Words: Molly Milligan and Gerhard Gross
Photos: John Scarth
From: Snowboard Canada Issue no. 4
Hey Molly, what’s going on?
Oh, not much. Landscaping for a million hours a day. Ok, it’s more like 4 but it feels like a million. Serving food to tourists too.
What are you drinking?
I went for a match-the-weather kind of beverage and got a London Fog
Sweet, I’m getting a soy chai latte I’ll be right back. Hey, did you have a chance to work on the story some more?
Yeah, I’m pretty much on schedule, which means I’m about 2 weeks behind. I’m getting there.
Yeah me, too I’m super swamped. So how do you want to write this thing? I’ve never done collaboration before.
Yeah, me neither, I’m trying hard to keep my ego at bay, ha ha. What do you think of a She Said/He Said type of thing?
What about She Said/G Said?
Ooh high five-r on that one G, run with it.
Molly
I arrive at YVR and while happily thawing out from a coaching trip in Manitoba–aka Mani-frickin-freezing-toba—I check my voicemail. The boys will be another hour or so due to birthday festivities the prior evening.
That’s ok. I satisfy my hunger with a much anticipated Tim Horton’s breakfast sandwich–bacon not sausage— and coffee, and get back to my book “The Tipping Point” which is not a novel and therefore I cannot read it in one go because I have a short attention span with books that are only educational. I read it only in an attempt to stay away from the gossip mags.
When the van finally pulls up, Eric Greene–aka Greener, aka Manfred–has taken on the role of soccer mom and is sitting in the driver’s seat. Prior to this trip I hadn’t had more than a random conversation with Greener and only knew that he exuded the typical So-Cal–I mean Van. Island–surfer image with flowing locks down to his shoulders and frequent “Yeah mon’s.” Despite his appearance, I soon find out that he is very organized and responsible. This comes as a pleasant surprise since it can be like pulling teeth when it comes to handing out responsibility in trip organization.
Also in the van are filmer Ryan Sliziak–aka Sliz–, Gerhard Gross—aka G, Geevus or Jerry—Dave Rouleau and John Scarth. As I squish into the back of the van with Gerhard, he informs me that he isn’t feeling well, due to last night’s tom-foolery, and might puke. In a feeble attempt to reassure me, he tells me a story about the time that he did so many push-ups in his martial arts class that he puked in his mouth but swallowed it so as not to anger his master. Ok, that totally makes me feel better–and slightly disgusted.
Thankfully, G ends up puking behind a tree while we load up the van at Scarth’s parents place. We all pile into the van and head out but haven’t even reached the city limits yet before G cries out…
Gerhard
“Pull the van over! Dude, pull the van over right now, I have to puke again.” I’m dizzy and nauseous. I can’t focus my eyes and I can’t feel my face. I clench my jaw and grind my teeth to make sure they’re still there. Greener negotiates the van to a quiet side street and pulls over. My stomach muscles contract, working on the unnatural and unpleasant task of reversing the flow of food. My eyes stream with tears from the strain and my whole body shakes. A foreign barking noise issues from somewhere deep inside of me and suddenly, “RELIEF!” This is followed quickly by an encore cycle of barking and more “Relief”. A ragged looking man picking up garbage looks at me with a mixture of pity and disgust. From his attire I assume that he is providing this civic service not from a sense of community pride but by court ordered injunction, and return the look. After several more minutes of convulsing I return to the van a shaky, stinking and disheveled mess. In order to escape my suffering I curl up on the floor of the van and fall asleep.
I wake as our van enters a wet blanket of fog that sucks the sand off the dirty mountains and drapes it onto the Kamloops valley. Everything is covered with inescapable grime here in the dark, drab winter months. We find a cheap room at the Sage Brush Motel and play the tired game where you tell the clerk that only two of you will be staying in the room but six of us actually cram into it. I wonder if the charade really fools anyone and suspect it’s more a matter of following protocol than pulling the wool over anyone’s eyes. After unpacking, the crew heads out to find some night-time jibs, while I elect to stay behind to nurse my aching psyche.
The next morning, with Kamloops covered in its’ signature fog–and me still trying to shake the fog from my mind–we headed towards an abandoned water park on the out skirts of town. To most people probably it looks like a decaying eyesore, but to us it’s instantly transformed back into the slip n’ slide playground it was intended to be.
Actually I was kind of wishing the slip n’ slide playground really was running, because with the beating I took in that park I could have used a nice hot-tub and ice-cream co-
Uhmm, excuse me Molly, I was right in the middle of my paragraph here. Sorry about that guys.
