Ski The East: Nova Scotia

"Ski the East" is a series of articles written as I uncover the culture and vibe of skiing from maritime Canada to the northeast United States. From backcountry to front, I explore the love of eastern snow one ski area at a time. 
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Chairs are full for weekend fun

“Nova Scotia?”

It almost always was posed as a question when I let my Utah friends know where I was spending a month of prime skiing time. “Why?” was quite unanimously the follow-up.

I had headed north — the furthest I’d ever been on the eastern seaboard — as part of a quest to uncover the east’s secret ski spots.

First up: Nova Scotia, Canada, a land I’d mistaken for an island until Chris, my native Nova Scotian guide, corrected my ignorance by showing me the peninsular appendage on a map.

We Americans can’t be bothered with trivial things like international geography.

However, it was impossible to be unconscious of the land’s geomorphology. As a skier, we keep a close eye out for anything remotely mountainous. But in the mainland area of Nova Scotia, there were no mountains. Unless you headed north to Cape Breton — which is an island — Nova Scotia is mostly made up of “mounds” of inconsequential elevation and rolling hills.  Stunning, make no mistake about it, but not exactly a skier’s paradise.

To top it off, I saw no snow. Near the capital city of Halifax, where Chris lived, downpours threatened incessantly. The little snow they did receive was washed away in the same day by a torrent of rain.

Where could you possibly ski here?

For this, I looked to my guide. Chris was raised in the area and, as an outdoorsman, knew where to go to satisfy the seasonal needs of a visiting adventurer. And true to his calling, he did not disappoint: I would have skiable terrain the next day.

Lift lines get serious on Saturdays

It was still dark when I was awakened the following morning by the sound of Chris’ alarm crooning a folksy tune from the Avett Brothers. I yawned at the early Atlantic time as I pulled on layers in preparation for the bitter eastern temperatures I had been warned against. It felt ridiculously early to be hurried along, it not being an epic powder day, but as Chris piled me into his SUV he explained that the best snow of the day was found in the morning. The cold of the night would leave the slopes at optimal firmness; and besides, at any moment, a storm could move in and muck the whole thing up. I forgave the early hour as we sped off to discover some snow.

The rain-soaked landscape faded to white as we drove farther from the province’s capital and rose in elevation. Rugged outcroppings lined the sides of the highway, reminding me of miniature canyons back in Utah and what once seemed like an impossibly flat landscape now shone with hope. Skiing was on the horizon...

(What was found? Read the full account at Outdoor Women's Alliance)