Don't Choose Between Luxury and Adventure at This Heli Lodge

“We storm-ski. That’s what we do.”

If I’m honest, these are not the words I expected to hear from Eleven Revelstoke Lodge’s heliski guide, Rob Sim. It’s his answer to the question of whether or not we would fly today, which hangs in the air heavier than the aroma of the thick slabs of bacon we just finished eating.

Watch: Heliskiing at Eleven Revelstoke Lodge in Revelstoke, B.C.

Heliskiing can be an ironically and notoriously fair-weather activity, with pilots not keen on getting blown around like dragon flies in a storm. And with fat flakes stacking up on the window sill outside—when the wind isn’t kicking them into a swirling snowglobe, that is—the weather is not currently fair.

But that’s not the whole truth of why I’m surprised. We’re sitting in the living room of what is surely the most artful house in Revelstoke—rented for us because the renovations of their lodge downtown aren’t yet complete—digesting a farm-to-table breakfast in which even the bread was homemade by Eleven’s army of staff, all of whom are dedicated just to us. Travel outfitter and lodger operator Eleven has a reputation for luxury, and I apparently have a chip on my shoulder. Here, heliskiing might not, in fact, take a backseat to the spa.

“We don’t really have any down days,” he adds, owing in part to the fact that all of their three tenures lie up river valleys, so the heli can fly in the fog, and to their meticulous LZ cutting, which opens up options at both high and low elevations. Sim has his headphones around his neck, snow pants that are a little snug around the waist (“first trip of the season”), and his sing-song Canadian lilt frequently ends sentences like questions. He asks fellow guide and founder of Kingfisher Heli, the operating partner of Eleven, Matthew “Pinto” Devlin how many they had last season, and it takes a minute for them to count, on their fingers, to four.

Then, as if I needed more evidence of my inferiority complex–fueled pathology, Eleven’s new director of skiing stands up to give us a beacon demonstration. He is none other than Ski and Snowboard Hall of Famer Mike Hattrup, whose ski movie “Blizzard of Ahhhs” I watched so much as a kid that the tape got warped. Then I look at Hattrup’s gloves on the couch next to me, which are signed in Sharpie by Phil and Steve Mahre.

Maybe Revy’s most elegant lodge, with its floating staircases, handmade Moroccan tile, and custom alabaster globe pendants, has a more adventurous edge than meets the eye.

“I can tell you guys like to ski, so we’re gonna do soup later,” Pinto says as the heli roar dies over the ridge.

We’re standing atop a run called MO, for “multiple orgasms,” a 2,000-foot vertical field of powdery pillows. Clouds stand still in puffs below us, suspended over the forest in the windless sky. There are three of us, um, guests and two guides, a ratio that might make this the most customizable heliski operation around. While most ops in B.C. use bigger birds that seat up to 15 people, with the lowest ability level in the group driving the run list, guides here can truly tailor the terrain to ability level.

Indeed, any given group has up to five A-Star helis available to ferry them into three giant swaths of tenure in the Monashees, Pinnacles, and Valhallas, which add up to 300,000 skiable acres of terrain. If a group consists of 12 guests, say, that breaks down to 25,000 skiable acres per person, roughly the size of three Whistler Blackcombs. And with each group in their own heli, you get significantly more ski time because there’s no waiting around for it to drop the other group. Eleven is also the only operator that can pick up guests right off the tarmac in Kelowna, albeit for a hefty price.

“It’s only 15 minutes from our terrain to the airport, so we’ll drop guests off to fly home with snow still on their goggles,” Pinto says.

It’s my turn to ski, and I go straight down the gut, just to the right of the other two tracks. The afternoon cold has sucked the moisture out of the creamy pow we’d been skiing all day, and the light cold smoke blows up all around me. Like most people who don’t have frequent access to a helicopter, I’m not accustomed to skiing pillow lines. I’m not sure if I should hit them off the top, smear the side, or steer around them. It’s a kind of skiing that breeds creativity—and makes my brain feel busy processing where to make my next turn.