Everyone picks an obstacle and within half an hour has something different ready to hit. Scarth spends the afternoon following us around while we cheered each other on, until it gets too dark to see. The session ends with Scarth proclaiming it the single most productive day of his season. Happy and exhausted we re-pack the van—which has already began to fester with the man stench–and start the midnight trek towards Alberta.
Jasper is next on the list and through podcasts of the D and G show on snowboard.com, Rouleau and Gerhard have become acquainted with Hailey, a local shredder who also works at CJAG, a Jasper Radio Station. In return for doing some interviews on the radio station Hailey hooks us up with some hotel rooms at the Athabasca Hotel. Originally built in 1921, the building oozes history. And was nice to have my own bed for a night. Actually, I had an extra in my room but somehow 2 of the boys ended up sharing a bed down the hall. Whoops. Of course, they did go to the waterslides without telling me so I guess we’re even.
The next day Hailey’s boyfriend Jonah gives us a tour of Marmot Basin, which, seems to be a pretty mom and pop kind of place. It has some fun groomers and tree runs, although we did find a few drops and rock fields that would’ve been su-weet if there was more pow. I attempt a drop-to-flat-to-front flip that was so whack I was glad I was among friends. The park at Marmot Basin was more than I expected and offered a fun jump and jib line, so we got a few laps in before we started an extreme-to-the-max Euro-Carve session. G scored an extra 10 points for his dainty-ness.
Whatever Molly, it’s called agility. Anyway, after we got down from the hill we headed out to check out the Jasper night. The party trains’ first stop was Champs lounge for some karaoke action. To our disappointment we arrive too late to sign any songs and were forced to entertain ourselves in more imaginative ways. The mind of the snowboarder is always attracted to objects that become slippery when wet so once we noticed that the tile surrounding the lounge takes on an icy slickness with the addition of some sloshed beer, it quickly became a human curling rink. Clearly this is a more interesting activity than the crooning on stage and our antics attracted an impressed crowd of Asian tourists who wanted to get in on the action. The first one to follow our act is either under the influence of too much liquid courage or is not as adept as our crew at sliding sideways while standing. The resulting fall caused the floor of the bar to shake and the face of the victim, to turn a swollen mixture of pale grey, red and blue resembling, oddly enough, a curling rock.
Of course this occurred moments after management came over and told us to stop because someone was going to get hurt. Obviously curling-rock-face was no professional athlete.
The next morning a hung over Gerhard orders waffles with “cherry topping” for breakfast that turns out to be Cherry pie filling from a can. Classy. Of course, I identified this substance immediately as I have been known to eat Cherry Pie filling directly out of the can once or twice in my lifetime. What, you don’t?
No, I don’t and that’s gross. After breakfast we all headed up to the hill again. As we reach the lodge at the top my hang over also reaches its peak and decides that cherry pie filling is too indulgent first thing in the morning. I muster my best smile, tell the rest of the crew to go on without me and spend the rest of the day lying in the van puking. Puking sucks, but becomes even worse when you have no food left in your belly. Let me give you a little lesson kids; when the food runs out, you start puking bile. Ahh bile; mother natures’ way of grounding me for staying out too late. To keep from offending her again I don’t’ drink for the rest of the trip.
That evening we leave Jasper and its minus 20 temperatures that have served as a gradual cool down to what lies ahead. The LJ’s—long johns to the layman–are on and officially become the theme of the trip from here on in. Edmonton is next our stop, known for it’s harsh, bleak winters, where people get around town by way of above and belowground walkways and hang out in malls all winter. Rouleau spent his younger years in nearby Wetaskiwin, so as we roll into town at 3AM, Dave already has a roof in mind that he wants to jump off. I provide moral support in shifts between the van and outside because it’s bloody cold.
Early the next morning, as the ‘normals’ trudge to work sipping on their Tim Horton’s coffee, Dave rides down a hotel roof ledge of a four-story building. I watched from across the street holding my breath the entire 2 seconds, fearing for his life. After Dave narrowly escapes death we have breakfast at Smitties.
To continue our theme of out of the ordinary shredding we head to Dave’s childhood home in Wetaskiwin. There we fuel up on some sweet home cooked meals, courtesy of Rouleau’s parents before getting our shred on at a local farm. At first glance the farm appears to have little to offer in the way of snowboarding so Dave’s dad Wayne convinces the farmer to stack some giant hay bales with his tractor. At first we use the mini van to tow into the hay-bale jump but soon find that the tractor will serve this purpose just as well. Plus, a high-speed tractor tow-in is way sweeter. Wayne and the farmer enjoy the show that Rouleau and Greener put on as they launch over the bales but get the most amusement from the falls.
