Last year right around this time, we were twiddling our thumbs at the airport. The helicopter was late; something about a rescue. You can’t argue with that. We were itching to hop on our chopper and head in from Golden, B.C. to our home away from home for the next week – Amiskwi Lodge – but patience was required.

Bags and boxes and skis and poles were stacked high in the hangar. We paced a little, chatted a lot, took yet another bathroom break, paced some more – and then it was on. Rush, rush, rush – do this, don’t do this, put skis in here, bags in there, buckle up and we’re off.

Amiski Lodge – the view from afar. (Credit: M. Kopp)

We flew above the Blaeberry River, all eyes on mountains passes, avalanche paths and snow-covered meadows, as if it were possible to judge the potential for a good week of touring options from the air. It didn’t matter. The trip wasn’t really about the skiing, it was about the journey.

The backcountry retreat. (Photo: M. Kopp)

It was about forging new friendships over shared meals and dice games. It was exploring the thrills of open slopes, testing skills in treed glades and standing still to soak in views from ridge tops. But most of all, it about escaping the turmoil of the outer world to find a sense of peace – for me, at least.

The inner sanctum of Amiskwi. (Credit: M. Kopp)

Such is the magic of getting away, of travelling (near or far), of letting go and finding yourself within.