Vancouver's Triple Play
Ski Blackcomb Mountain, sail from Burrard Inlet, and golf the Furry Creek Golf & Country Club. It's all in a day's work in Vancouver, British Columbia.
By Marilyn Pribus

Like most great adventures, this one starts with a little bragging.

Actually, the whole city was in on it. Allow me to explain. According to local legend, my hometown of Vancouver, British Columbia, is one of the only cities on Earth where you can ski, golf, and sail all in the same day. It's the Great Vancouver Triathlon, and it's been in the tourist brochures for years. Everyone believes it. I even remember quoting it once while traveling in Europe. It made a snappy comeback to the question, "But what exactly does one do in Vancouver?" (In addition, of course, to the standard Canadian retorts of "repair the igloo" and "walk the dogsled team.")

Then one day it finally dawned on me: I'd never met anyone who'd actually gone out and done it. And, after asking around, I found out that no one else I knew had either. That's when I heard that little voice inside my head whispering carpe diem - seize the day!

Let me admit up front that I'm not much of a sportsman. No, I pretty much sit in front of a computer all day. When I decided to try the triathlon, I'd just recently learned to ski, I'd only played golf (including miniature) a couple of times, and I'd never been sailing. Still, I know a good time - and a chance to grab my 15 milliseconds of fame - when I see it. Although Vancouver's temperate climate makes this feat feasible almost year-round, I chose the first day of summer, June 21, to make my mark on history.

6:38 a.m.

The streets of Vancouver are a dream because most people are still asleep. I'm traveling with Ray Colleran, longtime friend, ace skier, and coconspirator in the day's adventure. We beat the traffic, a rare pleasure in this growing city, and slip effortlessly past office buildings and high-rises, ease through the towering green of Stanley Park, and glide unimpeded over the Lions Gate Bridge.

As North America's third-largest tv and film production center, Vancouver has become the backdrop for dozens of feature films, tv shows, and movies of the week, including Jackie Chan's "Rumble in the Bronx" and "Stargate." This morning, however, there are no kung-fu-fighting gangsters or extraterrestrials about. It's quiet on the set. We cruise by Vancouver's North Shore neighborhoods, where 9-to-5ers are busy punching the snooze button, and eventually greet the first chicanes of the Sea to Sky Highway. The foggy morning light on Howe Sound refracts the spectrum of shades from slate gray to melon green. I check my watch: two hours between us and the slopes. We suddenly feel the need for speed.

8:30 a.m.

The first stop on our circuit is Horstman Glacier on Blackcomb Mountain. Get ready for the superlatives. For the past decade, the world's best skiing magazines consistently have rated Whistler-Blackcomb Ski Resort as the top ski destination on the continent. Combined, Whistler and Blackcomb mountains offer North America's greatest vertical drop (5,280 feet), the most skiable terrain, the longest ski season, and the continent's only lift-serviced, public summer glacier skiing. We park at the edge of fiscally well-endowed Whistler Village, slip on ski boots, smear on sunblock, and check our looks in each other's mirrored shades.

As we make the ear-popping ascent through the fog on Blackcomb's high-speed quad chair, we get to know a little about Jill Dunnigan, our guide for the morning's fun. She'll be getting paid to whoosh down the just-groomed slopes with us today.

A few years back, Jill turned up her nose at a looming dental career in order to ski full-time. Commuting from the city for a few runs on the weekend isn't for her. "Tire burners" she calls these types. Jill is now an instructor at the summer ski camp and assists with media visits. She loves her work, and it shows. "I really believe the old cliché," she confesses. "If you do what you love, the money will follow."

Near the summit, a miracle happens. We poke our heads above the high cloud for a shocking blue-white view of Blackcomb Mountain and what seems to be the top of the world. The only thing that's missing is the soundtrack of singing angels. We're the only ones skiing this early - the ski schools don't start for another week, and public skiing doesn't commence until 11 a.m.

We click in and go. As the solstice sun bakes the mountain, we peel off the gear and ski in shorts and T-shirts. Jill and Ray, both accomplished skiers, have to wait for me to catch up now and then. I guess I'm a little less extreme, but no one seems to mind. After six or seven blissful runs, we ham for photos. Nice way to start your summer.

12:10 p.m.

Halfway back down the Sea to Sky Highway at Furry Creek Golf & Country Club, Jim Skipp, my next-door neighbor and a golf fanatic, is in the clubhouse trading stories with pro Bob Halvorsen. We arrive 10 minutes late, and Jim's raring to go.

