The difference reflects two very different approaches to resort policy. One focuses on attracting new tourism investment and building destination resorts. The other focuses on managing the impacts that success brings to the communities that host them.

Both approaches are logical. Both respond to real economic pressures. Both reflect where each province sits in the lifecycle of mountain resort development. If you look closely, these mountain resorts tend to follow a predictable pattern.

The Three Stages of a Resort

Mountain resorts rarely emerge fully formed. They evolve over time, and that evolution tends to follow a familiar arc.

In the early stage, the focus is on development. Land is assembled, approvals are secured, infrastructure is built, and capital is attracted. Governments often play a central role in making this possible by creating the conditions that allow resorts to move forward.

If the resort succeeds, it enters a period of rapid growth. Visitation increases, new businesses emerge, and real estate development accelerates. What was once a seasonal destination becomes a year round economy. This is the outcome governments are working toward.

Over time, however, success creates pressure. Housing becomes unaffordable. Workers struggle to live near where they work. Infrastructure designed for small populations must serve millions of visitors. Communities begin to feel the strain of their own success. At that point, the conversation shifts. The question is no longer how to grow tourism, but how to manage it.

Alberta’s Strategy: Building the Resort

Alberta’s All Season Resorts Act1 is firmly rooted in the first stage of that lifecycle. The legislation is designed to make it easier to develop year round resort destinations by streamlining approvals and creating greater certainty for investors. The goal is to unlock development on public land and position Alberta as a more competitive player in the mountain tourism economy.

The province has set an ambitious target of growing its tourism economy to twenty five billion dollars annually by 2035.2

Achieving that goal will require significant expansion in visitor infrastructure, particularly in mountain regions where demand for outdoor recreation continues to grow.

Recent announcements identifying Castle Mountain, Fortress Mountain, and Nakiska as designated all season resort areas signal a clear intent to move in that direction. These are not entirely new resorts, but existing ski areas being repositioned as year round destinations. The map3 below highlights these locations and provides a sense of where future resort development may be focused.

There is also a broader economic reality behind this push. For decades, many Albertans have travelled west into British Columbia for mountain recreation, bringing billions in tourism spending with them. Alberta’s strategy is, in part, an effort to retain more of that spending within the province.

Spend enough time in places like Fernie, Golden, and Revelstoke and you will hear it sooner or later, “the red plates are here.”

It is a reference to Alberta license plates, and the steady flow of visitors crossing provincial borders in search of mountain experiences.

Supporters of Alberta’s approach4 would rightly argue that the province is not starting from scratch. Unlike Whistler in the 1960s, Alberta has decades of North American resort experience to learn from. The open question is whether those lessons will be built into governance, housing, infrastructure funding, and environmental oversight early enough to matter.

Whistler Was a Policy Decision

It is also worth remembering that British Columbia once took a very similar approach to what Alberta is trying to do.

In the 1960s, the Province of British Columbia made a deliberate decision to create a destination ski resort in the Garibaldi Valley, now known as Whistler. The effort was tied to a bid for the 1968 Winter Olympics and involved assembling land, granting tenure, and enabling private development through the Garibaldi Lift Company. The resort opened in 1966, even though the Olympic bid was unsuccessful.

Whistler did not emerge organically. It was a policy decision. In many ways, it was an earlier version of what Alberta is attempting today. The difference is not how Whistler started. The difference is what happened after it succeeded.

Not All Resort Towns Start From Scratch

That distinction becomes even clearer when comparing Whistler to other mountain communities in British Columbia. Places like Revelstoke and Golden were not purpose built resorts. They were already established resource and railway towns long before modern ski resorts arrived.

When resorts were later developed in these places, they were layered onto existing communities rather than creating entirely new ones. That fundamentally changes the planning context. Existing housing, infrastructure, and community identity all shape how tourism growth unfolds.

Whistler, by contrast, was designed from the outset as a destination resort. Its growth trajectory, governance model, and infrastructure needs were all influenced by that original decision.

This is an important distinction. Not all resort communities are created in the same way, and those origins continue to shape how they evolve.

Why Demand Is Driving This Shift

Demand for mountain tourism in Alberta is already high, and in many places it is reaching its limits.

Banff and Jasper National Parks are among the most visited landscapes in Canada5. Alberta recorded more than thirty eight million tourism visits and approximately fourteen billion dollars in visitor spending in 2024, with a large share concentrated in these iconic mountain destinations.

At the same time, the experience in those places is changing. Accommodation prices in Banff and Jasper are consistently among the highest in the country, particularly during peak seasons. Congestion on roads, trails, and in townsites has become increasingly common. Banff National Park just broke their visitation record6, again! Nearby areas such as Kananaskis have also seen rapid growth in visitation as people look for alternatives.

In simple terms, the system full. There is strong demand for mountain experiences, but limited capacity in the most popular destinations. Expanding resort development beyond the national parks is one way Alberta is attempting to respond to that imbalance.

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BC’s Strategy: Managing Success

British Columbia is operating in a very different context. The province already has a network of established resort communities that have experienced decades of growth. In many cases, the challenge is no longer attracting visitors but managing the impacts of having too many.

The Resort Municipality Initiative7 was created in response to that reality. Rather than focusing on building new resorts, the program provides funding to communities that are already dealing with the pressures of tourism. These funds are used to support infrastructure, recreation amenities, transportation systems, and visitor services.

Communities like Whistler, Revelstoke, and Fernie receive support through this program because they host a level of visitation that far exceeds what their permanent populations would normally require. The intent is to help these communities remain functional and livable while continuing to support tourism as a key economic driver.

Planning for the Peak, Not Population

One of the defining challenges of resort communities is that they are not planned around their resident population. They are planned around peak demand.

Resort municipalities must build infrastructure for the busiest days of the year, not the average day. Roads, water systems, transit, trails, and emergency services all need to function when visitation is at its highest.

