Pole Planting Across the Prairies

Investigating the ski culture and characters in Saskatchewan

The first rule about Saskatchewan is that you don’t talk about the cold. It’s an accepted fact to whoever ventures outside during the winters months – it’s cold, everybody knows it, so get over it. But for two Vancouver-based ski journalists, photographer Reuben Krabbe and myself, touring the province in early February, it was a hard lesson to learn.

Saskatchewan doesn’t muster visions of peaks untouched or the endless mountain playgrounds that skiers dream of, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t have snow. And, if Saskatchewan is proof of anything at all, it’s that if there is snow, people will ski. That was our mission: to find the skiing in Saskatchewan.

"Saskatchewan doesn’t muster visions of peaks untouched or the endless mountain playgrounds that skiers dream of, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t have snow."

Our hunt began in Regina, and through a local ski shop, Sunshine Snow and Ski, we managed to meet some local urban riders. Their local mountain, Mission Ridge Ski and Board, is famous for producing the McMorris brothers of snowboarding fame. Mark’s X Games medals proudly hang in a trophy case above the stairwell in the Mission Ridge Lodge, hoping to inspire the hundreds of school kids that climb past them every season. The hill itself features 10 trails, accessed by two magic carpets and a triple chair, which is the old Pasakapoo Chairlift from Calgary’s Olympic Park. This was a point of pride for general manager, Don Williams. “Eddie the Eagle rode on that chair,” he proudly tells me.

Even though Williams is not a skier himself, he is partly responsible for saving Mission Ridge and giving it the facelift it needed to attract more visitors. While working at a local pizzaeria, he met Mike Smith, whose father, owner of Mission Ridge at the time, wanted to stop the ski operation and sell off what he could of the homemade T-bars and lifts.

“That wouldn’t be a good thing for the valley and the town,” Don remarks, “So I took over, put in a chair lift, and a magic carpet and stuff like that, but mainly I put in snowmaking,”

Permanently clad in Hawaiian shirts and a big greying beard, Williams now runs the operation alongside Mike Smith and his wife Angie. Because of the snowmaking capabilities, the hill typically runs from mid-December to the end of March. Mission Ridge has seen a spike in popularity, and on a good day, is the recipient of 1000 skier visits. Four of those skiers – Thomas Burns, Elijah Louttit, Aron Sooker and Mitch Thatcher - are local teenagers from the Regina area, who in return for a lift pass, maintain the park features on the hill.

These regulars happily played tour guide to Reuben and I, lapping the features that they so intimately know as many times as Reuben directed. When he mentioned that his ideal shot was one featuring an iconic Saskatchewan landscape with a grain elevator in the background, they gave us multiple locations and options to work with.

That afternoon was spent in Indian Head, repeatedly hitting a small feature in front of a non-elusive grain elevator. The tour continued later that evening, leading us to a rail in Regina. After Reuben and I decided to call it, opting to warm up the fingers and toes that we weren’t sure were ever going to feel sensation again, our tour guides went to another spot and kept going. Cameras and cold be damned, the few urban skiers in Regina don’t do it because the culture promotes it. If they subscribed to the province’s narrative for youth, they would be lacing up hockey skates and taping hockey sticks. Instead they build their own park features by day and scope their urban hits at night. There is nothing glamorous about freeskiing in Regina and that’s what makes it so intriguing – doing it for the hell of it, with no change of anyone ever harassing or noticing you.

Robin’s Donuts fuelled us through southern Saskatchewan. That’s one of the many nuances about the middle province – it’s oddly high number of coffee and doughnut franchises of a different name than Tim. While en route to Duck Mountain, a small hill that flirts with the Manitoba border, we wondered two things: why Robin’s Donuts are so concentrated in Saskatchewan, and how long we could drive in a straight line without touching the steering wheel. Our record: 1.5 kilometers.

The highway was adorned with rode signs for snowmobiles in the ditches, reminding slednecks to respect the winter hazards, not to drink and sled, and to stop at appropriate intersections.

From the local stories we heard, being pulled behind horses and/or a snowmobile is how many people learned how to ski in Saskatchewan. As legend would have it, Jim Hunter, one of the Crazy Canucks, learned how to ski behind a tractor and horse on his father’s farm just outside of Medicine Hat, prior to appearing on Olympic podiums in the ‘70s.

Unlike Hunter, Craig Brock learnt how to ski at Duck Mountain, growing up on a nearby farm. After years of skiing and odd jobs around the country, he returned to the area, and along with his wife Rita, took over the management of the mountain. He spent the morning showing us around his haunt, which features 21 runs, accessible by two T-bars and a magic carpet. The Duck had one thing going for it that set it apart from most other hills – 100 per cent natural snow and a lot of it.

Due to low numbers, only one of the lifts was operational that day. But with a quick five-minute hike to get away from the crowd of a dozen skiers, we had access to untouched runs and blower snow. We found face shots in Saskatchewan. Even if only for four turns and about 300 vertical feet, it was face shots in the middle of Prairies.

“Right now, quite honestly, The Duck is in kind of a low. The numbers are down all over the Prairies,” Craig explains to me over a hot chocolate and a plate of skiers fries – their own version of poutine. “Our mandate from the board is, ‘it’s a community hill keep it going.’ This is something that the community has always had and we get a lot of support from everybody in the area.”

