Issue link: http://digital.canadawide.com/i/112497
It���s no secret why. Manning is a provincial park, and stagnant revenues in recent years, along with a stubborn government, have kept development to a minimum. Which means the ski area is still served by a T-bar and a couple of antique two-seater chairlifts dating to the ���60s, chairs that can still chug uphill but break down with aggravating frequency for anyone addicted to high-speed quads and the like found in the big resorts. As well, at 437 metres, the vertical drop is not a lot, but in this case quality trumps verticality. Most important, though, the locals who call Manning their own have a distinctly un-resort look to them. This is not the place to peruse the latest designer skiwear. This is blue-collar skiing; if you don���t like it you can ski somewhere else. Please ski somewhere else. Only adding to the atavistic ambiance is the parking-lot village at the bottom of the hill. Unlike some ski resorts we could name (you know who you are), Manning encourages its beloved ticket buyers to overnight ��� which means on any given weekend when the snow blows, its base lot is crammed cheek-by-jowl with campers and RVs, even a few tents. One can only assume these are the abodes of the truly devoted. In fact, strolling the lot after our three-hour, blissed-out, deep-powder wake-up call, we met Doug Gunderson of Surrey, who reported he���s been sleeping in the lot on and off for 25 years. ���Used to come up with the kids,��� he told us from the steps of his camper. ���Got the grandkids this weekend, though. They���re already up the hill,��� he shouted over one shoulder, clomping off in his ski boots to find them. It���s all a tear-down, of course. Since Manning is Crown land, skiers can���t just park a camper for the season and walk away. Which means by sunset every Sunday, this impromptu village of tents and campers and attendant coolers and cookstoves now wafting tempting aromas in the morning frost will vanish, folded up and stolen away like shepherds��� tents in an Arabian tale. ���That���s the way we like it,��� confirmed ski patroller Ben Whitwell. The garrulous mountain man with frost-tipped beard graciously introduced me to his favourite runs after our Orange Chair blast while James and Lisa explored the greens and blues. ���And this is a busy weekend,��� he noted as we stood in the lift line that takes all of five minutes from ski-up to sit-down. ���I remember one weekend last year when we got 70 cm of fresh snow ��� there was no more than 40 of us on p24-27-34_Daytrip.indd 27 the entire mountain.��� Suddenly I was thinking of all those families in the parking lot and wondering if my little Subaru could haul a tent trailer up the mountain . . . and what would one cost, anyway? Naw, Lisa would never approve, not after the new canoe this summer and that scooter last year. But then we caught up with another local ski patroller, Dev Akhurana, a professional forester in the offseason, who pointed out that as good as the snow gets on Manning���s lift-served playground area, ���it���s even better in the backcountry.��� Because like everywhere in the park, that 700-square-kilometre expanse is gloriously underutilized by both ski mountaineering and touring enthusiasts. ���You���re a pioneer. You feel like you own the place, like you���re skiing lines no one else will ever ski,��� he raved. But alone as you may feel, you���re still surrounded by wildlife. ���All kinds of things you don���t see in the big resorts anymore: wolverines and rabbits, marten, lynx, lots of fox,��� added Akhurana, recalling with crystal clarity a night he camped in the Lone Goat area, when the icebox silence of his tent was shattered by the spine-tingling howls of a wolf baying at the moon. I���ve got a good tent, was my immediate reaction, one ear still cocked to Akhurana and Whitwell���s tales of backcountry glory. Hmmm, and how much would it cost to pick up some backcountry ski gear, more robust than cross-country and lockable for downhilling? Maybe I could get some cheap on Craigslist. Trills of laughter jerk me back to the sinuous twists of the trail: a trio of women in their 60s skiing back from Graduation Hill with tales of a man at the bottom filming the festivities with a videocam. Ghoul is what comes to mind. But James is thrilled. ���Maybe we���ll be on YouTube,��� he suggests chirpily. ���If I break my neck it���s pretty much guaranteed, buddy.��� ���Oh, come on, Daddy.��� MANNING BOASTS 30 KM OF NORDIC TRACK, all of it lovingly groomed every morning by Jamie Downes in his snorting, fire-breathing Piston Bully snow cat. As well, 160 klicks of wilderness trails wending through forested alpine meadows, alongside creeks and across ponds afford spectacular views of surrounding peaks and the occasional glimpse of a dizzying array of wildlife. According to Sigge Bjorklund, long-time owner of Sigge���s Ski Haus in Vancouver and the man Continued page 34 12-10-26 7:34 AM