Sometime between midnight and dawn, thick, black nimbostratus clouds gathered round the tops of these Purcell mountains and dumped down a full foot of fresh, dry powder snow.
I know this for two reasons. One, I slept up high on these mountains last night, entirely alone (save for my butler) at 2400 metres above sea level.
At midnight I was finishing my bottle of complimentary bubbles as the full moon rose right above the tallest peak, and the lights of the snow groomer tidying the slopes on a run called Stairway to Heaven shone its headlights right up at it.
Though mostly I know this because, two, I’m right now the first person on this mountain to ski down this fresh dumped snow.
It’s the privilege I’ve earned for staying at the highest elevated suite in Canada. When the diners at Eagle’s Eye Restaurant rode the last gondola down, I had these mountains to myself.
And darned if I didn’t sit out in the cold and watch a billion stars in the night sky before the light of that moon rendered them near-on-invisible; while the frigid air made my breath as steamy as smoke.
Then while I slept, those nimbostratus’ rolled in from the south and gave me the treat they couldn’t guarantee on the brochure: the sweetest breakfast present any skier or snowboarder could ever wish for.
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