Is heli-skiing worth the expense? I travelled to its birthplace to find out
The pristine carpet of fresh powder snow lay before me as I floated through the silent forest, its burnt trunks standing in stark contrast to the white, British Columbian mountainside.
My eyes picked out gaps between the trunks as my turns kicked up great waves of fluffy snow, which I burst through like a surfer shooting a tube. Suddenly, the sun broke through the clouds, turning snow to gold, and I could hear myself laughing with disbelieving joy, as the run of my life unspooled around me.
A backcountry ski run on fresh powder feels like freedom. Our guide, Ian, had forged a path ahead, through the Black Forest area of the mountain slopes above the Duncan River, in the Purcell Mountain Range, but we had the space to the side of his tracks as our own playground.
Picking your own line, deciding when to turn and how to ski or snowboard down through deep powder is hugely addictive. The best way to consistently access these dreamy lines? To catch a lift from a helicopter.
But, heli-skiing is expensive – so much so that many skiers simply discount the idea, when, for the same price, they could buy multiple ski holidays instead.
To find out if the experience is really worth the expense, I had returned to its source, the birthplace of heli-skiing. British Columbia houses the snowiest mountains in Canada, famed for their waist-deep, fluffy powder. And the Purcells region of the Columbian Mountains is an adventure venue like nowhere else on Earth, with cleaved spires ending in miles-long ski runs that descend over rolling glaciers into steep-sided, uninhabited valleys.
This terrain is ideal for heli-skiing, but so remote that it’s also the only practical way to access it – a combination that led the sport’s pioneers to the remote granite Bugaboos in the mid-Sixties. The lessons learned over the decades since now make the CMH Heli-Skiing company in Golden, British Columbia, one of the most knowledgeable on the planet. Indeed, these areas are so remote that the names they carry have been given to them by the ski guides, and pilots, exploring them over the years.
CMH Purcell recently launched one, two or three-day heli-ski packages, to make this experience more accessible to the masses. On my trip, I heli-dropped with skiers of various abilities and ages, including a group of skiers in their seventies who’d usually stick to groomed pistes – you don’t need to be an expert.
From the off, the guides made safety their top priority. Often, premium adventure experiences pander to the client, but as CMH founder and heli-ski pioneer Hans Gmoser said: “In heli-ski the customer is not king. The guide is not king. The mountain is the king!”
Stray too far out of your guides’ orbit and you’re essentially alone in a freezing wilderness – it’s a huge learning curve. Two hours of our first morning were spent practising using our avalanche beacons and radios, and learning about best practices in the mountains.
Our guides were friendly and patient, and were at pains to never make us feel rushed. But you soon learn to listen when they’re speaking and to buddy up when descending. On one powder run through green pines heavy with snow, I have to call my turns so that my snow buddy, Ben, can keep me in sight – it’s actually great fun and adds to the sense of exploration and camaraderie.
We first boarded the Bell 212 helicopter on the concrete pad at CMH’s Purcell lodge, but I soon found out exactly how extreme landings can be. A 15-20 minute ride took us out, way beyond civilisation to where all you can see is spire after spire of snow-caked rock.
We descended in an explosion of white, as the machine’s skids bumped down softly. Piling out of the chopper, we headed to the small red flag planted in the snow and huddled together.
Engines roared, and as I watched the bird lift off into the cobalt-blue sky, it almost felt like we were falling away from it. Once the storm of snow settled, I saw that a snowball’s throw to the right was a sharks-tooth summit, beyond a snowy chasm that plummeted down into the clouds – CMH’s guides named this exposed spot Top Of The World.
Our guides consistently demonstrated knowledge of the vast area and were able to weigh up slope angles, avalanche danger, weather and seasonal snow conditions, to mitigate risks. This is how I found myself standing above a drop into one of the most immaculate, open powder bowls I had ever seen, with no one else for miles around, but with complete confidence that my guide had properly evaluated the risks.
“We’ll drop in here,” Ian told me. “But the angle flattens out at the bottom, so give the skiers ahead space and make sure you maintain your speed!” I carved down the steep drop, sending up waves of powder, but then straight-lined as the slope eased, building speed until the wind was roaring in my ears. I felt like I was flying across the powder bowl – some rush!
During my three days with CMH, we did eight to 10 fresh powder runs a day, enabled by efficient guidance from Ian, Tom and Bryan. We rode through evergreen glades, over Silent Glacier and down majestic flanks like Upper Whitehorn.