In communities like Whistler, Tofino, and Golden, peak season populations can be several times higher than the official census count. A town of fifteen thousand can quickly function like a city of sixty thousand. The scale of this mismatch becomes clearer when you compare resident and peak populations:

This creates a fundamental mismatch between how municipalities are funded and how they are used. Tax bases are tied to permanent residents, but infrastructure must serve a much larger and constantly fluctuating population. Programs like the Resort Municipality Initiative8 exist largely because of this gap.

Two Different Policy Approaches

Alberta is focused on enabling development and attracting investment. British Columbia is focused on supporting communities that are already dealing with the impacts of that development. The difference between the two approaches becomes clearer when viewed side by side:

The Broader Pattern

This is not unique to Alberta or British Columbia. Similar patterns can be seen across North America.

Resort communities in Colorado and Utah experienced rapid growth as ski destinations expanded into year round tourism economies. Places like Aspen, Vail, and Park City became globally recognized destinations. At the same time, they also became some of the most expensive places to live, with many workers forced to commute long distances. The trajectory is remarkably consistent. Success brings growth, and growth brings pressure.

The Policy Gap

What is often missing from the conversation is the transition between building a resort and managing its success.

Alberta’s current approach is focused on enabling development and attracting investment. British Columbia’s approach is focused on supporting communities that are already dealing with the impacts of that development.

The most difficult challenges tend to emerge in the space between those two stages. This is where housing shortages begin to take shape, infrastructure systems are pushed beyond their limits, and governance structures struggle to keep pace with rapid change. It is also the stage where policy is often least developed.

The Real Question

None of this suggests that Alberta’s approach is wrong. The province has significant tourism potential and a strong case for expanding its resort offerings. New destinations could help distribute visitation and reduce pressure on existing hotspots.

But if Alberta succeeds, it will eventually face the same questions British Columbia is dealing with today:

• How will housing be provided for the workforce that supports these resorts?

• How will infrastructure be funded and maintained in communities with dramatic seasonal swings?

• How will environmental values be protected as visitation increases?

These are not problems that appear at the beginning. They emerge as a result of success.

1. Building a resort is an economic development challenge.

2. Living with one is a long term planning challenge.

Alberta is focused on the first and the real test will be whether it is ready for what comes after.

This piece was first published in the Winter 2025 issue of Plan Canada, Canada’s national planning magazine produced quarterly by the Canadian Institute of Planners. I’m sharing it here with Groundwork readers.

Summary

Across the country, trails are shifting from recreation amenities to essential infrastructure that strengthens resilience and supports emergency response. When planned intentionally, they absorb stormwater, reduce wildfire risk, and provide safe connections during crises. Many communities already show how trail networks can act as green infrastructure, helping manage runoff, limit fuel buildup, and offer evacuation routes while remaining vibrant public spaces. By recognizing trails as infrastructure rather than extras, planners can create networks that support both climate mitigation and adaptation, enhancing recreation today while protecting lives, landscapes, and communities in a changing climate.

Introduction – From Recreation to Resilience

Trails are most often recognized for getting people moving, connecting communities, and providing a conduit to in nature. Trails boost physical and mental health, support active transportation, and sustain tourism economies across Canada’s cities and towns. From urban multi-use pathways to backcountry singletrack, trails have long been viewed as amenities that enhance communities.

What if trails could do more than that? What if the same trail you bike to work on, hike with your family, or cross-country ski on in winter could also help mitigate the impacts of climate change and perhaps even save lives during an emergency?

As Canada faces increasingly frequent and severe wildfires, floods, and storms, extreme weather is testing the limits of built environments. Floods cut off transportation routes, wildfires isolate communities, and heat waves strain public spaces. Roads, bridges, and utilities tend to dominate the discussion, yet trails are low cost, low impact, already widespread, and offer a powerful and underused opportunity. Trails can quietly shoulder part of this burden when designed intentionally. They can move people efficiently, absorb water rather than amplify it, and provide green corridors that reduce heat and support ecosystems.

Accomplishing this requires a shift in thinking: viewing trails not only as recreational amenities but as dual-purpose climate infrastructure that form part of planning before disasters, support emergency response during them, and strengthen communities long after. What would it look like if we designed trail networks not just for recreation, but as resilient systems that communities can depend upon in times of disruption?

Designing Trails That Endure Every Climate

Designing a trail that can withstand all weather conditions in a country as vast and diverse as Canada is no small feat. Geography, geology, and climate vary dramatically between the Canadian Shield, prairie grasslands, Rocky Mountains, and coastal rainforests. A sustainable trail in Nova Scotia may look very different from one in the Yukon, but the design principles remain the same.

At its core, sustainable trail design follows a few golden rules. Trails should respect natural contours, manage water effectively, and use materials suited to local conditions. Concepts such as the “half rule” (keeping trail grade no more than half the side slope), grade reversals, and durable surfacing materials all help ensure water runs across, not down, the trail. The result is a surface that resists erosion, protects vegetation, and requires less maintenance in the long term.

Designing for resilience starts with thinking local. Canada’s geography offers natural solutions if planners understand how topography, soils, vegetation, and hydrology shape trail behavior. A trail that fits the land, rather than fights it, will always last longer.

Across the country, these rules are applied differently:

• Coastal regions: Drainage and flood resilience are key. Trails along rivers or shorelines must handle heavy rainfall and tidal flooding without washing out. Naturally occurring rock can often be integrated as natural tread or anchors for drainage structures.

• Prairies: Wind exposure, snow loads, and seasonal flooding are major factors. Coulees and river valleys provide shelter from wind and opportunities for bench-cut trails above flood levels that can also serve as emergency routes.

• Mountain regions: Erosion control, slope stability, and wildfire resilience are priorities. Moraine benches, talus slopes, and ridgelines provide well-drained alignments reinforced with native vegetation and rock armouring.

• Northern regions: Permafrost and freeze-thaw cycles require innovation. Aligning routes along gravel ridges and insulating moss layers preserves ground stability and extends usability.

