Jeffrey leaned over and whispered, "Ellie... it's our mystery dream vacation." Yes it was. This would be the first time ever that my husband was taking time off during ski season. After 17 years of marriage, I can count on one hand the short trips we've had together in the middle of winter, and yet here we were on the plane to Calgary for an entire week of backcountry skiing in British Columbia.

Flying is also a rare treat. Our annual ski vacations in May have always been about traveling as cheaply as possible, which means driving our camper truck to a mountainous National Forest where we set up a base camp for a combination of backcountry skiing and mountain biking, living simply.

But this was the real deal Ð seven nights in a hotel, renting a fancy SUV, and probably a few meals of dining out, since there are only so many cold turkey sandwiches my husband can make me eat in our hotel room.

Our destination was Rogers Pass, a highway pass that travels through Glacier National Park in British Columbia, an area of legendary snowfall and the most heavily avalanche-controlled stretch of highway in the world, passing under 130 slide paths. Luckily for the backcountry skier, there happens to be a rather large hotel at the top of the pass, which seems oddly out of place in such an extreme and desolate environment, but the convenience for the skiers is hard to pass up - you walk out of the lobby and start hiking to ski.

It's a weird hotel though, a little bit like "The Shining," with its dark and velvety interior, and lonely views out the window of crazy slide paths and massive peaks under what seems like constant overcast skies (I'm not sure if hotel world is for me, but the TV was nice). The place is managed by some very polite Asian people, but they don't ski and haven't quite grasped the dietary needs of the starving backcountry skier, even your basic bacon and eggs breakfast was disgusting. We had heard that this was the case, and so much to Jeffrey's annoyance, I had stuffed my electric tea kettle into the boot bag for as many add water meals as we could tolerate.

"Mystery Dream..." Jeffrey would keep repeating to me those first few days, and it was so far, so good. Our friends Wes and Judd were there as well, and the four of us would meet downstairs in our ski boots, walk out the door, put the skis on and start climbing uphill for the next four hours, skiing 5,000 feet of incredible powder through magnificent, but intimidating mountain scenery right back to the parking lot.

But the Mystery Dream Vacation took a turn for the worse. Late afternoon in flat light at the end of a long journey skiing off two cols, Jeffrey slammed into a snowdrift, and tore a tendon in his calf. In intense pain, he skied on one leg down the bumpy valley floor, and within hours had re-arranged his flight to leave the next day, leaving me behind to keep skiing with our friends. (OK, I should've gone home with him, but he only had to say once that I should stay, and I did offer to drive him the four hours to Calgary, which he refused).

He loves to poke fun at my lack of sensitivity, but I was really sad to have him leave. I've been harassing him for years to take this trip, and now it had fallen apart. It didn't help knowing that Wes and Judd were probably there more to spend time with my entertaining husband than with me, but here we were in one of the best backcountry ski destinations in the world, and we still had a few days left. Within a few hours of no Jeffrey, I had adjusted.

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We were just one steep boot pack away from the most sought after ski descent from the Asulkan Hut, the summit of Youngs Peak. I knew I would soon be checking the run known as "Seven Steps of Paradise," off the list.

None of my friends who had been to Youngs had summited because of poor visibility or high avalanche danger, but that day, with clear skies and low danger, we nailed it.

The ski down was so amazing and so long, that after a little afternoon siesta at the hut, I convinced Wes to head back up for the sunset. Sunset skis from huts really should be mandatory I think, because how often is it that you can ski above treeline at twilight, especially in the Canadian Rockies? So on up we went, not talking, skinning slowly, the sky turning a deeper shade of red.

We got to our turnaround point, with beautiful untracked powder below, and the sky filled with amazing sunset hues. We were just about to push off when Wes said, "Let's ski this one for Jeffrey."

Of course, I agreed.

I figured it was the least I could do. ... We'll finish that Mystery Dream next winter.