Squamish Chief

The Squamish Chief (Siy ̓ám̓ Smánit) is unquestionably a rock climber’s mountain. It is a glacial-carved granite monolith that rises from the Pacific Ocean, greeting visitors coming up the Sea to Sky Highway into the outdoor hub of Squamish, British Columbia. By nature of its proximity to the mega ski resort, Whistler Blackcomb, Squamish is also home to a huge and active community of ski tourers. With an average of over 80 inches of annual precipitation, the alpine areas of the Sea to Sky become blanketed in snow, and every one of those skiers has looked up at the forbidding North Gully of the Chief, wondering if it could ever fill in with enough snow to be skiable.

Since I live less than 500 yards from the foot of the Chief, I was not immune to such thoughts either. Especially in January 2022, as the snowfall in town seemed to never end. While it’s not unusual to have snow at sea level for a few weeks in deep winter, the steady accumulation stacking up in my driveway did seem a bit more than usual. Finally, while nursing an overuse injury in my shoulder from trying to shovel snow over the massive bank in my yard, I knew that surely enough had filled in the gully to make it worth a closer look. Paul Greenwood and Chris Christie are close ski partners of mine and almost always keen to go and see if something is doable.

It was no exception that day in January when I proposed a 5 am start to try to ski the Chief – they were in. We met at the turn off the highway and immediately started skinning. Turning into the forest was our first indication that this might actually work. Deep snow was covering the rocks even at the very bottom of the trail, making skinning easy and boosting spirits significantly. We climbed up the trail, one that we’ve each hiked up and down hundreds of times on foot over the years. Cold and crisp temperatures kept the snow soft underfoot as we followed little orbs of light from our headlamps. We broke out of the trees just after dawn and continued skinning up to the summit.

These last steps were the most nerve-wracking of the day, as we knew that beneath the snow beneath us was nothing but a smooth slab of rock. Nothing to provide stability to the snowpack. We were still in a dream state as we ripped our skins at the peak, half asleep from a short night and equally in disbelief that we were actually on our skis up here.

The first few turns down the slabs snapped us out of it. We maneuvered through trees, and trail markers typically above our heads were at waist height, finding the notch that forms the top of the North Gully. The gully is a fault line in an otherwise very solid piece of rock. It’s steep and in the summer, essentially a garbage chute, but we had arrived at a perfect couloir. Snow was sifting off the slabs of the peak above, down the massive north walls, and settling into a beautiful ski run. The top was deep and tight, with mandatory hop turns until we could open it up a bit more. A third of the way down, we arrived at the chockstone. In summer, climbers scramble up the inside of it, spiraling out of the top.

I had long dreamed of skiing into the darkness here, but it was clogged with snow. Instead, we pounded a few pitons into a crack nearby and made a steep, 200-foot rappel down the outside of the chockstone. Pulling our ropes, we were well established in the lower couloir. The angle lessens and the walls get a bit wider, allowing us to ski a bit faster. We still had to leapfrog to avoid sluffing each other out, but we were moving smoothly. A few more rock steps required short rappels, and then, before long, we were making glory turns down the lower apron into the forest and back out onto the road.

The way back to the highway was a series of high-fives and cheers. A dream come true! At 10 am, we were back in our cars – Paul had to get to work at his clinic, Chris to the fire hall, and I set off for the interior of British Columbia to begin my next guiding training course. While we certainly weren’t the only ones with the Chief on our minds that day, we were the ones who actually got ourselves out of bed. I’ve never regretted going to have a look – and I doubt I ever will!