Trails that endure all climates are more than recreation; they are lessons in how small-scale, nature-based infrastructure can thrive across Canada’s most challenging landscapes.

When Trails Become Lifelines

When disaster strikes, trails can serve as quiet heroes in emergency response. In communities where main roads are blocked by floodwaters, fallen trees, or fire, trail corridors often remain passable. Their modest scale, dispersed network, and direct links to parks and neighbourhoods make them invaluable emergency routes.

In Canmore, Alberta, a multi-use trail has been designed to double as an emergency route, providing a vital connection between neighbourhoods in the event of wildfire, flooding, or other emergencies. The Silvertip and Eagle Terrace neighbourhoods are linked by a multi-use trail that functions as a daily recreation corridor for cyclists and pedestrians but is also engineered to support the weight of fire trucks and other emergency vehicles. The route features a six-metre carriageway with utilities located below the surface, ensuring both access and efficiency. When Canmore experienced significant flooding in 2013, the primary access to Eagle Terrace was destroyed and residents of Eagle Terrace were not only evacuated through this route, but also relied on it for months after as their main access was being repaired.

Similarly, in the Prairies, dike-top trails such as those along Manitoba’s Red River, have long served dual purposes as flood protection structures and emergency access routes. These elevated corridors trace the contours of engineered flood defences, offering not only recreational opportunities but also critical infrastructure in times of crisis. During spring melt or major flood events, when surrounding roads are submerged, these trails often remain passable, allowing fire crews, maintenance staff, and residents to move between neighbourhoods and reach high ground.

Designing for emergency egress requires planning: adequate width, surface stability, and integration with municipal emergency mapping. These examples reinforce a key principle - resilient communities need multiple pathways to safety.

Trails as Climate Infrastructure

Beyond aiding response, trails can actively mitigate climate impacts. They absorb water, cool cities, and protect ecosystems, performing functions often left to engineered infrastructure. When designed with intention, trails become part of the green systems that strengthen both ecological and community resilience.

An example comes from Lost Lake in Whistler, British Columbia, where a network of cross-country ski, mountain bike, and hiking trails weaves through managed forest. These trails do more than support recreation: they act as fuel breaks, disrupting continuous vegetation and slowing wildfire spread. Combined with FireSmart practices such as thinning and pruning near trail edges, they help reduce ignition risk and protect nearby neighbourhoods. In winter, the compacted ski trails further separate fuels, adding another layer of seasonal defense.

In eastern Canada, similar principles apply to urban networks such as Halifax’s Chain of Lakes Trail, which runs through natural drainage areas and connects to the city’s Blue Route cycling network. While built for recreation and commuting, it also functions as a green corridor that filters runoff, supports biodiversity, and reduces heat. When trail design aligns with natural drainage and vegetation buffers, every kilometre becomes part of climate adaptation - absorbing impacts, connecting ecosystems, and offering people greener routes through their communities.

Across Canada, trails are helping to mitigate the effects of a changing climate. In some cases, the network is intentionally designed to build resilience; in others, existing infrastructure is adapted to serve new purposes. In both, collaboration between planners, engineers, and community stewards creates systems that protect people, ecosystems, and local economies alike.

Implementation: Partners, Funding, and Governance

Turning trails into climate infrastructure requires coordination, investment, and imagination. Trails must be part of conversations about emergency management, asset management, and climate adaptation.

Governments at all levels need to be active partners in trail development and management. Municipalities, provinces, and federal agencies can set standards for sustainable design and integrate trails into infrastructure planning. Regional standards that reflect local conditions will help maintain character while ensuring durability and environmental protection.

Trail development and maintenance costs money. Most trails in Canada are publicly funded, but limited recognition of their infrastructure value restricts access to climate and emergency funding programs. To change this, governments must move beyond the “parks and recreation” mindset. The key is to stop treating trails as discretionary recreation spending and start recognizing them as infrastructure eligible for asset management, climate and emergency funding. Programs such as the Disaster Mitigation and Adaptation Fund (DMAF), provincial climate resilience grants, and tourism infrastructure programs, like BC’s Resort Municipality Initiative (RMI), can all be leveraged to support multi-purpose trail systems. Partnerships with Indigenous communities, conservation groups, and volunteer associations can also expand stewardship and reduce costs.

Recognizing trails as infrastructure is not about taking the fun out of them; it is about expanding their purpose. Trails will always be places for recreation and connection, but they can also help communities adapt to fire, flood, heat, and change.

Conclusion - A Network for the Future

Across Canada, trails are evolving from recreation amenities into essential infrastructure. Locally designed and built, they reflect the character of each landscape while strengthening resilience to fire, flood, and heat. They connect neighbourhoods safely, serve as emergency routes when other systems fail, and function as green corridors that cool cities, absorb water, and support biodiversity.

For planners and decision makers, the opportunity is clear: embed trail systems into official plans, emergency frameworks, and climate strategies. Communities can then invest in networks that serve both everyday enjoyment and long-term survival.

When designed with this intent, trails become more than pathways through nature. They become the quiet backbone of climate ready communities, linking recreation, safety, and sustainability in one continuous network.

Happy New Year!

I can’t help but look back on 2025 and notice where my mind keeps drifting: Mexico. Surf. Tacos. Tequila. Sunshine. And, inevitably . . . planning.

To get away from the rainy Pacific Northwest, we decided to spend ten days chasing sun, surf, and tacos along Mexico’s Riviera Nayarit region: Puerto Vallarta, Sayulita, Punta Mita, and San Pancho, all with the same coastline, but totally different worlds.

The region itself has a fascinating trajectory. Puerto Vallarta rose to international prominence in the 1960s, attracting outside attention, investment, and the foundations of its resort identity. Since then, development has stretched north along the coast into Nayarit, where surf towns, fishing villages, and luxury enclaves now mix along a shoreline that feels both rustic and rapidly transforming.

