Mountain Rush in the Kootenay Rockies

By Tim Johnson

Soar high among the snowy peaks of the Kootenay Rockies along the Powder Highway, home to world-class skiing and truly elevated adventures.

I'm near the town of Kimberley, in southeast British Columbia. This is a place where most visitors check in, drop their bags, and immediately strap on a pair of skis to swoosh down the black diamonds. But, at least for the moment, those alpine runs can wait. Thumping out through a chilly, late-winter morning in February, the white spires of the Kootenay Rockies spread out to the horizon in all directions below. There’s not a building or road — or ski lift — as far as the eye can see.

While it feels like we could just enjoy the scenery for hours, our chopper pilot has charted our course to a very specific destination. Cresting a ridge, the mountain falls away, and my heart drops into my stomach, adrenaline starting to pump. He circles once, twice, three times, and then begins to descend toward the picture-perfect form of a rustic cabin, with plenty of fun still waiting for us on the ground.

FAMILY SKI OUTING AT KIMBERLEY ALPINE RESORT

© KOOTENAY ROCKIES TOURISM / KARI MEDIG © TIM JOHNSON

Part of a string of ski towns collectively called the Powder Highway, the village of Kimberley with about 7,500 residents was once known for its Bavarian theme. And while vestiges of its German roots remain, today it has a slightly upscale, intimate feel. Its beating heart is a pedestrian street lined with cool little bars, coffee shops, boutiques and excellent restaurants.

FAT BIKING THROUGH KIMBERLEY’S DOWNTOWN

Flying in from Vancouver and landing in Cranbrook, I first take a little time to see that city, set in a broad valley, stopping to tour its historic downtown and the railcar collection at the Cranbrook History Centre. Here, you can board many of the almost two dozen coaches, with the oldest examples dating as far back as 1907. Then I make my way north, winding through the mountains, to Kimberly less than a half-hour drive away.

Upon arrival, I get a feel for the village by grabbing a craft beer at a local pub, the kind where you can pull up a stool and strike up a conversation with whomever happens to be next to you. A few locals indulge me, noting that, beyond the allure of the slopes, this is a place where you can snowshoe, cross-country ski and hike to hidden hot springs. And, of course, there’s plenty of downhill skiing, too. At the Kimberley Alpine Resort, both experts and beginners can find a run they’ll enjoy, and the snow is exceptional. The clouds boxed in by the mountains drop a fresh layer of precipitation by the Lizard Range, a rare east-west line of peaks.

ENJOYING CRAFT BEER AT OVER TIME BEER WORKS IN KIMBERLEY

© TIM JOHNSON

After tasting some schnitzel and sauerkraut at a legendary local spot, The Old Bauernhaus, visiting the world’s largest standing cuckoo clock (almost seven metres high) and riding a narrow-gauge underground mining railway, it’s time to fly. As I arrive at the small chopper base and meet my pilot, Duncan, he tells me we’ll only be flying for about 20 minutes. Despite the brevity of the trip, he’ll be transporting me to another world.

We soar past the 2,835 metres eminences of the Steeples, then Fisher Peak and Lizard Range. The pilot tells me to watch for the elk and mountain goats that make their home below. Soon enough, we’re descending. The snow swirls around us as he sets down the chopper in the McDermott Basin. Hopping down and crunching into the white stuff — so bright on this sunny day that I need to shield my eyes — we’re greeted by a friendly border collie, her tail wagging happily.

HEADING TO A RUSTIC CABIN ON THE MOUNTAIN BY CHOPPER

© TIM JOHNSON

The pup belongs to an outfitter named Travis, who operates three cabins in the area available for overnight stays. He has driven a snow-cat up here — a vehicle capable of climbing mountains deep into the wilderness. While he grew up just around the corner, Travis says he’s still always wowed by these picturesque surroundings. “I always see it with new eyes,” he notes, shaking his head. “It never gets old.”

We soak up the sun, then take a spin on the fat-tire bikes he has brought. Wobbly at the best of times on a regular bicycle, I’m extra-shaky on the snow, which is somehow both squishy and smooth beneath me. But I manage to peddle around for a while, taking my two wheels awkwardly slow over a couple of bumps, meant to be jumps, set up on a downhill slope in front of the cabin.

Soon enough, I’m back in the sky with Duncan again. He’s taking us past a series of hoodoos, thin spires of rock shaped by many years of erosion, and over the Kootenay River with its big bends now shining in the late-day sun. Those ski lifts and 728 hectares of skiable terrain await at the resort. But first, once we land, I’m headed back for the village to have another pint, maybe a chat, and one last glimpse at that famous cuckoo clock.