Being in this sort of landscape is a tremendous privilege, and one that CMH recognises comes with a cost, in terms of its carbon footprint. The operation has taken steps to track, reduce and offset the impact of burning jet fuel, and since the 1980s has also worked to utilise micro-hydropower in its remote lodges, picking up a slew of environmental recognitions in the process.
Human energy is also essential, and powder runs can demand a lot from your legs. Just when I started to flag, we’d stop for lunch in purpose-built, heli-drop-supplied mountain huts, for hot soup, sandwiches and refreshing tea.
Suitably refuelled, the group would then embark on another round of tree runs, weaving between green boughs, heavily-laden with white, and, with each run, learning a little more about spotting the gaps, and picking the best line to achieve the ultimate feeling of flow.
By the end of my trip, I felt like I had crammed in a year’s worth of powder run experience and education into three days. It was difficult not to conclude that it was worth the expense. And my companions seemed to agree. At the end of one run, American businessman Allan uttered, in awestruck tones: “This is a runner-up to sex.”
Later on, at the pick-up point, I looked around at the heavily forested terrain and realised that it would be a mission – requiring days of toil – to ever ski in this awe-inspiring part of the planet.
Fortunately, we had an angel on our shoulders – that distinctive, percussive chop of an approaching helicopter got louder and I felt my eardrums pulse in time with the buffeting downdraft of the rotor. Our pilot flew in blind, bringing the belly of the metal beast down right between the pile of skis and the huddled group of Gore-Tex-clad skiers. I could almost reach out and touch the skid as it lowered in front of my face.
Trust – in the backcountry of the Columbia Mountains, it’s the most valuable commodity.
Need to know
CMH Purcell
A great ratio of two guides to eight guests, and options for one, two or three-day trips make CMH Purcell (cmhheli.com), with its mountain town base the flexible, an accessible option that easily suits a wide range of skiing styles. Costing from $2,115 CAD per day (£1,243), plus taxes, the price includes unlimited vertical metres of heli-skiing, snacks, lunch in the mountains, equipment, guiding and pre-ski training. Based six minutes from the town of Golden, British Columbia which you can get to by flying from London to Calgary and then hiring a car or booking a CMH shuttle.
Timeline | Heli-skiing’s history in British Columbia’s mountains
1965 – CMH founder and heli-skiing pioneer Hans Gmoser runs the first heli-skiing tour in the Bugaboos (after he and his friend Leo Grillmar emigrate from post-war Austria and begin guiding ski tours in British Columbia, in 1955)
1968 – The first heli-ski lodge opens in the Bugaboos
1970 – The first heli-skiing takes place in well-known Revelstoke
1975 – CMH’s Cariboo Lodge in the Cariboo Mountains opens for heli-ski
1982 – CMH’s Bobbie Burns Lodge, in the heart of the Purcell and Selkirk Mountains, opens for heli-ski
1989 – CMH’s Gothics, in the terrain between the Selkirk and Monashee Mountains, sees its first heli-skiing
1990/1 – CMH’s Galena and Adamat Lodges (in the Selkirk Mountains) open
2008 – CMH Cariboos launches the first Steep Camp during periods of stable snow conditions
2023 – CMH Purcell offers its first one, two and three-day heli-ski experiences
How to go heli-skiing for every budget
Heli-skiing is always a premium choice, but there are tiers that can cut your cloth accordingly.
CMH Small-Group Experience, Canada
A smaller helicopter and group size gives you more vertical. Riding with just four or five guests helps you move through the terrain faster and spend less time getting into the aircraft, allowing for more flexibility and runs to be tailored to the group’s shared goals and pace. You can book solo and be matched with similar skiers and riders, or as a select group.
Price: From $1,631 CAD (£953) per day based on a four or five-day trip
Where: CMH Adamants, CMH Kootenay, CMH Monashees
Powder South Heli-skiing, Chile
The five-star Puma Lodge in Chile’s Río Los Cipreses National Reserve is the base for light and dry powder heli-skiing in the Central Andes. This untouched region offers heli-skiing terrain from glaciated Andean peaks to steep ridges and gullies, with elevations from 2,500 to 4,500m. The guides make sure to find the best terrain to match every skier’s ability.
Price: From $8,500 (£6,781) per person for three-days of heli-skiing
Where: Río Los Cipreses National Reserve, Chile
ESF Heli-ski Méribel, France
The popular resort of Méribel in the French Alps offers an entry to heli-skiing at a more accessible price point by offering a day of ESF-guided, off-piste skiing, which ends in a mountain-hopping helicopter pick-up at locations in the Three Valleys and Italy. This allows you to get fresh tracks in otherwise inaccessible sections of the Alps.
Price: From €1,070 (£918)
Where: Méribel, French Alps