As a first-timer, I went in thinking mostly about the surf, tequila, tacos, and sunshine. But as we moved through each town, I kept noticing how differently they treat streets, access, resort development, public life, and infrastructure. Some areas feel effortlessly alive. Others feel like they’re still figuring out what they want to be, or what they’re being pushed to become.

Mexico’s coast is beautiful, messy, surprising, and full of lessons for anyone who cares about city-building or resort planning. Here’s what stood out.

Streets That Actually Belong to People

One of the first things that hit me is that these towns know how to use their streets.

Restaurants pull out tables and chairs right onto the curb lane or into the street. Shops spill onto sidewalks, pedestrians move in every direction and somehow - miraculously - it all works.

• No panicked bylaws about “obstructing public space.”

• No complicated seating-permit processes.

• No requirements that businesses add extra washrooms or parking stalls just to have a couple extra tables.

Meanwhile in Canada, municipalities (including resort towns) often treat public space like a liability more than an asset. We tend to regulate spontaneity out of existence.

In Mexico, the street is the living room. The marketplace. The stage.

Watching it, you remember that a vibrant place isn’t created by perfect planning or engineering, it’s created by people feeling welcome to use space in flexible, messy ways.

And speaking of markets: the open-air vendors are incredible. You can pop up a tent and sell blankets, chairs, baskets, art, fruit, coffee, whatever. It’s informal, yet totally functional. It makes the streets feel alive.

Access: Who Gets to the Beach? A Hyper-Segregated Resort Model

I kept wondering whether Mexico has something like Hawaii’s guaranteed beach access laws. Turns out . . . it’s complicated.

In many places like Puerto Vallarta, Sayulita, San Pancho, you can wander straight from the street to the sand without thinking twice. Beach access feels natural, intuitive, and very public. But as you move toward Punta Mita and the community of Corral del Risco, the picture shifts dramatically.

Corral del Risco is effectively encircled by ultra-luxury gated resort development, including the Four Seasons, the St. Regis, and multiple private condominium enclaves within Punta Mita. Notably, the community does not occupy its original location; roughly 30 years ago, residents were relocated inland as the mega-resort peninsula was developed.

What’s surreal is how it works today. During the day, the resorts are sealed off behind private security. At night, everyone pours into town on golf carts to eat tacos, buy churros, have a beer, and exist in actual public space. It feels like a temporary city pops up outside the gated walls every evening which is an inversion of what we think resort town life should be.

This hard line between “inside” and “outside” is striking because you don’t see this in most North American resorts. In Aspen, you can literally walk straight into the Ritz-Carlton lobby and grab dinner. Same in Whistler at the Four Seasons. Yes, the prices will hurt your soul, but you’re not physically barred from entering.

Punta Mita has a noticeable seam which is a visible, tangible separation of who belongs where.

As my friend put it well before we even arrived.
“This town is trying to figure out what it is.”

You can feel that tension everywhere between surf-town identity, luxury tourism, global money, and local life. This is resort planning turned up to an extreme. In places like Whistler, Banff, or even many U.S. mountain destinations, there’s at least an attempt to integrate pieces of the community together: workforce housing, visitor amenities, commercial areas, public trails, gathering places.

It works for the market that wants exclusivity, sure. But it raises big questions about long-term identity and what kind of “place” is being created.

Civil Servicing: Paradise Has a Backstage

Another big observation: Mexico’s coastal towns are growing faster than their infrastructure.

Sayulita is a perfect example. The town exploded in popularity with surfing, nightlife, markets and of course the influencers, and only afterward came the scramble to figure out roads, water, utilities, and wastewater capacity.

Across the region, you see the same patterns:

• You can’t flush toilet paper in most places.

• You can’t drink the tap water.

• Many roads are still dirt.

• Stormwater and civil servicing in general is . . . creative.

Meanwhile lots of condos in the regions are selling for $899,000 USD ! ? ! ?

It’s a reminder that demand always arrives faster than infrastructure especially in tourism economies. Mexico just shows the most extreme version of that tension. But despite all that, it works. People adapt. Towns keep growing. The surf keeps rolling in.

A Few Takeaways

1. Streets don’t need perfection - they need people.

Letting streets be alive is far more important than getting them “right.”

2. Beach access matters - physically and symbolically.

Shorelines shape belonging. They communicate who a place is for.

3. Infrastructure must keep pace - or the gap becomes visible.

Tourism booms quickly. Servicing does not.

4. Resort towns thrive when local life and visitor life mix.

Integration builds community. Segregation builds tension.

5. Informality is not the enemy.

Pop-up markets, street vendors, tables in the roadway: this is place-making.

Looking Ahead

It was an incredible trip. The food, the surf, the sunsets, and of course the tequila - truly unforgettable. But as always, the planner in me couldn’t stop taking notes. Mexico’s coast is a compelling study in how places evolve under the pressure of tourism, growth, and global capital.

It’s informal, messy, beautiful, sometimes chaotic, often inspiring, and full of lessons for resort communities everywhere.

As we head into a new year, I can’t help but reflect on 2025 with gratitude and curiosity. Happy New Year, and here’s to new adventures in 2026!

This article was originally published in the Fall 2025 issue of Planning West (the magazine of the Planning Institute of British Columbia), and I’m sharing it here for Groundwork readers. Read the published version here: PIBC – Planning West, Fall 2025: https://www.pibc.bc.ca/sites/default/files/2025-11/PIBC-PW-Fall-2025-FINAL-WEB.pdf

Trail planning used to start with a topo map, a compass, and countless hours of hiking. You would head into the woods, scribble notes in the rain, try to connect the dots later in the office, and hope your hand-drawn sketches lined up with reality.

Fast forward to today, and things look very different. Thanks to GIS, LiDAR, GPS, and a suite of other digital tools, trail and outdoor recreation planners can design smarter, move faster, and make stronger cases to regulators, funders, and communities. Dirt still matters, boots on the ground are essential, but data is now riding as a co-pilot.

