Whistler's blast of culture schlock

Whistler, COLIN MOORE discovers, is where all the trendy young things hang out.

Step into the village at Whistler and stand by for a huge dose of culture schlock. The courtyard-style mall at Canada's biggest winter resort vibrates with colourful foot traffic that moves in random directions carrying skis, snowboards and polystyrene cups of Starbucks coffee.

When you have just arrived from the quieter, family-focused resorts of central British Columbia the moving montage at Whistler hits like a blast of polar wind on the top of Whistler Mountain.

The mall is about the size of the retail area of Queenstown. It resonates with the sounds of a generally younger generation, some in ski clothes, some in streetwear and all bearing labels.

The stores, and there are dozens of them selling clothing, souvenirs and ski and board gear, reverberate to rap in contrast to the gentle and perhaps equally monotonous ethnic music that tinkles from the speakers in the stores of Sun Peaks.

My companions hail me from a pavement cafe but I decline to join them. They have been there for half an hour and are still waiting to have an order taken. Most customers don't care about that, of course. They are there to chew the fat, talk about the day's skiing or boarding, the girl or boy they met and their plans for the night hours.

For the moment I am feeling rather old. It doesn't last.

That night I drink at the ubiquitous Irish pub. It's standing room only. The fiddle player is unbelievably good. Feet tap with a mind of their own. I'm all danced out in an hour and retire to save limbs for the slopes.

The hard doers are dancing on the tables at three in the morning, some crawl into bed at 7 am and step on to the Whistler Mountain gondola two hours later, clutching skis and a coffee.

Beats me how they manage it, but you don't take a day off at this legendary resort that is not much more than an hour's shuttle-bus ride from Vancouver.

For a start it is huge. Two giant mountains, Whistler and Blackcomb, side by side. They used to be two resorts, now they are one and although it is officially Whistler Blackcomb everyone knows it just as Whistler.

It's got nearly 3000ha of skiable terrain and as many variations as every ski area in New Zealand put together.

The mountain summits are not that high - less than Mt Ruapehu - and because they lie on British Columbia's coastal range the snow tends to be wetter than you'll find further inland as the interior resorts with their dry powder snow love to emphasise.

And there's the weather. It's Mt Ruapehu-ish, if you know what I mean. On day one we skied in sleet and near whiteout conditions. On day two we skied in brilliant sunshine under clear blue sky.

With so many lifts and runs to choose from it helps to have a guide and I was fortunate to have the best. Kim Manunui is a Whistler local who went to Whakapapa at Mt Ruapehu for work experience for her marketing degree.

She got the degree. She also got married to Steve Manunui, field operations supervisor at Whakapapa. In our winter Kim works at Whakapapa, in the Canadian winter Steve drives a snowgroomer at Whistler.

Day one is a "guide dog day" and we home-in on Kim all the way down the friendly trails she chooses. She probably doesn't think much of the snow but Kiwis aren't that spoiled. It seems fine to me.

The latest ski gadget - small, two-way radios - are everywhere at Whistler. Parents use them to keep in touch with the kids. Kids use them to chat inanities to each other. There are only a small number of channels so you listen to others while trying to get a clear line.

In the cafeteria at lunchtime I go to get coffee from the self-help counter and the person next to me is using the radio to check whether his companion wants milk or sugar.

The Brits are here in numbers. So are Japanese teenagers conspicuous by their absence at the BC interior resorts.

But the most common nationality, at least facing you behind any counter, are the Aussies. I'm told that Whistler has the biggest concentration of Australians outside Australia and I can believe it.

Day two, after another bout with the Irish fiddle, is a brochure day so Kim takes us up to 7th Heaven, above the treeline on Blackcomb Mountain.

The view is stunning, all the way along the coastal mountains and far into the interior. The sheer size of the skifield is mind-boggling. Trail maps can't do it justice. Just when I think I have the lie of the place sussed Kim takes us to another lift that accesses a different face of the mountain.

For our last run Kim takes us from near the top of the field to the bottom carpark, down trails cut through the trees, over bumps and hollows, until, legs shaking, we reach the village.

I'm stuffed. But I'm getting the hang of this. A wee rest, shower, a couple of nips and a feed and I'll be ready for some more Irish foot-tapping.

* Whistler, which is 124km north of Vancouver International Airport, has a huge variety of accommodation, nearly 100 restaurants and bars and more than 200 shops.

Whistler