Whistler’s Remaining Old-growth ForestsWhistler’s Remaining Old-growth Forests

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“Look closely at nature. Every species is a masterpiece, exquisitely adapted to the particular
environment in which it has survived. Who are we to destroy or even diminish biodiversity?”
– E. O. Wilson

Featured Photo: Whistler’s old trees are living monuments that have withstood centuries of change. Bob Brett, photographer.


Whistler is fortunate to be surrounded by temperate rainforest, which is essential to Whistler’s
appeal as a tourist destination. Forests have also proven to be highly beneficial for human
mental and physical health. Environmentally, trees are indispensable: they clean the air,
regulate temperature, manage water, store carbon, and provide places for our wildlife
neighbours to feed, breed, and rest. However, not all forests offer the same benefits.
Old-growth forests, defined as undisturbed for at least 250 years, are vital to addressing the
interconnected biodiversity and climate crises. Compared with second-growth forests, which
have regenerated after human disturbance, old-growth forests have a more complex ecological
structure that supports greater biodiversity. Whistler species that rely on old-growth forests
include the Spotted Owl (last heard in Whistler in 1946), Fisher, Goshawk, and a host of lichen,
fungi, mosses, insects and amphibians.


On the climate side, old-growth forests store vast amounts of carbon in living trees, dead wood,
and undisturbed soil. They also have greater climate resilience, and this is where things get
fascinating. A key feature of old-growth forests is that trees of multiple species are connected
below ground by a rich, complex fungal network that shares resources and information. Why
would trees do this? Suzanne Simard at UBC studies these interactions and has said, “Actually,
it doesn’t make evolutionary sense for trees to behave like resource-grabbing individualists.
They live longest and reproduce most often in a healthy, stable forest. That’s why they’ve
evolved to help their neighbours.”


Another way trees help their neighbours is by collaboratively managing microclimates for the
benefit of the entire community—providing shade, buffering wind, and cycling water. This
collaboration is another reason why, when old-growth forests are logged, they are gone forever.
The biodiversity and ecological functions lost are not recovered in subsequent forests, leading
to a loss of what made that ecosystem unique.


Since the early 1900s, Whistler’s forests have been logged extensively, and low-elevation old-
growth forests that once covered the valley are now found only in limited areas. Commercial
logging and thinning have continued by the Cheakamus Community Forest (CCF) since 2009,
though old-growth logging was deferred in 2021.


One thing we heard at their latest open house is that the CCF is considering managing old-
growth forests to “increase their resilience to climate change” as part of its broader Climate
Resilience Plan, which focuses on managing multiple forest values, including wildfire risk
reduction. Here things get tricky, because there are often unexpected negative consequences of
humans’ best intentions: interventions intended to solve one problem often create new,
unforeseen issues elsewhere in the complex, interconnected system of nature. Given that old-
growth forests thrive on stability, attempting to manage them doesn’t make ecological sense,
especially since they are already among the most climate-resilient ecosystems on Earth.


To learn more about Whistler’s irreplaceable old trees and forests, look for Whistler’s Old and
Ancient Trees Guide at the Whistler Museum and Armchair Books. It was created by local researcher Bob Brett and the Association of Whistler Area Residents for the Environment
(AWARE). Of note is that virtually all of Whistler’s remaining unlogged forests are over 300
years old, and Whistler’s oldest known living tree, a Yellow Cedar in the Callaghan Valley, is
estimated to be at least 1,250 years old. We are truly privileged to live among these magnificent
trees and forests.

Outtakes from the ‘Olden’ DaysOuttakes from the ‘Olden’ Days

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Featured Photo: John Millar outside of his cabin 1911. Philip Collection.

The trials of this town’s early trailblazers were not without their moments of hilarity, precarious predicaments and comic quandaries. Here, I highlight four such stories: standouts in the history of how a place comes to be… 

John Millar ran a roadhouse at Mile 34 ½ (Function Junction) in the early 1900s. A former cow wrangler, rumour had it he was on the run from the Texas Rangers with a couple ‘notches in his gun.’ He housed and fed weary travellers who were making the arduous journey along the original Pemberton Trail. He was known to serve stewed raccoon, muskrat stew and haunch of bear; recognizable by his broken nose, his buckskin coat, beat-up stetson and neck-wrapped red polka dot handkerchief.

John was a character. He was also a trapper and tended a line up the Cheakamus Lake valley: catching marten, rabbit, mink, muskrat…and wolverine. On one mission, John put the limp body of what he thought was a dead animal – a large, muscular and aggressive member of the weasel family – into his pack and set off… only to have the angry beast ‘come to’ and bite him in the buttocks. The tangle on the trail made it so that John could not sit comfortably for some long time after!

