Heli-skiing
Located in Revelstoke, British Columbia, Canada, it is a remote and rustic mountain town that originally served as a supply stop for the local sawmill and passing trains. The streets in the town center are blanketed in snow, with shops on either side selling hardware and liquor, as well as gas stations and motels. People looking for entertainment often start with a drink at the Village Idiot bar, where the chairs are made from old skis, before heading to the Last Drop bar, which has pool tables and hosts a line-dancing class every Thursday. In short, you’d never imagine that one of the world’s most high-end ski resorts is right here.
The rise of ski lodges
Although Revelstoke lacks the fashion boutiques of Aspen, USA, or the Michelin-starred restaurants of Courchevel, France, it is the snowiest town on Earth, with an average annual snowfall of 12 to 18 meters, and records even exceeding 24 meters. In comparison, Zermatt, the famous Swiss ski resort, averages only 4 meters of snowfall per year. The highest point in town is the end of the “Heavenly” ski run, where the snowfall is particularly heavy—shorter trees are completely buried under snowdrifts, with only the tallest branches sticking out. Taller trees are wrapped in snow, resembling figures cloaked in capes, which locals call “snow ghosts.”
We skied down between two “snow ghosts,” moving quickly to avoid getting stuck in the snow. At the bottom of the slope, an A-star helicopter was waiting for us. Climbing into the cabin, taking off, the helicopter swept through the trees and flew along the icy banks of the Illecillewaet River, quickly arriving at our destination. This wasn’t a helipad or hotel, but a private helicopter pad right outside our ski lodge, Bighorn. Stepping onto solid ground, we looked through the transparent glass walls to see Chef Peter Hughes preparing cocktail snacks. Hearing the helicopter, he turned his head, smiled, and gave us a thumbs-up.
Locals are long accustomed to the sound of helicopters. As early as 1970, mountaineering guides from Austria and Switzerland introduced heli-skiing to Revelstoke. Nestled in the seam between the Selkirk and Monashee mountain ranges, the town has become the sports capital of the world, thanks to its year-round snow cover. At least four heli-skiing companies operate here, accommodating guests in town hotels or mountain lodges that are both comfortable and unconventional. Last season, the opening of the Bighorn lodge elevated the area to a luxury destination, marking a new trend in the skiing industry—the rise of private ski lodges.
A unique selling point
The idea came from two British young men, 33-year-old Michael Kirkland and his 30-year-old brother Chris. Both are skilled skiers who have worked as athletes and instructors. They wanted to bring the ultra-luxury ski chalets of French Courchevel or Swiss Gstaad to the Canadian wilderness, which is the true heart of heli-skiing. In these lodges, guests enjoy complete privacy. In the morning, a helicopter picks them up right at the lodge, eliminating the need for long commutes. Traditional heli-skiing operates in groups, with each helicopter cycling among three or four small teams, but Bighorn guests don’t have to deal with that—the helicopter is on-call all day, entirely dedicated to the guests.
That idea has now become reality: eight double rooms, a living room, and a large fireplace. Through 15-meter-high windows, you can enjoy panoramic views of the Columbia River and the misty Begbie slopes in the distance. Beams made from thick Douglas fir trunks, antler chandeliers, plaid furnishings, and even an old map of the Scottish Highlands make the place feel like a Scottish hunting lodge.
We played pool in the game room, watched ski movies in the cinema, admired the distant scenery with antique telescopes, or sat by the fireplace of the local butcher shop. We swam in the indoor pool and then lounged in the outdoor hot tub. The cheese comes from Vancouver’s farmers market, a seven-hour drive away; the bathrobes are supplied by a Welsh company that also serves the British royal family; the chanterelles are foraged right from the woods outside the kitchen.
There are no hidden costs, nor any sense of exhaustion—but these aren’t what make Bighorn truly unique. The downside of heli-skiing is that bad weather can ground the helicopters. In traditional backcountry heli-skiing lodges, bad weather meant either watching DVDs or playing backgammon to pass the time. But Bighorn has a solution. You can drive to nearby Revelstoke, where you can take a gondola or sightseeing lift down the mountain. The vertical drop from the summit to the base is 1,713 meters, the largest in North America, with towering peaks and dense forests that excite even seasoned skiers.
Renting Bighorn for a week costs around £106,000, including five days of 12-hour heli-skiing. This kind of experience is still rare, but other operators are recognizing the demand. Arctic Ski also offers private group services, typically for 8 to 12 people. Based in northern Iceland, guests not only get to summit snowy peaks but also ski along Greenland’s coast. The lodges are often located in remote valleys, offering outdoor showers, spas, gourmet meals, and, most importantly, complete privacy.
Additionally, Chad Pike, Vice President of European Blackstone Investment Advisory, is working on the Eleven Experience project—searching for historic buildings across locations from Wiltshire in southern England to the Bahamas in the North Atlantic (9.45, 0.00, 0.00%), aiming to transform them into luxury residences for 11-day vacations. The project plans to convert two residences, in France and Iceland, into private ski lodges for 12 people by 2014, with nightly rates between $11,000 and $15,000.
A secluded paradise
A month later, on the other side of the world, I stayed in a more surreal private ski lodge than Revelstoke, located in the Vallée de la Tarentaise in France, a favorite ski destination for many Europeans. Due to the noise and pollution associated with heli-skiing, France banned it in 1985. But that didn’t stop Claire and Tom Jeffery—she a former maritime lawyer, he a chartered surveyor—from pursuing their passion. They spent years searching for a holiday lodge with space for a helicopter landing and then sought legal ways to enable heli-skiing. One solution was to cross the border into Italy, where heli-skiing is permitted. The lodge they found, Pook, is just four miles from the border and surrounded by three Italian helicopter operators.
I spent a weekend there. We crossed the border to Col du Petit St Bernard and landed 3,000 meters from the summit of Mont Blanc, with the towering peak looming in the distance. Then we headed north to the edge of the Breuil Glacier, navigating winding tunnel paths for 45 minutes before reaching Bourg-Saint-Maurice in the Valais region.
From there, we skied down the valley, through bushes, back into France, and regrouped at the Beaupré waterfall. Although France bans heli-skiing, helicopter pickups are allowed. Minutes later, the helicopter returned us from the remote valley to the lodge, where a hot bath and BBQ awaited.
Another way to bend the rules is to use the helicopter as a taxi, flying just minutes to nearby resorts like Val d’Isère, Tignes, Sainte Foy, or Les Arcs. Heli-skiing in traditional resorts allows you to escape the crowds and experience the solemn side of the Alps. The Pook lodge is located in the small village of Les Laix, where only a few old farmhouses sit on a platform jutting out from the valley floor.
Les Laix has no shops, no nightlife, no entertainment—just a small church built in 1624. You can lie in a hammock outside the lodge and watch the sun wander among the peaks. Aside from the occasional goat bleat, there’s nothing but silence. Far from the noise of Europe, far from the pole dancing in Val d’Isère, just a two-minute flight brings you to this secluded paradise—a perfect weekend getaway. On our last day here, we skied at Les Arcs until sunset before flying back to the lodge to change. Normally, the three-hour drive to Geneva Airport is chaotic with taxis jostling for position. But this time, we leisurely sipped tea and ate homemade cake in the lodge until 6:30 PM, when the helicopter arrived to take us. Just 27 minutes later, we landed on the Geneva tarmac, ready to board our flight back to the real world.