I open the faucet and water gushes out, frothing as it fills a bright blue twenty-litre plastic jug, its faded sticker declaring BUILT TOUGH. You've probably seen one in the outdoors aisle at Canadian Tire: a cubic jug with a red or white screw-top faucet and a built-in handle for convenience. Most Canadians would associate the blue jug with camping trips.
To protect your privacy, you'll be asked to pick a code name-favourite movie characters or favourite foods are popular choices. If it's your first visit, you'll do a brief intake at the welcome desk, where staff will ask if you have any medical conditions or have had any bad drug reactions. They'll also ask which drug you're using that day, and whether you'd like the substance checked to confirm that you're consuming what you think you're consuming.
Millions of people ski in Canada each year, drawn to the massive sprawl of Whistler Blackcomb, the steeps of Revelstoke, or the views from Lake Louise Ski Resort. But beyond the spotlight lies a quieter, often-overlooked side of Canada's ski culture: hundreds of small, family-owned, volunteer-run ski areas that keep turning their lifts even without the crowds or the hype.
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