In a world where efficiency, transparency, and innovation are reshaping every corner of planning, trail systems are no exception. Here’s how digital transformation is changing the way we carve new lines through the landscape.

From Topo Lines to LiDAR: Seeing the Forest and the Trees

At its core, trail planning is about working with terrain. Planners need to know where the steep slopes are, where water flows, and which areas are too sensitive to disturb. Traditionally, that meant poring over contour maps and doing a lot of field scouting.

Enter LiDAR (Light Detection and Ranging). LiDAR scans the earth’s surface with laser pulses, generating incredibly detailed elevation models. For trail planners, it’s like switching from blurry vision to high-definition glasses. Suddenly, subtle ridgelines, old logging roads, and natural benches pop off the screen. You can spot potential alignments from your desk before even setting foot on site.

In British Columbia, where glacial valleys and steep mountain faces define much of the terrain, LiDAR has been a game-changer. It allows planners to “see through” the tree canopy, identify areas prone to erosion, and avoid sensitive wetlands, all long before a flag line is set in the ground.

GIS: The Digital Trail Map Behind the Scenes

Geographic Information Systems (GIS) are the backbone of modern trail planning. Think of GIS as the Swiss Army knife of spatial data: you can layer topography, land ownership, habitat data, existing trails, cultural sites, and more, all in one digital map.

Need to know if your proposed singletrack crosses a watershed boundary? GIS has you covered. Want to check whether that new trailhead is too close to critical habitat? Just add the layer. Beyond analysis, GIS also helps with storytelling. A map showing proposed trails overlaid on aerial imagery is worth a thousand words in a council chamber. Funders and decision-makers do not just want to hear about recreation opportunities, they want to see how the plan fits into the bigger picture. With GIS, that visual argument is clear, professional, and compelling.

GPS: Ground-Truthing the Dream

All the desktop analysis in the world cannot replace boots on the ground. That’s where GPS comes in. Field crews equipped with GPS devices (or even just smartphones with high-accuracy apps) can record existing informal routes, flag new alignments, and tag environmental features in real time.

That data flows back into the GIS system, where it can be refined, compared, and tested against the broader landscape. Instead of coming home with soggy notebooks and rough sketches, planners now return with digital data points that drop neatly into the master plan.

The loop between GIS and GPS - desktop analysis to field verification and back again - is what allows modern trail planning to move quickly without losing accuracy.

Building Efficiency Into the Process

Planning trails is not just about finding the best line on the ground. It’s also about navigating the approval gauntlet: environmental reviews, interest holder consultations, regulatory permits. Here, digital tools are helping planners move faster and smarter.

By tapping into open government datasets and layering our ideas into GIS before submission, we can reduce the number of questions regulators need to ask. The data puts us a step ahead and we can anticipate concerns and provide answers before reviewers even realize they have them. That means fewer rounds of back-and-forth, more confidence in the submission, and a smoother path to approval.

Digital tools do not just make the process quicker, they make it more transparent and evidence-based. Instead of reacting to issues late in the game, planners are proactively addressing them with clear, defensible data that speaks the regulator’s language.

Transparency and Trust: Showing Your Work

Public trust matters in trail planning. Communities want to see that planners are listening, balancing recreation with conservation, and respecting cultural values. Digital tools make that easier.

Interactive web maps allow residents to explore proposed alignments from home, zoom in on their neighborhood, and leave comments tied to specific locations. Instead of broad statements of support or opposition, planners gain the kind of small, detailed insights that often surface during informal conversations around a paper map. These observations about how people already use the land, whether it is a favorite view, a children’s play spot, or an informal route, help refine plans in meaningful ways.

Shared GIS platforms also provide Indigenous partners with a clear way to review alignments against cultural and heritage data. While this does not replace relationship building, it adds clarity and accessibility that ensures everyone is looking at the same information and can raise concerns early in the process.

Innovation in Action: Importing the Bigger Picture

Modern trail plans are never created in isolation. They need to connect with existing recreation infrastructure such as trailheads, bike parks, ski resorts, campgrounds, and transit hubs.

GIS makes this integration seamless. By importing existing datasets, whether municipal park inventories, provincial recreation sites, or crowdsourced platforms like Trailforks and Strava, planners can see how new alignments connect to the wider network.

The real power comes from the database itself. By entering trail classifications into a central system, algorithms can quickly generate inventories by type and location, eliminating repetitive manual work. This approach highlights the bigger picture: Are there missing links? Redundant overlaps? Opportunities to create loops that distribute use more evenly across the system?

When data layers communicate with one another, planners can apply true network thinking. The result is trail systems that are not only smarter and more connected but also more efficient in how they deliver public benefit and use resources.

The Human Element Still Matters

For all the tech, it is worth remembering that trails are ultimately about human experience. Data can tell you where a trail can go, but it cannot tell you what it feels like to ride through an old-growth cedar grove or crest a ridge with a sweeping view.

That is why digital tools do not replace fieldwork, but they make it more intentional. Instead of wandering the forest with no clear direction, planners arrive on-site already knowing the likely corridors. Then they can focus on the details that data cannot capture: the flow of the line, the quality of the soil, the joy of the ride or hike.

The Future: From Digital Twins to AI

The next frontier in trail planning is the use of digital twins and artificial intelligence (AI).

A digital twin of a trail network is a dynamic, data-rich model that not only simulates user flows and forecasts environmental impacts but also provides a powerful platform for asset management. By integrating trail infrastructure and condition data into one system, planners and managers can track every bridge, sign, and section of trail, and use the model to guide proactive maintenance programs. This ensures resources are spent where they are needed most, extending the life of assets and keeping networks safe and reliable.

When artificial intelligence is layered onto this foundation, the opportunities grow even further. AI can analyze patterns in how people use trails, identify the most popular routes, and suggest where similar experiences could be created in new areas. It can also predict future maintenance needs and optimize alignments for both user experience and environmental resilience.

We are not there yet, but the direction is clear. Trail planning is becoming more data-driven, more predictive, and more effective at managing assets while delivering resilient, connected, and inspiring outdoor experiences.