Jim plays at least 60 days a year and is a little concerned that we've gotten in over our heads today. Although he cautions us that Furry Creek is a bit ambitious for beginners, Ray and I feel more than ready for the challenge. Jim smiles and says, "Just keep your head down. I'll watch the ball."

Furry Creek, only five years old, is already legendary among Canadian golfers for its wild natural beauty and demanding terrain. Aside from being strategically positioned en route to Whistler, Furry Creek is one of the most challenging courses in the province. Designed by California's Robert Muir Graves on the site of a reclaimed gravel quarry, the "target-oriented" course soars 400 feet up granite cliffs, through heavily wooded benchlands, and descends to the shores of Howe Sound, where you play out over the water on the signature 14th hole. Sharing the course is abundant wildlife that runs the gamut from bald eagles to black bears. Halvorsen explains, "We often see [bears] out on the fairway. Our policy is to let them play through."

By the ninth hole, I'm learning to like golf. I play blindly over sheer cliffs, dig my way out of sand traps, make ripples in the pond, and get a few generous breaks from ricochets off the sheer granite walls. I'm distracted by the view. Jim calmly, coolly keeps zeroing in on the pin. "People say Furry Creek is tough, but you just have to think," he explains. "It's a risk-reward thing. If you take some chances, you can get big payoffs. Or, of course, you can crash and burn."

Ray's performance, punctuated with one or two flashes of brilliance, is only slightly ahead of mine. Our scores will not be discussed here. Humbly complaining that his game is definitely "not up to standard," Jim finishes three over par. I grab the scorecard, tear it down into its elemental molecular structure, and make a run for the car. "Gotta fly. Our yacht is waiting."

6:39 p.m.

Like San Francisco or San Diego, the spirit of Vancouver is buoyed by the Pacific tide. Throw in the Gulf Islands, a sheltered archipelago of 225 islands and islets wading just offshore, and you've got the makings of a sailing paradise. As we pull away from the vibrant scene at Vancouver's Granville Island Public Market, I can hear my stomach growl over the squawk of the seagulls. No worries - this pleasure craft's fully catered.

In addition to Ray and me, the manifest for the 35-foot Beneteau 351 includes skipper Barrie Jackson, veteran West coast sailor and president of Cooper Boating Centre, and Kelvin and Paula Humenny. Kelvin and Paula recently quit their jobs and sold their funky downtown loft to "cash out" of the workaday world so they can spend more time pursuing recreational interests.

As we sail into Burrard Inlet, we sample the beer Barrie has stashed away for us: Granville Island Lager, produced at a microbrewery barely 100 yards from where we launched. After a sumptuous meal of stuffed chicken breast, sautéed vegetables, salad, and cake, we relax as our vessel gets pushed along by the easy breeze. It will be a few hours before the gold-dust sparkle of the North Shore lights shines through. For now, the backdrop to this portrait is city skyline, coastal mountains, and cool blue waters.

Ever since the Haida, Squamish, and Musqueam peoples first dipped their paddles into these rich waters, local residents have been intimate with the sea. The first European explorer to visit the area, Don Jose Maria Narvaez, arrived under sail and dropped anchor in the summer of 1791, just offshore from what came to be known as Spanish Banks. It took nearly a year for England's George Vancouver to show up.

As I take over the helm I see it: A mile or so ahead, near the beach at Spanish Banks, the sun is piercing through the fleecy clouds like the very hand of God in a Michelangelo masterwork. I end up babbling, "Sun. Over there. Check it out." My attentive crew acknowledges, and we sail into the luminous glory.

9:32 p.m.

After we tie up back at Granville Island and wave good-bye to our gracious host, Ray and I feel like the curtain is closing far too early on our action-adventure epic. We still have well over a quarter tank of gas left. So, we decide to conclude our adventure with a fourth event: skinny-dipping.

We stop at the beach at Lighthouse Park. Owing to the water temperature (about 55° F) and our flagging bravado, it's mostly a quick, in-and-out affair. We gear down, make a splash, high-five, and head home.

Okay, so completing the Vancouver Triathlon doesn't exactly rank up there with a Mars landing or the first barefoot assault on Mount Everest, but in our own way we brought a legend to life, and then some. There was no trophy, movie contract, or multimillion-dollar endorsement deal waiting when we woke up the next morning, just the fond memory of your average, run-of-the-mill, Vancouver-type day.