Originally we were slated to fly into another hut in the same region, but at the last minute plans fell through. We had 4 days worth of food and a months worth of alcohol but no-where to unleash the beast. Brandon jumped on the phone and called every backcountry establishment in BC trying to get us in. It was Thursday afternoon and we needed to fly in on Saturday.






As luck would have it, the only response was from The Alpine Club of Canada who had a week available in the Fairy Meadows Hut. To give you some idea of how hard it is to get into this hut, Tyler, one of the posse had been in the lottery for 2 years and never got the green light to get into some of the sickest ski touring terrain you can imagine.

We were in. There was a group in the week before us, and another the week after, and it was fully booked until the end of April. It had been snowing all week, and setting up so epic, that we might not even get the weather to fly in.






We pulled into staging on Saturday morning and loaded the heli and waited for the weather to break just enough to get in. Luck was on our side and we got 3 duffels bags of beer and fear and loathing into the heli, and we were whisked us up into nirvana.

Our posse of 9 was locked and loaded. A whole summer and fall of landscaping and hanging lights needed to be vented through partying and powder. The first night dumped perhaps 60% of that pent up frustration. Cam Heath jumped out of the gate in the contest to have the most fun. No-body brought any music so the gang improvised with Yehudi rocking out a 15min drum solo on pots and pans. Edmund Heath and Tenzing Peterson made the first ascent of the hut while Puskas paid tribute to Billy Putnam.






But all that stuff you had to be there for and the really interesting part of this story is the skiing. Thing is, you had to be there for that too. It was epic in a way that all of us may well refrain from using the word ever again. It was that good. The visibility was poor and kept us out of the alpine. Right outside the hut are lines as gnarly as you want with rock rides, pillows, spines and cliffs with the deepest hero snow you can imagine. We never skied more than say a 30-minute hike from the hut.






One ridge over and steep pillow lines feed into perfect glades and top to bottom shredding. Held hostage below the tree line by perma-puke, we came to learn our lines like our favorite runs off the ski hill. Each morning we would wipe the fog from our eyes and the spittle from the corner of our mouths and hike back to our lines and shred them with 10-20cms of new. It snowed the entire time we were there. Fine, dry flakes drifted down constantly, filling in our tracks each evening and making it deeper yet again.






The Adamants are renowned for the impressive, jagged peaks above Friendship Col with steep couloirs and exposed faces running out onto the glacier. Across the valley is Alaskan terrain that invariably you only see in photos and the heli-budget films. This place is a Mecca for ski touring, powder and gnar.

We had packed food for 5 nights, but with the option of a cheaper dove-tail flight out on Saturday and the risk of the heli not getting in on Thursday, we rationed our food and hoped those on the outside wouldnÕt worry about us. 4 days of the best skiing of our lives quickly became 7 days of partying all night and getting faceshots all day.






The last day went blue, giving us incredible views across to the Vertebrae Glacier and Chatter CreekÕs awesome tenure. The amount of snow in the past week kept us out of the alpine, so we re-shredded our best shots and wore ice beards with stupid grins splashed across our faces.

Coming back to reality and returning to our respective ski hills, things havenÕt been the same. It may never ever be that good again. 30cms on the resort still isnÕt Fairy Meadows. It may have just spoiled us to the point of appearing depressed or bummed after a waist deep day on the hill.






The only thing to complement or compete with that week would be a week of bluebird in the spring skiing steep lines. We can only dreamÉ