Dirt + Data = Better Trails

Trail planning will always be rooted in the land. You cannot build a great trail without feeling the soil under your boots and the slope under your feet. But digital tools are changing the way we get there.

GIS, LiDAR, and GPS are helping planners see more clearly, work more efficiently, and build trust with communities. They’re making approvals faster, networks smarter, and outcomes better.

Digital transformation does not take away from the art of trail planning, it brings it into sharper focus. It allows us to pair the thrill of discovery with the rigor of data, ensuring that when dirt meets data, the result is trails that are not only fun to ride or hike, but also resilient, connected, and sustainable for generations to come.

Let’s Start Here

Whistler doesn’t lack demand; it lacks homes that ordinary workers and middle-income households can actually access.

Right now, the Resort Municipality of Whistler (RMOW) is updating its Works and Services fees and reviewing related bylaws such as the Employee Housing Service Charge and the Subdivision and Development Servicing Bylaw. On paper, it is a routine and long-overdue update. In reality, it raises a much bigger question: who should pay for growth, and what does fairness look like in this town?

This update will shape how Whistler grows for the next 10 to 20 years. Once these fees are set, they will define what gets built, what does not pencil, and who ultimately has access to housing. This is not a technical housekeeping exercise. It is one of the most important policy decisions Whistler will make this decade.

Even if you never plan on building a house or submitting a development permit application, this affects you. Every fee, bylaw, and policy decision shapes what gets built, how much it costs, and ultimately who gets to live here.

The familiar slogan “growth should pay for growth” sounds reasonable. New homes help fund roads, water, parks, transit, and even employee housing. Across British Columbia, those costs are typically collected through Development Cost Charges (DCCs). But in Whistler, the system goes a step further. Works and Services Charges also help fund employee housing and other amenities unique to a resort community.

Raising fees can look fiscally responsible, but it also reshapes what gets built, who can afford to build it, and who can afford to live here. And this challenge is not unique to Whistler. Mountain towns such as Revelstoke, Golden, and Fernie are navigating the same pressures.

Whistler’s Bed Cap: What It Was - and Why It’s Disappearing

Whenever someone says, “Whistler’s always been expensive,” they’re not wrong - but it’s not just the market at work, it’s policy. For decades, Whistler operated under an artificial population ceiling known as the bed cap, a policy that limited the total number of “bed units” - both resident and visitor - allowed within the RMOW. The goal was to preserve Whistler’s small-town character, protect its natural environment, and keep infrastructure demands manageable.

Despite sounding precise - 61,500 beds (ish) - the cap was never based on rigorous demographic or infrastructure science. It emerged from planning assumptions and political compromises made in the 1980s and 1990s, when the community sought to balance growth with livability and environmental protection. The number itself was more symbolic than scientific - a planning benchmark rather than a calculated threshold.

The logic was straightforward. By physically limiting the number of bed units, Whistler could manage traffic, utilities, and the overall resort experience while supporting tourism. In practice, that policy influenced everything from zoning and land values to infrastructure planning and the politics of growth, ensuring that housing scarcity would remain a built-in feature of Whistler’s economy.

Over time, the community far surpassed many of the original assumptions behind the bed cap. Infrastructure expanded, visitation grew, and housing pressures intensified beyond what early planners could have predicted. What began as a growth management philosophy eventually froze supply, inflated land values, and turned affordability into a structural challenge rather than a market one.

Now, the ground is shifting. Under Bill 441, the province’s new housing legislation, the bed cap is effectively being dismantled. The RMOW has advanced bylaw amendments2 to incorporate the province’s new Small-Scale Multi-Unit Housing (SSMUH) requirements. While the municipality has not formally repealed the bed cap, these changes mean that if new housing created under Bill 44 comes to fruition, the cap will no longer hold in practice. Whistler can no longer rely on an artificial ceiling to control population growth as it now operates under provincial rules that prioritize housing supply over local growth limits.

What happens next is uncertain. Without the cap, Whistler enters new territory where supply could finally expand beyond the old limit, but only if the infrastructure, fees, and housing policies evolve alongside it.

The irony is striking. For decades, the bed cap kept growth in check but also kept housing out of reach. Now that it is gone, the question is not whether growth should happen, but how to make it fair, affordable, and sustainable.

Employee Housing Versus the Missing Middle

Whistler’s special status under the Resort Municipality of Whistler Act allows “works and services” to include employee housing. Provincial regulation (B.C. Reg. 407/90) confirms that the municipality can require and fund worker accommodation as a service. This authority underpins the Employee Housing Service Charge Bylaw, which enables the RMOW to collect cash or units from developers to meet housing obligations. Through this framework, the Whistler Housing Authority has delivered hundreds of title-restricted homes tied to local employment, complete with resale formulas that keep them attainable over time.

This system works well for clearly defined employee categories, but it does not automatically scale to the broader missing middle - duplexes, multiplexes, fee-simple townhomes, and small-lot infill.

In reality, Whistler does not operate on a simple two-track system. It functions more like a three-track model, with each stream behaving differently:

1. WHA housing with the strongest affordability tools and the tightest eligibility rules.

2. Employee-restricted housing more broadly, which is tied to local employment but varies in price and restrictions.

3. Open-market housing, driven by land scarcity, construction costs, and global demand.

Each track has its own rules, price dynamics, and buyer pools. Treating them as interchangeable leads to policy decisions that overlook how the market actually works.

For many households, this creates a clear divide. Employee-restricted housing remains more attainable but is limited by eligibility. Open-market housing continues to climb beyond the reach of most local workers and middle-income households. If you are not on the WHA list or cannot wait several years, you fall into a gap the current system does not serve.

The missing middle sits outside the WHA system, cannot rely on open-market pricing, and does not benefit from the protections of employee-restricted covenants. This is exactly the segment most at risk under rising Works and Services Charges.