When we finally take a break for charcuterie and jet fuel—Eleven has fueling stations all over their tenures to further cut down wait times—Pinto tells us a story about a group of never-ever skiers from China he guided a couple years back. Between the language barrier and the skiing barrier, I told him I imagined it was super challenging. “Not at all,” he replied. “They were awesome. They had the time of their lives.”

We’re sitting at a picnic table with our boots in moss in what looks like someone’s backyard. Barns in various stages of dilapidation sit in a row, as if instead of cleaning up the one that fell down, they just built a new one next to it. I ask whose land this is, and how Eleven arranged a parking spot for their A-Star here. “This is Harold’s place. We rent out a little bit of it,” Pinto says, and then points at the field behind the heli. “His relatives are buried here, just so you know.”

I’ve lost count of how many runs we’ve done today, and we ski three more huge runs after lunch. My legs feel heavy, and we load up and click in for the final ride back to town. We follow the river valley with peaks stretching in every direction, the ones on the horizon bathed in the last lick of sun. We’re tired, the heli is warm, and I finally lose the fight to keep my eyes open.

It’s our final day, and we stop into Eleven’s historic lodge on Main Street for a more formal tour of the renovations before we all depart for Kelowna. Over an après beer, we walk through what are definitely the nicest digs I’ve ever seen, and yet, I don’t feel the same pang of self-conscious discomfort—“My shoes are all wrong!”—I usually do when inside places that far surpass my means. It’s top-notch, to be sure, but it’s understated, with a luxury that’s more “if you know, you know” than “look at me.”

We walk through the boot room, where every locker has boot and glove dryers and charging ports for avalanche airbag packs. In the Quartermaster restaurant, whose big windows face Main Street, the bar is crafted of smooth Eastern Canadian white oak. Every detail is perfect—and all of it pays homage to Revy’s rail-town origins while living firmly in the present.

“We got an image from 1911 from the museum, and I obsessed over that photo,” says John Featherman, the general manager of the project. “I wanted to bring it back as much as possible to what it was like then.”

Featherman is officially Eleven’s managing director of assets and development, and unofficially the silent giant behind both the Revelstoke renovation and all of the Eleven lodges’ terrain and topography. (Other international lodge locations include Iceland, France, New Zealand, Chile, Bahamas, and Patagonia, plus domestic lodges in Crested Butte, Colo., and in the Alaska Range.)

Which brings us back to why this place is the real deal. Featherman himself is a hardcore climber, skier, kayaker, and runner in Crested Butte, Colo. (After a couple beers, he may tell you a story about getting stuck on the wrong side of a massive lake in China with only a horse and 1,000-foot contour maps from Russia to navigate back. His partner? A guy named Jimmy Chin.) Featherman quietly ensures Eleven offers heavy adventures for those who want them, managing a team of skiers and anglers at each to choose the best spots for guests. Then there’s the owner of all the Eleven properties, Chad Pike, a private equity mogul who started this business because he wanted places like these for his own outdoor quests.

We ride the elevator upstairs to see some of the rooms, each of which has its own color scheme and unique furnishings. It all comes together with the just the right amount of personality to complement the muted luxury. On the top floor, there’s another bar, plus a 10-person hot tub and a cold plunge. Then we come to what may become the best watering hole in all of skidom—a speakeasy called The Boiler Room. With brass fixtures and an art-deco 20s-era vibe, it feels a little bit like you stumbled into the belly of the Titanic.

“We skiers never like to be more than 50 feet from a bar,” Featherman says.

We finish our beers there in chairs that feel like a warm hug, and then load up in the rental truck for the two-and-a-half-hour drive. Hattrup’s at the wheel, and before I grill him for stories about his heyday with Greg Stump, Glen Plake, and Scot Shmidt, I wonder aloud where the name “Eleven” comes from.

“Ever seen the movie ‘Spinal Tap’?” he asks.

“Ah yes,” I reply. That, I think to myself as he scans the Sirius XM radio, makes perfect sense.

Details

Eleven Revelstoke’s heliskiing season runs from early January to the end of March. Click here for rates and more details. Guides, most meals, down-day activities, and safety gear is included in the rates.