A couple of months ago Rouleau had gotten a tip that there were some F-5 fighter jets at the Wetaskiwin airport waiting to be refurbished. Upon hearing this, I proclaim that it is my life long dream to jib a fighter jet. We wait for the cover of dark and steel ourselves for the usual fallout associated with trespassing in such places—over weight security guards and/or overzealous small town cops. “The Man”, surprisingly isn’t an issue and the occupant of the lone housing unit seemed to care more about the soothing glow of his TV than the defense of the compound.
Once we were inside the greatest challenge becomes getting enough speed to properly stall on the jet. The tarmac was covered with a dusting of light snow making it impossible to get an edge in to turn. Rouleau did his best Dukes of Hazard impression with the van–getting it on three wheels more than once–but it soon became clear that a 50 foot long 2 foot high wall of ice would have to be cleared out.
During our tow in trials, Greener had found another jet to jib and was now ready to attempt wall riding the plane. While Greener happily sessioned, Molly and I spent the next 2 hours chipping through the ice before we were ready to try again. Fortunately, our hard work paid off and Molly and I were soon laying blunts on the top of a multi million dollar jet.
The following morning, we leave Wetaskiwin for Rouleau’s other stomping grounds, Rabbit Hill. Now, considering we’re in the Prairies, and the fact that I’ve heard less than rave reviews about this place, I’m pleasantly surprised at the condition of the park. We use the rope tow—which I bailed on, more than once–to spin some laps on the variety of rails, boxes and decent booters. After, we hang with the locals, including a youngster named Loosh, who happens to be unnaturally talented at kicking himself in the back of the head. And I ran into two guys I went to school with in Yellowknife. Small world.
Before heading to the airport to catch our flight to Yellowknife, we finish off our time in Alberta with a banger session on a 50+ stair wood rail in downtown Edmonton. Greener summons the inner jibber in him and stomps it third try. This rail officially makes my redemption list.
On the 2 hour flight to Yellowknife I spend my time perusing “Up Here” magazine and look for anyone I might recognize. I find myself thinking how surreal it was–not only am I going home after almost 3 years away, but I’m on a snowboard trip of all things, with my friends.
When we first step off the plane, the modest minus 24 deg. weather that greets us is somewhat disappointing. I had pictured temperatures that were a little closer to the type that freeze your pee before it hits the ground. However as the thermometer creeps into the 30’s a few days later we all gain a new respect for our LJ’s and for the people who call this inhospitable place home. Perhaps that’s the reason most of the people that we talk to have only been in town for a few months.
It’s true G, so many people come from around Canada and around the World to work in the Great White North- we have a significant Newfie, Nova Scotian, French, Pilipino and Vietnamese population to name a few. The thing is, so many people come to make the big bucks for just a little while and end up calling it home. Sounds a little like Whistler actually, minus the big bucks part.
After dropping the boys off at their hotel we decide a day off is needed, so I let the boys sleep-in. While they rest I get some quality time with my kitty cat and enjoy a hang session at a local coffee shop, Javaroma. Javaroma is an old place of employment and also one of my first sponsors. The owner, Adrian Bell, was kind enough to actually roast a coffee blend in my name, “Molly up the Mountain” the proceeds of which helped fund my early years in Whistler. At a decent hour I pick everyone up and take them on the tour, which includes Giant Mine, where security was tight—every-time we got out to scope, someone was watching, or making a call. Also included were Pilot’s Monument, and the Snow Kings Castle on Great Slave Lake. We grab lunch at “The Black Knight Pub”-also one of my first sponsors–where Rouleau eats Caribou for the first time and isn’t impressed. Can’t win ‘em all I guess.
As we tour the town it becomes apparent that Yellowknife and the surrounding area is excruciatingly flat. It’s so flat that the local snowboarders have commandeered an excavated gravel pit in order to slide downhill. Coupled that with the fact that the land is covered with 2 feet of moisture-less, baseless snow and jagged rock, finding obstacles to snowboard on is difficult.
