Once in a Lifetime

On this adventure, I was invited on a hut trip to the Asulkan Hut in the Selkirk Mountains of British Columbia with a group of good friends—a few days of skiing, exploring, and settling into the rhythm of backcountry life. The early-season approach was a slog: heavy packs, thin coverage, and that familiar mix of excitement and effort that comes with earning every step. But escaping into a place this beautiful is always worth it. A recent storm had dropped 40–60 cm of surprisingly stable snow, giving us far better conditions than we expected for such a slow-starting season. Still, it was early, and the usual “sharks”—the rocks lurking just beneath the surface—kept us on our toes. The weather offered just enough visibility to move, but the peaks stayed socked in and the light remained super flat, not being able to tell what's right in front of your face. After hauling our gear the 8.5 km up to the hut, two of us decided on an evening lap. The snow was far deeper than expected—an unexpected reward after the long push. The next morning, with what looked like slightly better light, we set out toward Young’s Peak and possibly Forever Young Couloir. But by the time we reached the Asulkan Glacier, visibility had vanished completely, leaving us skiing by feel through a landscape without contours, passed large open crevasses. We settled on descending the lower section of the Seven Steps of Paradise instead, another nearby ski descent. A warm lunch back at the hut revived us enough for a couple more laps below the hut, where the snow was softer, deeper, and less wind-affected. Climbing back up in the dark after that final lap, I was completely knackered. Dinner, lots of Fireball, a few rounds of cards, and everyone was pretty ready for bed by that point. Before I went to bed the conditions totally changed. The sky cleared, revealing moonlit peaks and a crisp, star-filled mountain air—the exact opposite of the forecast, which had called for two days of cloud and snow. I had seen a small chance of aurora in the forecast, but didn’t think much of it. Nodding off reading my book, I told myself I’d step outside for a quick bathroom break before bed. If I didn't see anything, I'd go to bed, if I did, I'd stay up and take a few photos. The instant I stepped outside, I saw a faint green glow hugging the peaks on the horizon. I slipped back inside, quietly pulled on my layers, grabbed my camera, and snapped a few test shots. The aurora was there—and even a few small pillars were visible. I hurried to a spot I had scouted earlier for star photos and set up my tripod. Moments later, bright green pillars began cresting over the peaks across the valley, visible even to the naked eye. Was it the Fireball? Was I dreaming? The scene felt unreal. For twenty minutes, the sky came alive. When the display finally softened back into a gentle green glow, I walked back to the hut in disbelief, still wondering if I’d imagined the whole thing. In the morning, the first thing I did was check my camera. The photos were still there—it hadn’t been a dream. After the long ski out, with a quick detour to a small ice cave, I could hardly wait to get home and bring the images to life. These are the moments you dream of, and somehow I found myself standing exactly where I needed to be, the right place at the right time. A truly once-in-a-lifetime experience... one I will never forget.