Holidays Away: The grinch in Canada

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I hate Christmas.

As a kid, it was prime time for warring family factions to gather, fruitcakes and nutcrackers duking it out under the mistletoe. As soon as I was old enough, I annually fled to un-Christmas destinations like Buddhist countries, Down Under hiking trails and isles where reggae replaced caroling.

Then one year my partner and I decided on backcountry skiing in Alberta’s Rockies. On Dec. 24, we slapped on skis and shuffled into the wilderness outside Lake Louise on a 6.5-mile route, the only way to reach Skoki Lodge, a remote old outpost with no electricity, no running water and no Santa Claus.

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By early afternoon, we spotted smoke curling from the chimney of the rustic, ax-hewn log retreat. As we stomped snow off our boots, lodge manager Blake O’Brian opened the door, unleashing a gust of baking shortbread and gingerbread aromas. I stopped dead in my tracks. Alongside a fieldstone fireplace adorned with stockings stood a tall Christmas tree decorated, as was the entire lodge, in red and green: Beneath lay piles of gifts the 20 other guests had schlepped in. Christmas cards were strung across the ceiling and a fellow at a honky-tonk piano played “Frosty the Snowman” while a kid sang along. I felt queasy. My palms sweated. Instead of escaping the yuletide shindig, we had traipsed smack into Christmas Central.

“You’re in the Honeymoon Cabin,” Blake said, handing over hurricane lamps and mugs of eggnog.

By late afternoon, guests had gathered in front of the blazing fireplace after a day’s skiing. At the long wooden dining table, a traditional turkey feast was paraded in and served by candlelight, all cooked on a huge wood-burning stove hauled in by dogsled when the lodge was built in 1932. Wine and bubbly conversation calmed the jitters of my first Christmas in 24 years.

After dinner, Blake lit real candles on the tree and the kids dove for the presents — to be opened early as everyone was off skiing in early morning. To my surprise, a 6-year-old elf handed me a small, wrapped gift.

“Christmas is for sharing,” he explained, eyes sparkling. “My mom found out how many people would be here and we brought presents for everybody.”

My tear ducts lurched and I sagged with relief — seems all that yuletide loathing had been a load to carry. Who knew a textbook Heidi Christmas would be just the therapy a Grinch like me needed?