One of the more promising features we find is mini-cliff at the entrance to one of the few active mine shafts at Giant Mine. Rouleau volunteers to drop it but due to the snow/rock combo we are forced to line the transition with stolen palettes and plywood, which we cover with snow. As we are wrap up the session a security guard parks his truck across the only exit route. Irked by our presence he informs us that we are trespassing and that the police have been called. We try to reason with him in sugar coated voices but he refuses to budge. The only other tactic I knew was to get defiant but once he explained that the area was closed off due to the potential of un-detonated explosives and high levels of arsenic his argument started to make sense. After sorting it out with the fuzz, the security guard confided in us that Dave’s drop was the best use the mine that he’d ever seen.
The rest of the week goes by way too fast and every time I pick the boys up at the hotel, the room becomes stinky-er and more humid. That kind of stench actually almost becomes tangible, like one big humid wave of unwashed clothes and man-odour slapping you in the face as soon as you open the door.
It’s not our fault Molly; somehow the aroma that stared in the van followed us to Yellowknife. If the van had one saving grace it was that it contained a woman. One woman alone can stave off the stench of many men but without you our smell had grown out control.
Yes, that’s me. With my stench-away superpowers I am able to fend off any vile, odour-emitting enemy. (Picture me with febreeze in one hand and a box of baking soda in the other, and throw in a She-Ra costume.)
On top of the kind-of shredding, we managed to squeeze in some serious PR and playtime. We spent a night at the gymnastics club with the Yellowknife shred kids, then met them the next day at the Gravel pit (the local hill) for a little coaching and good old-fashioned hucking. While the kids session I squeak in an interview with the Yellowknifer. Holy crap I almost forgot, we also did an interview on CJCD—where they actually hadn’t heard of me but they did know my brother the actor. “YOU’RE Dustin Milligan’s sister,” the radio host shrieked. “Oh my goodness, I have a picture of him on my computer from when he visited!”(Yeah the Milligan’s keep it covered). Then, my mom made a call and booked Gerhard and I in for an early morning interview on CBC North, which was pretty awesome, not only because I grew up listening to CBC North but because the guy actually did his research and asked some really decent questions.
One of the two highlights of the trip was our Northern Lights experience, which started off with dinner at with my parents. On the menu for the evening was pork roast-which I overcooked, dang-it–garlic mashed potatoes, spicy orange salad with pecans and lot’s of really good conversation. And wine. And ice-cream. My need for ice cream was one of the reasons we lost track of time and almost missed the northern lights that were going off outside. After racing back to the hotel, driving 10 more minutes to the lake, all with our heads out the windows oohing and oh-my-gawd-ing, and Scarth freaking out, we managed to get some cool shots. And of course got the van sooooo stuck on the ice in the meantime.
Wait, didn’t you get you get the van stuck twice on that trip Molly?
Well ok, but the first time I just lost where the road ended and the ditch started. When it came to driving out on the lake, you guys said “don’t worry there’s six of us, we can get out of anything.” In a very cocky tone might I add.
Right, that whole male ego thing. It took us two hours to dig it out but at least Scarth was happy taking photos.
The second highlight happened on our last day, while shooting at the Wildcat Café. I got a call from my mom saying that a teacher at NJ Macpherson Elementary School heard I was in town, and one of the students was doing a school project on me. Well, we booked it there, snowboard gear and all and walked into a class full of kids who had noooo idea what was going on, except for one, who I saw recognized me immediately, and whispered to his classmates “I know who that is!” The teachers led a question period and the kids very quickly got less and less shy and the rest of the boys did awesome answering their questions. We left that day feeling pretty warm and fuzzy inside.
Actually the whole trip made me feel pretty warm and fuzzy inside. Although I wouldn’t recommend Yellowknife as a shred destination, it was interesting to go to a place to try and make it happen. It’s funny how wearing Long Johns for ten days can make you so attached to a piece of clothing. It was kind of like that with the crew too. I became so used to hanging with everyone that after the trip it felt really weird being apart.
My thoughts exactly G, plus the fact that we got to see three of our friends stomping grounds was amazing. We couldn’t have done it with a better crew. But speak for yourself about the LJ’s, I had a washer and dryer at home, I may have worn them for ten days but they were a lot fresher and a lot less attached.
Huge thank-you’s go out to Hailey, Jonah and CJAG for hooking us up in Jasper, Marmot Basin and the Athabasca Hotel. Thank-you to Dave’s parents for feeding us and letting us rest our weary heads. And thank-you to Shawn McCaan and the NT Snowboard Association for helping us with flights, as well as First Air and the Super 8 Motel for putting us up in Yellowknife.
