When I decided shortly after college to quit my new job in New York City, it was for just one more full season of skiing. Ingrained in my head was a clip from an old Greg Stump movie, of deep, deep powder, filmed in Fernie, BC. To make my one season worth it, I flew to Colorado and promptly hitched a ride north with a fellow skier I didn’t know.
A thousand miles later, we pulled into a little town where snowbanks hid the buildings and stop signs had to be dug out. I bought a season pass at the end of my first day skiing. The fact that I didn’t know anyone in town, have a place to live, a car, and couldn’t work in Canada didn’t even register. Fernie seemed like the kind of place where one could work that stuff out later.
Incidentally, this little valley got the most snow in North America that season. And I could blame Fernie for the fact the fact that ‘one more year of skiing’ has stretched to a decade. But what I really should do is thank it.
Want more? No chance at Canadian citizenship. There are other dream towns.