The hut at Sapphire Col. Photo by Patricia Hughes

The snow cover was light enough to expose boulders in the gully, which while spectacular, were slightly ominous. I climbed tentatively, gripped by the fear of getting swamped by a snow dump, but Roy insisted the route was safe and true enough, we emerged out of the shaded gully onto a sunny ridge. We finished the climb in the company of a couple from Revelstoke and their golden retriever Daisy, who leaped enthusiastically up the hill, each bound dropping her into the powder up to her shaggy armpits.

On the Col we ate lunch in the sun and considered the ski down. I was reluctant to ski the way we had come up, which although north-facing with dry and stable snow, was strewn with exposed boulders which would mar the descent.

The other couple read aloud the expert-rated route to the west, a sun-filled, untracked bowl that dropped steeply to the trees above Asulkan Hut. I looked over the edge into the bowl. Sun sparkled on the snow like diamonds. It was beautiful, tempting. It was also warming and if anything was going to let loose in the day’s sun, it was this hill.

"Are you going to do it?" the woman asked. "It’s a lovely ski, eh, better than the way we came up." She was on randonnee gear and he had a snowboard. He could probably outrun a small avalanche, but I wasn’t feeling that confident.

"I don’t know, are you going to do it?" I replied.

"We’ll do it if you do it," she teased.

"We’ll keep an eye on you if you decide to go down," I said, keeping my options open.

With this promise, she dropped into the bowl and out of view. Daisy whined and strained to go after her. For a few seconds we heard nothing, then a small shriek.

"How is it?" the snowboarder shouted.

"It’s great," came her ecstatic and muted reply. With that, her partner and dog followed. In less than two minutes they were down. They pulled up before the tree line and looked up toward us.

"Want to go?" Roy asked. "They’re going to watch out for us."

It seemed safe enough, so we pushed off the ridge and into the bowl. It was much steeper than anything we’d skied so far and I hung on for every turn, not wanting to waste an inch of this spectacular run. Plus, the other couple was still watching.

The snow was heavier on this side, and bits of surface snow slid out from under my skis. But there were no "whumping" sounds, the slope held and I knew it was good. It was better than good. It was delirious.

We both made it down without a face plant and met up with the others. Daisy licked my hand as we reviewed our pattern on the slope. Four perfect esses graced the sunny bowl, punctuated by a straight line of footprints where Daisy had sprinted behind her masters.

"Don’t know where it goes from here," the man said cheerfully. "Guess we’ll give it a go." They schussed away and we never saw them again.

We zigged and zagged through the trees and emerged a half-hour later sweaty and exhausted at the Asulkan Brook trail. We poled our way to the parking lot, and at the van, I removed my avalanche beacon for the last time with a sigh of relief and sheer joy. It’s days like this that give backcountry skiing its allure.

On the drive down to Revelstoke I peered up at the mountains that rose 6,000 feet on both sides of the highway. I counted no less than ten avalanche-danger zones and five tunnels where the road passed under a slide. We had gambled our ski vacation in avalanche country and won. But more, we had come away better skiers for the experience. I recalled the "6 P’s" from the backcountry ski commandments: Proper Prior Prevention Prevents Poor Performance. It was hard to say, but true. With the right conditions, skill and equipment, skiing the backcountry at Roger’s Pass can be as safe as it is dreamy.

-- By Patricia Hughes.