The lands surrounding Whistler BC carries a multitude of overlapping and intertwining stories. Dimensions of heritage, geology, settlement, exploration, conflict, industry, and culture. A list of perspectives as long as the number people who have lived and travled through the region.

A single landmark seems to hold elements of each perspective in it’s striking and dramatic nature. Popularly known now as The Black Tusk, it’s original name as given by the Squamish nation is t’ak’t'ak mu’yin tl’a in7in’a'xe7en which means: ‘Landing Place of the Thunderbird’.

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The outcropping of rock was formed by a long extinct volcano, a reminder of the length of geographic history which has shaped this landscape over thousands and millions of years. It’s differing names call to mind the diversity of peoples who have inhabited the region, naming the features of this land according to their history and culture. The shape encapsulates a lifestyle to which so many identify; a pursuit of adventure, exploration, personal achievement and conquest. From it’s summit, the horizons tell stories of industry and conservation battling throughout the resource rich forests, mountains, and streams.

As a blanket of white descends from higher elevation on the peaks outside my window, it gracefully begins to transform the jagged rocky outcrops into comforting smooth contours. Winter is coming.

That smell is in the air, the chilled breeze bites at my neck whispers of the colder times to come.

Welcome to the circus, an annual celebration of freakishly dangerous acts, bicycle celebrations, and debauchery. Whistler has fine tuned it’s ability to collectively revolt against the monotony and enslaving routine life all too often offers. Between the World Ski Snowboard Festival and Crankworx this little town in a coastal valley in BC has developed an uncanny skill for festivals which leave every resident and visitor with a hangover from a 10 day binge on bikes, music, contests, races, and maybe a little bit of partying.
This is photographic evidence left behind by the Crankworx I had this year; the events, action, crowds, and emotion of the annual circus of bikes.

August 2011 Wallpapers
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(29 Photos)

-Continuation of yesterday’s blog: Biking on Snow and Skiing on Dirt

In late March I spent a week in the Whistler-Pemberton area shooting with a number of different athletes. Over the week the average daily snowfall was over 20cm. From day to day every line on every mountain we skied filled in and transformed from one other worldly shape to another. Like sand shifting on dunes, the lanscape morphed as time passed. One of the daily missions we embarked on was to the north of Pemberton up the Hurley pass to ski ‘mini-golf’ lines. (Hike-ski repeat on short zones of cliffs spines etc.)

July 6th: North America is nursing it’s hangover from a weekend of Canada/America Day festivities, businessmen are back in offices longing for their week retreat to a beach. Four months after I battled through waist deep powdery bliss I find myself slathering copious amounts of suntan lotion on my all-too-white arms, only a stones throw away from the spot we shot the image above. Skis, poles, boots and skins litter the ground as we gaze through the trees at the patchy remnants of winter littering forest floor.

Everything about that moment was as backwards as it could be compared to the last time I stood in that valley. +20, blue skies, non-existant avalanche danger, sunscreen, sweat in the eyes, sun glasses and a T shirt. Compared to goggles, thermal layers, toe warmers, overcast, puking snow, wind, avalanche pit digging, slednecks within earshot. Ski touring is ski touring, its incredibly fun, tiring, solitary, and methodical but the experience couldn’t have felt more absurdly different.