Eventually I would learn that “Pavillon de Base” translates to “Base Lodge.” And I suppose you could argue that the large arrow positioned underneath those words would reasonably prompt any skier with a half a wit of understanding of the language—say, perhaps, even this skier who proudly produced a D+ in Grade 9 français—or anyone with half a wit at all, to deduce that the base lodge and main parking area would be in that direction.

Especially someone motivated to get back to the lodge. And motivated I was. Not for myself, of course, but for the wellbeing of my photographer.

You see, it had snowed 30 centimetres overnight, and I am hopelessly addicted to the act of skiing deep powder in Eastern Canada’s hardwood glades—in particular, these ample, perfectly spaced glades at Bromont ski resort in the picturesque Quebec Eastern Townships.

But it was my fault. I had invited this photographer, who—although he is smart, witty, a good conversationalist, charming, a loyal and great friend and possesses the physique to be quite the force in the skiing world—had recently abandoned skiing in favour of fishing, which doesn’t exactly train your muscles for endless deep pow. So all morning I accommodated slower runs, sticking to groomers, and posed painfully for photos while happier skiers shredded sick lines all around me.

Plus, I was here with my kids who are even more powder hungry than me. And they, being true to their hearts and to the wise guiding principle of “no friends on powder days”—and less concerned with the polite nuances of staying loyal to a slower skiing photographer their dad invited—had long ago ditched us.

In short, it was torture. I needed to lose this guy (only for the next couple of hours), get him back to the lodge and doing something more within his skill set—like perhaps drinking some fine craft beer from one of the region’s abundant local microbrasseries, or editing photos or something.

So at that moment, in the bad-dream powder panic that results from watching others ski the deepest powder runs of their life, the translation of those simple French words were lost on me.

Here’s some background: we were on a four-day ski trip to Bromont ski resort (officially named “Bromont, montagne d’expériences”) and Mont Sutton (about 45 minutes to the south of Bromont) for On The Bay, checking out the potential of the region as a viable and close ski-trip destination—an easy eight hours from Collingwood down the 400 series. The purpose was to offer a service to those of our readers who love amazing ski experiences, combined with world-class après, friendly locals, old-world villages and stunning scenery. This place delivers on all those fronts.

Bromont looms above southern Quebec about an hour from Montreal. The history is rich here. Originally settled by Loyalist colonists and Americans in the 1700s, the region became a hotspot for farming and, later, a vacation and summer destination for its breathtaking views and the beauty of Lac Brome, which is just slightly to the southeast of the mountain.

Popularity has exploded within the last few decades, and now the region is home to numerous wineries, golf courses, equestrian centres and, of course, an avid outdoor scene—rock climbing, skiing, and mountain biking (Bromont boasts a lift-accessed downhill mountain bike park during the warmer months). The towns of this region are quintessential Eastern Townships, with proud-standing, well-preserved mansions, white-steepled churches, cafes, patios, numerous boutiques and stunning architecture.

But it’s not all for the pretty tourist pictures. The real culture of active outdoor enthusiasm pervades the experience. Most ski hills boast an uphill ski-touring climb—off-piste—for those with lungs of steel to ascend the mountains. South of Bromont, about half an hour away, is the town of Sutton. While Bromont saw the influx of development dollars with modern lodges and state-of-the-art kitchens at both the top and bottom of the mountain, Mont Sutton retains its old-school charm and true ski-focused culture. The chalet is perfectly non-renovated, with wooden benches and floors well-worn and rounded from decades of heavy ski boot traffic. For the powder enthusiast, Sutton boasts five metres of snowfall per year, thanks to a swirling microclimate created by Vermont’s mountain peaks to the south along with the large Lake Champlain to the southwest. All this results in higher than average snowfalls, which means excellent powder skiing, especially in Sutton’s ample glade runs. Then there’s the town of Sutton, just down the hill from the base lodge, sporting a culture-rich main street with cafes, a bagel shop, bakeries and a craft brewery—it’s paradise.

Back at the top of Bromont, we still had to find our way back to the base lodge. So off I went, skate-skiing underneath that large sign with the arrow pointing to the “Pavillon De Base,” and up to a friendly looking gentleman cleaning his goggles.
“Bonjour,” I ventured cautiously. “Je parle petite français….” And then I gave up. “Do you speak English?”
“Yes.”

“Can you please tell me which way to the base lodge?”

The man laughed, pointed to the sign, and said, “Just follow the arrow, my friend.”