Whistler Blackcomb is the Best Ski Resort in North America

Featured Image: Matthew Sylvestre

As part of our Volume 28 People & Places issue, we curated a list of the Top 10 Ski Resorts in North America. Each resort on this list is here for a reason and who better to explain than the people who know the resort best. Every article is penned by journalists who have lived in the ski towns they’re writing about. They know these mountains inside and out, and their love for them shines through every word. From terrain, atmosphere and accessibility, to pure, unfiltered badass-ery—consider this your bucket list for the season. Coming in the top spot is Whistler Blackcomb in British Columbia.

When I say Whistler Blackcomb is the best ski resort in North America, I think about KC Deane and the snowy April day when I chased him around the British Columbia resort.

It was a few years ago. Deane was near the top of the pro skier pile, starring in feature films and riding for big sponsors, including Eddie Bauer. As an American who had skied all over the world, with connections to Montana, Idaho and California, he could live anywhere and chose Whistler. That said a lot.

This resort has held a special place in my heart since December of 1994, when my best friend and I took our first independent ski trip from Banff, spending three days scaring ourselves and choking on powder. Every time I return to Whistler after visiting another resort, I discover another reason that reinforces my initial hunch.

Other experts backed me up. It was where all the top Canadian skiers seemed to live and retire. It was, and still is, the Silicon Valley and Hollywood of the Canadian freeski scene. It’s where wanna-be pros go to be discovered.

But Canada can feel like a ski hill next to the mega resorts of the U.S., and we Canadians can be insecure about our importance, like we’re bragging about a big fish from a small pond. In Deane’s choice, I saw validation.

I was already in the alpine on Whistler Mountain when Deane texted with a meeting spot on Blackcomb, a 4,000-vertical-foot valley and a couple of miles away. I had a couple of hours, plenty of time to tick off a couple of my favorite Whistler runs.

From Peak Chair, I slid past the epic view of the aptly named Black Tusk and Coast Range glaciers and found the entrance to The Cirque. I side-slipped the narrow ramp leading under the towering cornice and then jumped through the rocks and steeps until the terrain mellowed out into the screaming-fast rollers of the bowl. Back at the summit, I dropped the other direction into Symphony Bowl and wound my way down from open alpine to scrubby forest and onto Jeff’s Ode to Joy. The single-lane groomers weave through towering old-growth trees; it’s fast-paced tree skiing, but on blue corduroy.

A couple of high-speed lifts later (everything moves fast around here), I hopped on the Peak 2 Peak Gondola for the trip over to Blackcomb, leaving Whistler’s refined bowls and groomers for the more playful, exploratory runs of its sister mountain. Enjoying two different mountains on the same day almost felt like cheating.

By the time I wiggled my way through the skier cross course and found the bottom of the Super Pipe, two of Whistler Blackcomb’s five terrain parks, Deane was launching straight airs high above the lip and the sunny day was clouding over.

We high-fived and I told Deane to lead the way. He took off down a groomer, only turning with the curves and banks of the run as it plunged through the forest.

We were soon back in the alpine and Deane was leading me into the woods. The straight, thick trunks of the coastal rainforest around Whistler lent themselves to natural glades, and here was a small playground of pillows and spines hidden between two arteries.

The trail map says there are more than 200 named runs at Whistler Blackcomb and probably just as many unmarked trails, like this one. Finding a gem like this, rather than the numerous cliffs and impenetrable thickets, is the challenge and the reward of skiing here.

I figured we’d head to Spanky’s Ladder next—a hike-to zone on the backside with four gnarly bowls. Or maybe over to the legendary steeps and huge cornice drops of Saudan Couloir. But Deane had a better idea as the storm built.

We skied and traversed through cliff bands and forest until the route ended at a hidden boot pack. We had covered all the introductory topics, so as we shouldered our skis, I asked Deane the question I was most curious about: Why did he choose Whistler?

He smiled, talking about the skiing and the biking at the resort, the endless spines and pillows in the accessible backcountry, the First Nations culture featured prominently in place names, public art and local museums, and the convenience of Vancouver’s international airport, only two hours away.

By then, we had topped out and slid over to a steep chute through two rock towers. Twenty thousand people were skiing at the resort that day, but there wasn’t a track down this feature. Just as he pushed over the edge, Deane called over his shoulder, “And this! This is why I live here.”