There’s currently a move to eliminate the term “sidecountry” (currently used to identify lift-accessed backcountry terrain) from the backcountry lexicon. The argument for this is that using a term like sidecountry encourages recreationalists to consider that ”some areas of the backcountry are kinder and gentler than other areas,”  which is patently not the case; you’re either in a controlled ski area, or you’re not. And it’s true that a lot of people – scores of them based on scenes I’ve personally seen at Whistler and Baker – don’t seem to be fully aware of this, or just how much their circumstances change when they duck below the rope.

Conversely, there’s a strong argument that terms like sidecountry are just labels. Uninformed users won’t change their behaviour because the industry and safety organizations adopt different terminology; only targeted education will make a difference. “We don’t reduce a health risk by agreeing not to mention it by name. We reduce it by clearly identifying it, studying it, and by getting in the heads of users, by understanding their demographics and channels of influence.“ 

It’s an interesting argument, and there very good cases on both sides. If changing the terminology would genuinely make a difference, I’d be all for it. But I’m honestly not convinced that the problem is with the labels. I’m a newcomer to the backcountry, just two seasons old, and I made sure I took an AST-1 course before my first tour to scare some sense into myself. Even though one of my main takeaways from the course was just how much I didn’t know going into it, one thing I have always been very aware of is that the rules change beyond the boundary rope.

I do think of true backcountry and sidecountry/slackcountry as two very different things, and I find the distinction helpful. Sidecountry is, without doubt, an easier (and more expensive) option – but only because you’re using a lift to get there, not because it’s less safe. In fact, being pitched straight into an uncontrolled high alpine environment because you rode a lift past all those gladed slopes and rolling meadows that you could have accessed under your own steam is a bigger jump than starting out with gentle tours.

Of course, not everyone is going to feel the same way about this. Not everyone is going to use the sidecountry in the same way, either; the groups who head out past Lakeside bowl to build booters on untracked slopes well out of the way of avalanche paths aren’t dealing with the same level of risk as those who head straight up to Body Bag Bowl or Disease Ridge for fresh powder after a storm. Do all of them know the difference? That’s the million dollar question.

Ultimately, although I can see both sides of the argument, I end up feeling that the terminology debate addresses a symptom rather than the cause. Awareness and education are so important. If people truly understand what they’re getting into, and how they can make their experience safer, it doesn’t really matter what they call it.

One of the most interesting (and rewarding) things about last ski season was making the transition from resort skiing into the backcountry. It was longer coming than I wanted it to be as a result of the time I lost to injury and surgery, and in ten days of earning my turns I barely scratched the surface of what’s possible beyond the ropes, but it was enough for me to understand that I’d found a completely new side of the sport I love. Backcountry skiing has this amazing purity to it: it’s a world of silence, beauty, untouched snow, and powder turns on lines that are all the better for the work it took to reach them.

While I suspect my own skiing future will lie more and more in the backcountry, in some ways the contrast did make me appreciate aspects of my resort days more. The sheer amount of downhill you can log when lifts whisk you to the top of the mountain; the variety of terrain you can access on a managed hill; and the undoubted benefits of easy access to hot food and a cold beer at the end of a day on the slopes.

Which is why I’m so excited by the Mountain Riders’ Alliance, and the philosophy that they want to bring to the future of skiing. Built on the triple foundation of people, community, and the environment, the MRA proposes a new model for ski area development that provides a welcome contrast to the money-hungry resorts where it feels like the skiing experience is increasingly peripheral to the off-the-hill activities of clubbing, dining, and high-end massages. The MRA is looking to build Mountain Playgrounds rather than resorts: skier-focused developments with minimal infrastructure and reasonable costs, built in partnership with local communities and with a mindful eye on environmental impacts.

The flagship MRA project, Manitoba Mountain, reads like my personal manifesto of what I’d most like to see in a ski area. Minimally invasive surface lifts offering access to both in-bounds terrain and backcountry gates leading to more than 10,000 acres of Alaskan chutes, cliffs, spines and bowls. An opening policy dictated by snow conditions, not by the bottom line. Thoughtful development based on the riding experience and not access to restaurants, shops and bars. Pricing designed to keep skiing affordable and accessible for people who love to ski, not to maximize corporate profits.

The MRA has, until now, been running with zero operating capital. They’re currently in the final days of a crowdfunding campaign to raise $10,000 in start-up funds to help the first two Mountain Playgrounds – Manitoba and Maine’s Mt. Abram – become a reality. The future of skiing that they propose is the future I want to see for my sport. If you love skiing or riding, please consider contributing to their campaign.

I’ve been trying to frame my own answer to this great TGR thread. It’s so hard to put what I feel into words.

To put it simply, the mountains are where I feel free. They are the spaces where anything is possible.

But there’s more to it than that. In the mountains all bullshit falls away, and the ragged edges and contusions left by the pummeling stress of making your way in the urban world begin to heal.  They have no space or time for falsehoods, lies, or pretenses. Unlike cities, they don’t need people to give them meaning; they simply are, whether we are there or not. They are about simplicity and truth, stripping away everything that’s needless to leave an absolute clarity of thought and purpose.

Mountains are the natural world at its most raw and its most captivating. Jagged peaks, endless fields of snow and ice, broken rocks at the edge of the sky. Glimpses of a time when the earth was wilder.

And when we ski, we’re dancing with the mountain. Skiing is about taking that wildness and that freedom and all of that raw energy and power and riding it like one endless wave down from the sky. It’s about leaving the world behind and finding a space where the only things that matter are the speed and the snow and our mastery of our own bodies. It’s an intoxicating mix of adrenalin and beauty that leaves us hopelessly obsessed and hungry for more.

Mountains put the world, and the ripple of my own very tiny path in it, into perspective. In them I live for the current moment, am absorbed entirely in the beauty around me, and feel complete.

Skiing…is about getting outside, grabbing nature by the waist and dancing for all you’re worth. Skiing is all about action. About being physically fit and confident and ready for a challenge. It’s about pushing off down the hill and cutting the ties to our all-too-human frailties. It’s about flying. About being free from all the crap that society imposes. It offers no boundaries and infinite horizons.

~ Michael Beaudry

Mountains are not stadiums where I satisfy my ambition to achieve; they are the cathedrals where I practice my religion. I go to them as humans go to worship. From their summits I view my past, dream of the future and, with an unusual acuity, am allowed to experience the present moment.

~ Anatoli Boukreev