*

The Burnt Stew Hike. Petersen Collection

Fast forward to the summer of 1958 and a backpacking trip around London (now, Whistler) Mountain. Local notables Florence Peterson, Kelly Fairhurst and Don Gow were out with overnighting packs and picnic gear and a billy can they rigged over a fire to make dinner. The pot was neglected, as campfire comradery took over, only to be remembered when the pungent smell of scorched food filled the air. The stench permeated the area to such an extent that the basin and the ski run earned its name ‘Burnt Stew’.

*

Back now to butt-bitten John. Periodically he would venture with his packhorses down to Squamish and then take the steamer to Vancouver. One fall, he was returning with his entire winter’s supply of liquor, when one of his horses fell hard into Rubble Creek. Every bottle of John’s seasonal spirits were broken, shattered in the stream. The only glass that didn’t break was a bottle of vinegar. “I was so cussin’ gol’ danged mad that I pulled the cork out of the vinegar and a good swig of it.” Rueing the woes of the rubble, John made his way home with a much lighter, more sobering load.

*

Then there was explosive Charlie Chandler. Charlie came to the valley in the early 1900s. He, too, was a trapper. A floatplane pilot gifted Charlie with a small amount of high-grade aircraft fuel, which he then used to clean his filthy overalls. After laundering the garment in gas, he felt it best to dispose of the dirty fuel down the pit of his outhouse. He didn’t think twice about it. The next time he visited the bivvy, he sat himself down, lit his pipe as was his custom, and survived (albeit, stunned and singed!) to tell the tale of an explosion that was heard from miles around!

Charlie would later leave the world with a bang, again sitting down. In 1946, friends found him dead, in his chair, outside his cabin. He appeared to have had a heart attack. He was also frozen stiff.  Charlie was transported – still in his chair – by  ‘speeder’ along the rail line to Rainbow Lodge to catch the train south. The train, however, was not to arrive until the next day. Now this is where the story gets a little blurry, but somehow, as local lore would have it, in the meantime, Charlie was offered a final drink – (surely to warm up!) – and hoisted, still seated, bolt upright, into a boxcar for his final, if not somewhat flamboyant, voyage!

We almost lost Lost Lake Park!We almost lost Lost Lake Park!

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Photo credit: Don MacLaurin volunteering with the Whistler Rotary Club. 1984. Whistler Question Collection

If you want to believe that the world is terrible, watch the news. If you want to believe that the world is incredible, spend time in nature.” – Austin Perlmutter

It’s hard to imagine Whistler without Lost Lake Park, our largest and most natural municipal park. However, the creation of the park was not a certainty. In the 1930s, as tourism in Whistler (then Alta Lake) grew, guests at Rainbow Lodge (located at what is now Rainbow Park) were taken on excursions to Lost Lake for swimming, fishing, and picnics. However, in the 1940s the Lost Lake area shifted from recreational to industrial. During the next twenty years most of the surrounding forest was logged, while the Great Northern Mill operated on the north shore of Lost Lake.

In the early 1960s residential development was proposed. The timber licenses straddling Lost Lake were about to expire, and developers started staking out lots and preparing to apply for waterfront property. Keep in mind: this was 15 years before the Resort Municipality of Whistler (RMOW) was created, so it took someone with vision and determination to ensure this beautiful natural playground could be enjoyed by the entire community and visitors.

Don MacLaurin: Bridge builder

Whistler was very fortunate that Don MacLaurin (1929-2014) made Alta Lake his summer home in the 1960s. Don was a forester for the BC Forest Service and later an instructor at BCIT (British Columbia Institute of Technology), teaching courses in forestry and parks management. He was also a tireless volunteer and mentor. Don strongly believed in the value of getting into the mountains, and he championed the summer enjoyment of Whistler’s landscape.

Don was able to navigate the complicated relationship between industry and recreation. “Don was living and teaching sustainability before the term was invented. [He] was the bridge builder, the guy who looked at both the economics and the ecology,” recalled Arthur DeJong in a 2014 Pique article.

Don was the driving force behind preserving the Lost Lake area as a park. With the help of his contacts at BC Parks, he was instrumental in ensuring Lost Lake Park was designated as a park, preventing privatization and preserving the space in perpetuity. Lost Lake Park opened officially in 1982.

It’s no surprise that today, Lost Lake Park is cherished for opportunities to conserve and appreciate nature. Every year I am filled with hope when I see how the community comes together to protect thousands of tiny Western Toads as they migrate from Lost Lake to the forest. The RMOW leads toad stewardship with permanent features such as signage, fencing, underpasses (for the toads!), and staff expertise. The Museum runs the Discover Nature program at Lost Lake Park, and we often hear that learning about and moving toads away from danger is a favourite activity. I know Don would be pleased!

