dry food area, shared coolers with ice blocks, and even some deck freezers.
After settling in and finding our rooms, we had a quick lunch, then headed out for an avalanche skills refresher and a short tour near the hut.
We came back to a gourmet dinner—far beyond what I expected for a hut trip.
Each morning, we gathered around the breakfast table to share observations—any signs of avalanche activity, and weather updates we could access via satellite. There’s no real communication out here, though most of us have inReach devices.
Our first full day brought blue skies and warm temperatures. We found some soft slopes and had great visibility to assess the surrounding terrain. We split into three groups, which worked well for managing pace and keeping eyes on each other.
We decided to dig a snow pit to assess the snowpack, since there are no formal avalanche reports for this area. It was fascinating: crust layers at roughly 20 cm, 50 cm, and 80 cm, and below that, a faceted layer—like shovel-fulls of sugar, loose and granular. That weak layer meant we needed to be cautious. We avoided overhead hazards like cornices and stuck to lower-angle terrain, generally under 30°.
It was a great day—not covering huge distance or elevation, but really taking in where we were. The other groups skied the “cornfields” and had some great turns. Snow was forecast for the next day.
A sauna, a watering-can shower on a rope, and homemade ravioli made for a perfect alpine evening.
Day 2 brought snowfall that continued through the day, giving us beautiful powder skiing. Each day starts with skinning up, then transitioning—removing skins, locking bindings, and finding good lines. We skied a mix of open terrain and trees, doing a few laps before exploring further. Radios kept us in contact with the other groups.
Evenings settled into a rhythm—sauna, hot tub, reading, music (Doug or Dave on guitar), and great conversation. This group had incredible life experience, and I learned more than I ever expected—including quite a bit about Vancouver Island marmots.
That night, the wind picked up—really picked up. Gusting hard enough to wake everyone, and it went on for hours. Not much sleep that night.
At one point, John woke us to see the Northern Lights. They were faint, but still special to experience from a hut.
Water is a daily task—hauling three Home Depot buckets on a toboggan from a nearby water hole. There’s a snow tunnel leading down to a covered creek, and a pan strapped to a handle to break the ice and scoop water.
With new snow and wind, we adjusted plans—staying below treeline due to current avalanche conditions. Three people opted for a hut day, six headed to the glades and “golf course,” and I joined Catrin and Erich. I’m not at the level of most (any) of the group, so I really appreciated being included. They’re thoughtful partners—constantly checking in: how are we feeling, what’s our energy, what are the risks?
After our first climb, it was cold and windy, and we weren’t sure how far we’d go. But Erich led us down an incredible run into the valley—long, with a few steeper sections, but with forgiving snow. Big smiles at the bottom.
We toured a bit more, had lunch, regrouped with others near the hut, and headed out again. What we thought would be a short run turned into another full lap. We made it back around 4:30—just in time for EJ’s and my dinner night. It wasn’t quite as gourmet as others, but everyone was fed.
Day 4 saw groups spread out—some to the “Water Closet,” others to Posthumous Bowl. Everyone found terrain they’d been hoping for. Another long day, returning just before 5 in bright sunshine.
On Day 5, five of us headed toward Burnt Timbers, while others explored Crystal Ridge and beyond. We did a lap near the cornfields, then continued to Burnt Timbers with incredible views across the valley. Great snow, great skiing.
Our final full day—was it already here? We all headed back to the Water Closet for long runs through trees and open lines. A longer climb, but worth it.
That night was leftovers—an impressive spread, and I think I counted five boxes of wine. John made snow margaritas—a new favourite. Sauna, stories, and a perfect final evening.
On the last day, we packed, cleaned the hut, and prepared for an 11 a.m. pickup. Five of us squeezed in an early lap—skins on at daybreak, skiing by 7. We did “Home Run,” and a few managed two laps.
On the flight out, I got the front seat with the pilot—an unforgettable view across three mountain ranges.
My first backcountry ski week has come to an end. I’ll miss the stories, the shared meals, and the depth of experience in this group—Martin, Catrin, Erich, Josh’s stories from Chile, George’s trips to Japan, Malcolm and Heather’s adventures, Dave and John’s long list of adventures, Doug’s ski stories from his youth. I’ve come home with a longer list of places I want to explore—especially the backcountry near Smithers—and a strong sense that this is just the beginning.
More adventures ahead!
Trip participants: John, Heather, Malcolm, Dave, Catrin, Erich, Doug, Martin, Josh, EJ, George and me (Tina).
