Memories of Whistler in 1967: The first Irish girls at the new resort
 MARIE BRUCE (far right) at the new ski resort at Whistler in 1967. |
 GEORGE AND MARIE on their wedding day in Vancouver. |
 THE HANDSOME ski patroller from Scotland: George Bruce. |
 MARIE BRUCE on the slopes at Whistler in the early Sixties. |
By MARIE BRUCE
My friend Irene and I arrived in Vancouver from Ireland in August 1967. I had two huge suitcases packed with heavy clothes – mostly skirts and a pair of Foxford woollen blankets....I heard Canada was a cold country.
After an exhaustive two month search looking for secretarial jobs in Vancouver, fate stepped in one Friday night in the Devonshire beer hall.
We met a guy who suggested we go up to Whistler – it was a new ski resort and he was sure there were plenty of jobs for seasonal workers such as chambermaids.
It was a complicated business driving up to Whistler in those days, the road was very dodgy.
The dirt road started at Horseshoe Bay, we slowly drove over several wooden bridges, pot holes and river beds.
Rock slides were common and huge boulders blocked the road and had to be carefully maneuvered. To us it felt like the end of the world but somehow we managed to get there and, for good measure, we found jobs.
That was in October 1967 and we had to wait back in Vancouver until ski season started in early December. In the meantime we were reduced to babysitting and hanging out in the Devonshire pub.
Somehow I managed to scrape together enough money to buy an enormous pair of skis, lace up boots and a very shiny red ski jacket from the Army and Navy (someone in the Devonshire told us this was the place for ski gear). Now I was all set to hit the slopes in style.
At that time, we were the first Irish girls to arrive at Whistler. There was a smattering of Australians and Europeans and a few rare Canadians.
I wrote to my parents to tell them that I had an excellent job as a receptionist in a very chic ski area. The truth was very different. We were hard working chambermaids who had to clean up after untidy skiers.
Every morning we had to wash the greasy dishes piled up in the sinks from those cholesterol laden breakfasts of the Sixties. Being a chambermaid was not a glamorous job, it was chronically underpaid with no tips.
But, despite all this hardship, Whistler in 1967 was a magic place. The cabins around the valley were mostly “A” frames and conveniently located at the base of the lift. We heard they cost $500 each to buy, but who had $500 – certainly no one we knew.
The very first night I moved to Whistler, we went up to the Cheakamus bar (the only game in town). The bar was crowded with guys all drinking and having a wonderful time.
Space was tight but I managed to squeeze onto a bar stool beside a handsome ski patroller named George and his friend Ian both from Scotland.
Once again fate stepped in, George became the love of my life. After a few years and more travel, we got married and have been together now for 40 years.
Parties in those days were in Toad Hall and the Whistler Inn – and what parties we had! What amazing music....what freedom.
We named all the paying skiers Thumbs, and every Sunday night we celebrated with a wild party which we called, “Thank God the Thumbs have left party.”
There was the magic of skating on Alta Lake in the moonlight, the stuff of dreams. Fondue was all the rage and we frequently got together in some shack or other to make fondue and drink cheap and ghastly jugs of Colona wine.
We were undaunted by the dreadful hangovers and repeated the experience as often as we could.
I remember a hair-raising trip down to Squamish on December 23, 1967 to buy a few Christmas presents – shopping in Whistler was limited to the gas station.
Back then Squamish was a lumber town with that distinctive stench of mills. It was a rough and ready place with the feel of a frontier town – OK Corral style.
I found socks and polo sweaters in Fields, and then we all went for a beer or two at the Chieftain Hotel.
On our way back up to Whistler we had to cope with “whiteout” road conditions and one of the guys walked in front of the van. No one had a torch and getting through the dreaded Canyon area was downright frightening.
One night we gathered together a group of friends and headed up to a Farmer’s Dance in the Pemberton Valley. The poor farmers’ wives were unprepared for the herd of ravenous skiers who polished off the buffet table in minutes.
We had never seen such an abundance of great homemade food, but looking back now I wonder what they must have thought of our unruly invasion.
Today, I love the new Whistler and the wonderful cosmopolitan atmosphere. It is still a magic place and just for the record...we never did buy a cabin but we still can’t get the thought out of our mind of just $500 for a property back in 1967.
George still skis there and we visit often and try and keep abreast of all the new and wonderful changes.
We cherish our memories of the early days at Whistler. We were young and carefree in the Sixties when the world was changing rapidly and our generation experienced real freedom. Whistler embodied that freedom with amazing skiing and like-minded travelers.
We were there at that special time to experience the birth of a ski resort, which today is world famous, but back then we felt it belonged to us.
In those early days, nobody could ever imagine that Whistler would be the site of a future Winter Olympics.
[These memories are dedicated to George, Ian and Alistair. Ian and Alistair returned to Scotland and are still good friends with Marie and George.]
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