Lost Lake trails today. RMOW map.

We can thank Don for more than Lost Lake Park

Don worked as an advisor to the RMOW in the 1980s. When the forestry industry planned to clearcut the south side of Whistler Mountain, which is the first thing everyone sees when driving to Whistler from the south, Don and the council of the day fought back and got that logging license moved. Similarly, when the Ancient Cedars (just north of Whistler) were threatened with logging in 1988, that license was also moved due to Don’s persistence, persuasion and advocacy by the Western Canada Wilderness Committee.

Don also worked tirelessly on planning the Whistler Interpretive Forest. He mapped and developed the trails and helped people understand the forest and its importance. The suspension bridge spanning the Cheakamus River is called MacLaurin’s Crossing, a fitting tribute to this influential bridge builder.

The Dual Mountain Duel: 7th Heaven and Peak ChairThe Dual Mountain Duel: 7th Heaven and Peak Chair

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Top Image: Skiers atop Whistler Peak. 1990s. Griffith Collection.

This week marks the 60th anniversary of Whistler Mountain’s opening. Blackcomb Mountain opened in 1980. Whistler’s runs were designed more to side-run the mountain, whereas Blackcomb’s followed more of the fall lines. 

Up until 1997, the two mountains operated separately. There was, however, a Dual Mountain Pass that could be purchased, granting access to both mountains. The pass was one of the only points of collaboration between the two competitors, whose rivalry was best showcased in their alpine lift duel.

In 1985, Blackcomb installed the 7th Heaven T-Bar: at the time, becoming the continent’s first, and only, “Mile High Mountain.” A vast amount of new terrain was opened up by this development – expansive glacial access and four powder bowls – extending Blackcomb’s skiable area by almost two-thirds. The significant upgrade served to dispel its previous uniformity in design. Skiers now could  travel down runs covering 1160 acres, a substantial increase over the previous 420. 

The alpine world had been opened up. 

The mid-1980s, short-lived 7th Heaven T-Bar. Griffith Collection.

A young Mike Douglas (“Godfather of Freeskiing”, filmmaker and founder of the Canadian chapter of Protect Our Winters) described the experience of arriving at the top of 7th Heaven as being “dropped off at the edge of the world.” Nancy Greene (Olympic gold medalist voted Canada’s Female Athlete of the 20th Century) declared “The enormous variety of slopes and spectacular views are unequalled in North America.” In the forefront of those views was Whistler Mountain. 

Whistler responded by countering a year later with the opening of the Peak Chair, a three-seater, one kilometre long lift depositing people just beneath the summit of the mountain at 2182 metres. The bar had literally just been raised (in every sense of the word!), one upping Blackcomb in the process.

Peak Chair was initially restricted to just advanced skiers. Snowboarders, at this time, were still not welcome on the mountain. 

Whistler’s original Peak Chair. Griffith collection.

Challenging, cliffed, corniced and steep terrain characterized the area off the peak. Glaciated bowls and bouldered outcrops earmarked the summit’s geologic geography; whereas, its demography was being populated by seekers-of-skiing’s-extreme.

Blackcomb was not to be outdone. Riding 7th Heaven, arguably, remains the pinnacle of the Blackcomb experience.  The following year, in 1987, 7th Heaven Express opened, replacing the two-year existence of the T-bar. The new four person chair, running along a longer and new lift line is the same one in operation today. Much like the Peak Chair, only skiers were permitted, when both first opened. 

Blackcomb was the first to welcome snowboarders in 1988/89. Whistler followed suit; however, in this case, the mountain was much more reluctant to follow this trend, only opening their slopes to shredders a full year later.

In 1996, the two mountains joined forces, merging under the banner ‘Whistler Blackcomb.’ Continuing the streak of earning international accolades, the united front earned the Number One spot in SKIING Magazine’s ranking of the ‘Top 25 Resorts in North America’ (Tourism Whistler, 2019).

Two years later, Whistler further upgraded access to its alpine summit, with the unveiling of the four-seater, Peak Express. This same high speed, detachable chairlift remains in operation today.

And every morning, the eager and the energetic mingle and gather at the bases of 7th Heaven and Peak Express, awaiting Ski Patrol to finish their avalanche clearance protocols, in a bid to carve fresh tracks through unparalleled terrain.
The duel of the dual mountains – the rivalry of lifts and runs –  may have ended on a financial and marketing level, but preferences ran – and still run – strong between slope-sliders and stylers  as to which side of the mountain they prefer… along with their preferred method of flying down their chosen hill!