INTRODUCTION

True North is what guides everything we do - and don’t do - at REW. It’s an internal compass with our deepest-held beliefs, values and principles at its pole. In these True North Tales, our CREW share the stories that they believe echo what we all stand for.

The hill.

I can vividly remember the first time I went skiing. I was about five years old and my dad decided to take my sister and I night skiing. It was a typical North Western Ontario winter evening, the temperature hovering well below zero. I can still recall the snow twinkling on the hill in front of us. 

Perhaps my Dad was unsure if we’d like skiing, or just didn't want to buy two other lift tickets, but he brought us to the base of the bunny hill and said, "OK, climb up the run then ski down". So there I was, five years old and carrying skis that were taller than me. It was exhausting, and with my little legs it felt like I was climbing Everest. Once we got to the top, I looked out over the city, "Wow! I can see everything from up here!". 

It was a very different city back then. There were more lights in the sky than below it, and at times it was achingly quiet.

Pizza. Fries. Pizza. Fries.

My Dad strapped us in and showed us some basics: "This is pizza, this is fries. Got it? Good, let's go!" Off we went down the hill. Pizza, fries, pizza, fries. I giggled as I glided down, partly due to fear, but mostly due to exhilaration. Sure, there were a lot of falls, but once we reached the bottom, my sister and I both screamed, "Let’s go again!". 

Every weekend for the next five years, we would “go again”. Slowly learning, slowly building our technique as our hill slowly built up around us, the homes and businesses growing with the times, and the residents.

Moving into our teenage years, we never missed a weekend. We lived about 10 minutes from the hill and, regardless if it was -25 out, we would ski, even if we could only do one run before heading into the chalet to warm up. The mountain became our mall to hangout, even as actual malls spread across our neighbourhoods. It was the place where we met friends and made new ones. Every weekend you knew where to find them - on the hill. 

Over the hill.

Years later, I moved to beautiful British Columbia. For years I didn’t ski. I had many excuses, but I always wanted to get back on that hill. Finally, about five years ago, a friend convinced me to. It was all so familiar, as if I had never stopped. The wind in your face. The sound of freshly-groomed snow being carved by newly-sharpened skis. The rush and freedom as you live in the moment, pushing your limits just to the point of being out of control.

So much was the same, but this certainly was not “my” hill. New and growing families need new homes, and these new households need places to shop and to work and to live. Everything was so much bigger, yet at the same time seemed to have shrunk somehow. Still beautiful, but different. In the intervening years, I had grown so much - I was just surprised that my hill had too.

Recently, I've been skiing at Whistler. People from all over the world come to experience its renowned runs and incredible beauty. One day, I shared a gondola with a gentleman in his early seventies. He’d been skiing at Whistler since the ‘60s, when Whistler Village was still the town dump. Listening to him, I was inspired to see someone at his age still feeling the adrenaline rush and still pushing himself to experience the adventure of skiing.

Growing up.

But my conversation with him also reminded me that we work to build things. Our lives, our families, our neighbourhoods, our careers, and our businesses. We grow, and everything around us grows with us. It’s inevitable - and it is a good thing. Sure, Whistler once only had one lift to get up the mountain, the infamous Little Red Chair, but nostalgia can make us forget that it was precarious in the best weather conditions, and downright terrifying during winter storms.

I didn't understand or appreciate it when I was five years old, but my Dad pushed my sister and I to climb that hill so we too could build things. In our case, a lifelong passion for adventure. That lesson has always stuck with me. It’s not that growth is always “good”, it’s that it’s inevitable if you want to truly build something. 

Our responsibility is simply to ensure that when we do build, we always do so with great care.

Slideshow: Whistler’s Red Chairs.

Explore them all at Whistorical.