Are Employee-Restricted Homes Really “Market Units”? Not Even Close.

A common misconception is that employee-restricted homes should sell for the same price as open-market housing because some covenants do not include explicit resale caps. On the surface, that may seem reasonable. In reality, anyone who has bought or sold property in Whistler - or spoken to a local realtor - knows these homes operate in an entirely different ecosystem.

Employee-restricted units come with conditions that dramatically narrow the pool of buyers. These restrictions immediately exclude investors, second-home owners, and most part-time residents. As a result, demand is tied directly to the incomes of people who actually work in Whistler, not the global wealth that drives the open market.

This creates a functional price cap even when no formal cap exists. These homes simply do not behave like open-market units, because they cannot be purchased, rented, or held in the same way. They are part of a semi-regulated system designed to serve the local workforce - not a speculative asset class.

Understanding this difference matters. It explains why employee-restricted housing remains relatively attainable, why WHA units are even more protected, and why the missing middle continues to fall between these regulated systems and the unregulated open market. It also highlights a practical challenge: employee-restricted homes can be harder to sell and tougher to finance because the buyer pool is smaller. When construction costs climb and proformas tighten, these restrictions can make projects difficult to pencil, even when they serve a critical community need.

The Myth of “Growth Pays for Growth”

When people say growth should pay for growth, they usually mean new households should cover the cost of infrastructure. But the real value created by public investment - zoning, parks, transit, utilities - flows first to existing landowners, raising property values long before anything is built.

In resort communities, that value jump can be huge. Over time, the idea that growth must fund itself has turned into a hidden transfer between generations. It raises costs for younger buyers and renters while older owners see their equity shoot to the moon.

UBC professor Dr. Paul Kershaw puts it clearly:

“Too many municipal leaders say ‘growth should pay for growth.’ That slogan hides a big intergenerational injustice. When we make developers cover nearly all the infrastructure costs for new housing, those fees get passed on to buyers and renters, pushing prices on newly constructed homes even higher for younger people and newcomers of any age.”3
- Dr. Paul Kershaw

Kershaw’s solution is simple. Collect a small portion of the public wealth created for existing landowners and use it to lower fees on new housing. Share the cost of growth between current and future residents.

The Whistler Housing Boom - and Who Benefited

Over the past two decades, Whistler’s housing market has done what almost every resort community in British Columbia has done - it has exploded.

Whistler’s housing market has tripled since the early 2000s. A house that sold for $700,000 in 2002 now trades above $3 million +. Even very basic townhomes have crossed the million-dollar line.

For long-term owners, that has translated into extraordinary returns on investment. Now, are long-term homeowners really investors? A primary residence is not meant to be a stock portfolio, yet in Canada we have come to treat housing as an investment first and a home second. The result is a market where long-term owners have seen extraordinary gains - often hundreds of thousands, sometimes millions, in equity growth - while those trying to enter are left chasing a moving target that drifts farther away each year.

This widening gap is exactly why it matters who pays for new infrastructure.

When landowners see that kind of appreciation, asking newcomers to fully fund the next generation of pipes, roads, and parks becomes a question not of fairness, but of timing - who reaps the reward, and who shoulders the bill.

Now the Money Has to Come From Somewhere…

We all want smooth roads, clean water, and shiny bus shelters, but nobody wants to talk about who pays for them. When we discuss rebalancing the Development Cost Charges or Works and Services Charges, the question is not whether we pay, but who pays and how.

Right now, Whistler’s system assumes every new home or business must fully offset its cost upfront. But infrastructure is not a retail transaction. It is a shared, long-term public asset. Everyone benefits from safe roads, reliable water, and functioning transit - not just the newest residents.

General Taxation - Modest, Broad, Fair

A 1% or 2% municipal contribution toward major upgrades barely registers on property tax bills but sends a clear signal that growth is a shared responsibility. Whistler’s current one percent “assist” rate is largely symbolic. Raising it to even 10% would still recover most costs from new construction while showing that the community has skin in the game.

Opposing View:

Increasing the municipal assist shifts the burden to residents who already paid for the last generation of infrastructure. It can look like paying twice and may weaken political support among long-time homeowners.

Which side is better?

• If your priority is housing affordability and intergenerational fairness, increasing the assist makes sense.

• If your priority is fiscal discipline and political safety, keeping it low (1%) is easier.

The Takeaway:

Slight edge to raising it modestly (5 - 10 %), because it acknowledges shared benefit without gutting the budget.

Resort Municipality Initiative Funds

Whistler receives dedicated Resort Municipality Initiative (RMI) funding from the Province because of its tourism role4. This provincial program supports resort communities by funding tourism-related infrastructure and amenities. Those funds already help pay for parks, trails, and transit, the same types of amenities now captured under Works and Services fees.

Locals in Whistler know this firsthand. The recently revitalized Rainbow Park was funded in part through RMI dollars, a clear example of how visitor-based revenue can support community infrastructure that everyone enjoys. Earmarking a small portion of RMI funds for infrastructure renewal could build on that logic, as long as the projects serve tourism or visitor functions. If visitors drive the demand, their dollars should help maintain the systems they use, but only where it aligns with the RMI mandate.

Opposing View:

RMI funding is not guaranteed and is designed for tourism enhancement, not core infrastructure. Redirecting it could weaken festival programs and visitor experiences that help generate the economic base.

Which side is better?

• If your goal is aligning infrastructure costs with visitor impact, tapping RMI funds is logical and fair.

• If your goal is preserving tourism marketing and visitor experience, you’d keep RMI focused on “resort product.”

The Takeaway:

A balanced approach, (say, 10–20 %) for infrastructure linked to visitor use (like transit or parks) is reasonable - but not wholesale redirection.

Value Capture, Not Punitive Fees

When rezoning’s or density changes increase land value, that gain is created by public decisions. Capturing a share of that uplift through density bonusing or amenity contributions allows the community to reinvest without punishing small builders.