We found face shots in Saskatchewan. Even if only for four turns and about 300 vertical feet, it was face shots in the middle of Prairies.

The local support comes from businesses in Kamsack, a town 20 minutes to the west, and it’s apparent all over the hill. Each run is sponsored by a different business or local figure. Even big corporations chip in, with CTV Saskatchewan sponsoring a run. Despite the fact that it is barely profitable, the local community rallies around the hill. The Duck has been a staple in the community since locals opened it in the early ‘70s, with generations of families learning how to ski or snowboard there, and fostering an appreciation for the sport and its culture. As a result, there is no shortage of local price or support at Duck Mountain, despite the dwindling number of two-plankers…besides Reuben, there was only one other skier on the hill that day. Everyone else was on a snowboard and likely under the age of 21.

It was hard to find skiers in Saskatchewan. Prior to embarking on this journey, we sent out tentacles to everyone we knew across the province, asking if they knew of any skiers, and the responses we received were overwhelmingly similar: “No, but I can put you in touch with snowboarders.” Besides hockey and curling, snowboarding is Saskatchewan’s winter sport of choice. So when Reuben caught wind of a lone urban skier in Prince Albert, we made that a priority of the trip.

Our afternoon in Prince Albert was spent with Max McDougall, a 19-year-old local skier, scoping out various locations to see if any of them were ideal to hit that day. Each of the spots lacked something fundamental to make them doable, which relegated us to playing on the local hill, the Kinsmen Ski Centre. Max works at the hill, and was able to start the rope tow, even if it’s just for him. Located northeast of town, the hill is run by the city, and operates most days from 4 p.m. until 9 p.m., allowing for families to enjoy the hill after the work and school day is over. It also allows 11-year-old ski racer, Holis Finlayson, to train on a regular basis. With the support of her dad, Robin, who doubles as coach of the team she’s on, Holis has become something of a podium pounder, earning top three finishes at nearly every event she’s competed in.

The night we were there was too cold for the locals, with the temperatures below the minus 25 cut off for operations. Regardless, Max, Holis, Robin, and local snowboard shop owner, Adam Balon, fired up the rope tow and warmed up the lodge for us. Adam’s shop, Propaganda, is responsible for sponsoring local snowboarding competitions and rail jams, and will help local skiers by ordering in what equipment he can. Holis and Max explain that there is little to no rivalry between skiers and snowboarders, and everyone generally adopts a welcoming attitude to anyone on the hill. And from what Reuben explains, Holis is one of the most impressive athletes he has met, especially at her age.

Cranberry Flats isn’t exactly a name that screams skiing. A 10-minute drive south of Saskatoon, the parkland is essentially a giant sand dune, with tall grass and weeds sprouting out of the ground. It features a boardwalk and a path system that is enjoyed by many locals, and I remember my grandmother, who lived in Saskatoon for five decades, taking me there as a child. If you go at the right time, local ski buddies Gerald Reshetnyk and Rob Theoret can be found touring up the 80-foot hillside to enjoy descents down onto the frozen South Saskatchewan River.

In their backcountry terrain, there is no need for beacons or avalanche shovels. They don’t have to boot pack or worry about somebody poaching their lines. They don’t even use skins, as just minimal wax is enough to provide enough traction on the climb.

Gerald and Rob, who both hover around 50, are hybrid skiers. They cross-country, tour and telemark. In their backcountry terrain, there is no need for beacons or avalanche shovels. They don’t have to boot pack or worry about somebody poaching their lines. They don’t even use skins, as just minimal wax is enough to provide enough traction on the climb. And since the slope is mostly sand and creamy earth, there is no concern of rocks or sticks ruining the bases of the skis.

“It’s just a big sand dune, no rocks. So you only need a bit of snow and you can blast out there; it’s only 10 minutes away,” Gerald explains over a beer, “It’s just a match made in heaven.”

Because minimal snow and equipment is needed, Gerald and Rob (along with two other friends) can be found on Cranberry Flats most afternoons, doing as many laps as they damn well please. They’re anomalies. It would be near impossible to find skiers willing to endure minus thirty temperatures to repeatedly tour such a mellow slope, which provides a maximum of five turns. But not only do they do it all winter, they do it with unmatched enthusiasm. The look on Gerald’s face as he reached the bottom of the slope is the same shit-eating grin I’ve seen on people who get powder shots at cat-skiing lodges for the first time. The joy is there, and it’s there in ample amounts. Despite the nature of the beast that is their ski playground, it’s easy to understand where the joy stems from – a love for playing in snow with a couple of friends.

After a week in Saskatchewan, it’s apparent that what the province lacks in mountain slopes, it makes up for in passion. While they may be few, Saskatchewan skiers love skiing the same as anyone in any ski town. It’s probably best illustrated with an analogy: say you ate a superb ice cream cone. It melted at the right time, and your enjoyed every lick of it. Later, you hear that a friend got the same ice cream cone, only bigger, dipped, and with sprinkles. Does that take anything away from the excellence of your ice cream cone? Only if you let it.

This story was featured in issue 1.3 of Forecast Magazine, published in December, 2015.