Justin is forever spoiled. Nothing else in his career will ever quite measure up. Eight seasons as a ski patroller at Cypress Mountain is what did it.

Finding the patrol hut deserted after a day of skiing, I’d go inside and wait for Justin while he wrapped up the day. Before long I’d hear the growl of the snowmobile and the tramping of ski boots, and a larger-than-life crew would rumble through the door in a gush of wind and snow – beards, helmets and like-mindedness making them almost indistinguishable from one another.

I always wished I could freeze those moments. Seeing Justin so satisfied with his place in the world. Heavy, Cypress-brand ‘elephant snot’ snow clinging to his boots, soaked to the skin, flushed with work, relishing the day. And in such good company.

These guys were pretty intimidating. Deeper reserves of energy and strength than I’ve ever seen in anyone. Amazing skiers, hard workers. Affectionately tough on each other, like brothers. I always felt safe for Justin, being with them.

How was your day? I’d ask.

Busy, he’d say. The usual broken wrists and knees, two head injuries, a broken back. And some kid went off the back side and got lost, so we went after him and found he’d gone off a cliff and got stuck in a tree well. He’s okay though. Then we did some avalanche control, and after that this lady hit a tree and part of her jaw kind of came off. The ambulance had to come up three times.

And he’d be smiling. Always smiling. Then he’d say, How was your day?

And I’d say, Not bad. Another one of those long meetings.

I wish Justin could be a ski patroller forever. That’s what he is. That’s what they all are. They go on to do other things – police officers, doctors, or fire fighters like Justin will be. But somehow, those things are all second choices to a true calling.

Justin doesn’t talk about it much. Cypress goes on without him, and that’s not easy to hear. He doesn’t want to know that the spring was the best ever, that Skychair still sways precariously in high winds, or that someone’s posh new skis got duct-taped to the ceiling again. Or that his locker now belongs to someone new.

That’s what seems to happen when people leave – they can’t go back, not even just a little. The memories are just too sweet.