In Search of Whistlers Other

It may be the most famous but the Whistler Mountain that hosted many of the 2010 Winter Olympics’ marquee events is actually just one of three with the same name in Western Canada. The others two might not see as many visitors on any given day and the nightlife scene isn’t quite the same, but then again this is arguably also part of their appeal.

The other two Whistler Mountains don’t have giant Inuit inukshuks built on them either.

A friend recently relocated to Alberta and donating my pickup truck to help with the move provided an excuse to explore the two lesser known Whistlers.

The first stop of this peaky pilgrimage was to a mountain that overlooks historic Jasper, a small town justly famous in its own right. It too is a tourist town with a healthy per capita percentage of ski bums but the differences are many: Churches are everywhere but there is as of yet not a single Starbucks. There are many more moustaches but no monster homes. (In fact, because the town is located inside a national park, homeowners can only own the dwelling itself, not the land, and so most houses are refreshingly modest.)

Jasper is also very much a company town but the Employer is Parks Canada, not Intrawest. The local bars feature Happy Hours, not nightly drink specials, and not a single one is without a prominent selection of the severed heads of indigenous wildlife – usually those once belonging grizzlies, moose, wolves, bighorn sheep, caribou, wolverines and elk – staring blindly at patrons through the ever-present haze of cigarette smoke. The prudent soon learn to avoid roaming gangs of elk on the streets at night, not drunken, bejewelled thugs from the Lower Mainland. And locals here don’t wear cowboy hats to make an ironic fashion statement.

There seems to be some confusion over the spelling of the mountain that overlooks Jasper, which is known alternately as either Whistlers Mountain or Whistler’s Mountain, depending on who you talk to. As with Whistler, B.C., it too is named for the distinctive shriek of alarm given by the hoary marmots who call the mountain home. The potential prey of just about any passing mammal hungry enough to be bothered with it, the hoary marmot (Marmota Caligata ) has become known for the shrill, whistling cry it gives when danger is sensed and these gray-haired rodents are commonly referred to as “whistlers.”

With a top elevation of 2,469 metres, this Whistler is taller than the one in B.C. by a good 247 metres, but falls well short in terms of accessibility. For starters, the gondola only runs from April to October, not the other way around and much to the chagrin of people who arrive porting poles and planks each winter looking to finally ski Whistler. According to the preternaturally perky Jasper Tramway rep who escorted our jampacked, 30-person tram up towards the summit, most are none too pleased to find out there isn’t a Blackcomb Mountain nearby either.

(Fortunately, a nearby ski hill – the serendipitously named Marmot Basin – has 1,500 acres of terrain and a 3,000 vertical foot drop to help ease their pain.)

Built in just eight months by Germans in 1964, the longest and highest aerial tramway in Canada is located just 7 km south of Jasper on Whistlers Road (natch) off the Icefields Parkway. It only takes seven minutes to climb nearly a thousand metres to the upper terminal, where you find expensive eats and eye-popping views of the six different mountain ranges that surround Yellowhead Pass, an early fur-trade route across the Continental Divide that first drew white men to the area. The Columbia Icefields can be admired to the south and Mount Robson, the highest Rocky of them all, can be seen 100 km to the west. Oddly enough, the town of Jasper, when seen from this altitude, resembles a giant letter J as it sweeps along the Athabasca River.

The view of Jasper from Whistler Mt.

It takes about 45 minutes to follow the boot-packed trail the remaining 200 metres to the summit. It seemed very strange, and more than a little sad, to be standing atop “Whistler” on a gorgeous spring day surrounded by acres and acres of untouched powder and unable to exploit the opportunity. Not a fresh track could be seen in all directions. Alas, not only can “Jasper Tramways not be held accountable for adverse weather conditions” but they also do not allow skis or snowboards onboard.

There is a trail that leads up from the Jasper International Hostel, just down the road, that staff say takes most people seven to nine hours to make a return trip. Anyone thinking of hiking up and taking the gondola down should be advised that they still check tickets on the return and it will cost you $10 one-way.

The next Whistler on the list is located down near Crowsnest Pass, by the American border. Driving through the Rockies is best done during the day so as to enjoy the incredible scenery. This may sound obvious but it only really sank in when the ability to travel at night was abruptly taken away. There I was, cruising along and minding my own business when suddenly, out of the blue, something large and furry loomed in the road ahead.

D’oh! A deer. A female deer. Splat, she went across the hood. Sadly, Bambi was a writeoff but the truck only suffered the loss of headlights and other minor injuries, enabling the trip and the long drive south to continue.

Upon arriving in the nearest town of any size, Pincher Creek, I set out to ask the locals for advice about climbing this final Whistler. Unfortunately, nobody I spoke to (including a park ranger) had any idea there was a local hill called Whistler, let alone why it is so named. I had hoped it might be for a hoary old tale involving a coalminer or firewatcher named Whistler. Or perhaps the name was given by an early surveyor who was an admirer of the art of James McNeill Whistler, whose 1871 portrait of his beloved ma reclining in a rocking chair – ‘Whistler’s Mother’ – has since gone on to become a veritable American icon.

Whistler’s Mother

Or possibly this peak was so pegged for some other reason: Crowsnest Pass, at 1,360 metres above sea level, is one of the lowest routes though the Rockies and is regularly blasted with warm winds coming from the deserts of the B.C. Interior. Winds of 160 km/h have been recorded and they have been known to push boxcars as far as 24 kilometres. Back in the olden days, residents used to use a measuring device that was made up of a steel ball suspended by a chain from a high pole. When the old ball and chain pointed straight out, they used to say it was a “fair wind.”

While being inspired by a whistling wind seemed a fairly good explanation for the name, it seems likelier that the usual suspect is once again to blame. Slogging up the side of this particular Whistler’s northern ridge, I was once again assailed with the distinctive whistles of the ubiquitous marmot. No real surprise here – it is often referred to as the common marmot, after all.

This final Whistler was also the hardest to find. Located in the Rocky Mountains’ eastern Border Ranges near Beaver Mines Lake Recreational Area, there are no official trails leading to its 2,163-metre summit and most hikers only come to explore the more scenic Table or Castle Mountains. It isn’t even mentioned on trailhead signs and I could only pinpoint it – at latitude 49° 20′ 00″ N and longitude 114° 17′ 00″ W – after poring over a detailed map designed for snowmobilers at a gas station. If you go, take the right hand turn down the dirt road a few kilometres before the recreation area. It’s the one to the southwest.

I drove along the sad excuse for a road as far as my battered truck could make it before continuing on foot until a reasonable-looking ridge presented itself. Be advised that hiking up the loose limestone slopes can be tricky and slides are frequent. This isn’t far, after all, from the site of the infamous Frank Slide of 1903, when 82 million tonnes of rock slid down the side of Turtle Mountain, killing 70 people.

As with Jasper’s Whistler, no plaque or cairn commemorates the summit. All there is at the top of this Whistler is the remains of a few lingering centimetres of snow, a long-abandoned fire watch station, and more stunning views.

Last but not least: Yet another Whistler Mountain.

So there you have it: three mountains similar in size but extremely different in character. But what’s in a name, after all? A mountain by any other word would be as steep. Although they share the same name and the same population of whistling rodents, you could say that each of these mountains is truly in a range of its own.

(A modified version of this story was first published June 19, 2003. Copyright Pique Newsmagazine.)


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