Opposing View:

Value capture can seem fair in theory but is complicated in practice. Appraisals can vary, and developers may delay projects if the rules feel unpredictable.

Which side is better?

• If you want targeted fairness - making those who gain most contribute most - value capture is powerful.

• If you want simplicity and predictability, DCC-style fees are easier to administer.

The Takeaway:

A hybrid model works best. Apply value capture to large rezoning’s with significant gains, and use standard fees for smaller infill projects.

Phase Charges with Real Projects

Infrastructure upgrades rarely serve everyone at once. Phasing fees or linking them to specific project triggers aligns payment with benefit and spreads the cost over time.

Opposing View:

Municipalities need predictable cash flow. Waiting to collect until projects begin can create shortfalls and risk delays in critical upgrades.

Which side is better?

• If you want alignment between payment and benefit, phasing makes sense.

• If you want financial certainty and project readiness, collecting upfront is arguably safer.

The Takeaway:

Moderate phasing - such as staged payments or rebates when projects are complete - balances fiscal stability with fairness.

Shared Benefit Means Shared Payment

Infrastructure is collective wealth. It supports tourism, protects property values, and maintains Whistler’s quality of life. If we treat every new home as a financial threat instead of part of a shared system, we create scarcity. Instead of asking how do we make growth pay for growth, we should ask how do we make growth pay its fair share - and no more.

Opposing View:

In theory, everyone sharing the cost is fair. In practice, voters who do not directly benefit from new growth may oppose paying for it. The “growth pays for growth” line is simple, and politically it sells.

Which side is better?

• If you’re thinking long-term, shared payment creates more sustainable and equitable cities.

• If you’re thinking short-term politics, “growth pays for growth” keeps the peace.

The Takeaway:

Shared payment wins on fairness and logic - but only if leaders can communicate why it’s fair.

Just Down the Road: Squamish’s Growing Pains

If Whistler is wrestling with how to share the cost of growth, Squamish is already feeling the consequences of not moving fast enough. The District’s population has exploded over the past decade - growing nearly 60 % since 2011 - but its infrastructure and amenities haven’t kept up. Families are now driving to Whistler or the North Shore just to find ice time after Squamish’s lone rink shut down for repairs, leaving hundreds of kids without local access to recreation.

To fund basic infrastructure, the District has raised Development Cost Charges, but many say the increases came too late, and still fall short. Council has approved major housing projects and rezoned entire neighbourhoods for fourplex and townhouse infill, yet the community can’t afford the pipes, parks, and facilities to serve them. The result is a paradox familiar to many fast-growing towns:

• developers blame high fees for slowing construction

• residents blame growth for eroding livability

When growth outpaces investment - or when fees lag behind real costs - the system breaks down. The lesson is simple: pretending growth can fund itself doesn’t work. Either communities plan ahead and share the costs broadly, or they end up scrambling to fix what’s already strained.

Some Recommendations

1. Phase in updated rates gradually

Whistler’s Works and Services rates have not been meaningfully updated in twenty-five years. Due to years of inflation and rising construction costs, adjusting these rates is necessary. But doing it all at once could send shockwaves through project budgets and destabilize the local housing market. Implement the changes over three years. This approach gives builders, non-profits, and homebuyers time to plan and adapt rather than face immediate cost jumps.

2. Protect attainable housing

Small-Scale Multi-Unit Housing and non-market projects directly address Whistler’s housing shortage. Charging these projects full Employee Housing fees undermines their purpose. Exempt them. Reward the builders who create attainable homes for locals instead of taxing them for helping.

3. Share the cost fairly

Whistler’s municipal assist rate is extremely low, effectively symbolic. Raising it to at least 5% - 10% through a mix of general taxation and RMI funds would spread the load.

4. Show the math

Publish an annual Works and Services report and clearly explain:

• what was collected

• what was built

• who benefited

Transparency builds public trust and gives future councils the evidence they need for good decisions.

5. Make “shared benefit = shared payment” a guiding rule

Every user of Whistler’s infrastructure - residents, businesses, and visitors, should contribute proportionately. Embedding this principle in policy creates a durable foundation for equity and long-term affordability. The goal is not to eliminate fees, but to align them with feasibility, fairness, and actual infrastructure needs - something the current proposed update does not fully achieve.

Final Thoughts

This is a very touchy subject, and kudos is due to the RMOW for tackling it head-on. Updating their Works & Services policy takes courage, especially when it touches both affordability and municipal finance.

But fiscal responsibility on paper can become a barrier on the ground. If Whistler wants infill and smart growth, why tax it? Many of these new homes will rise on lots already served by existing pipes and roads. When that capacity eventually runs out, the next round of infrastructure funding should come from shared taxation, RMI revenues, or value capture - not from the small builders and families improving what already exists.

If the goal is to sustain Whistler’s workforce, families, and character, the community needs a financial model that builds homes, not hurdles. The money has to come from somewhere, and the fairest place is everywhere: visitors, taxpayers, and developers each contributing their part to keep Whistler livable.

The RMOW is currently seeking public feedback on the proposed Works & Services Bylaw Update, and Council will ultimately decide how these costs are shared.

Everyone who cares about Whistler’s future is invited to join the conversation -- https://engage.whistler.ca/works-and-services-bylaw-update

Gathering in Whistler

Last week I had the opportunity to attend the Mountain and Resort Town Planners Summit1, hosted right here in my own backyard in Whistler, BC. The community of Whistler sits on the shared traditional, ancestral, and unceded territory of the L̓il̓wat7úl (Lil’wat) and the Sk̲wx̲wú7mesh (Squamish) peoples, whose deep connection to the land continues to shape how we live, plan, and recreate here today.

It is also always special when the spotlight lands on your home community, and even more so when you get to share experiences with colleagues from across western Canada and the United States who understand the unique challenges of planning in mountain and resort towns.

Mountain Towns Keep Growing

What struck me most was how similar our stories are, despite the differences in geography or scale. Mountain towns are growing, and people genuinely want to live in them. The reasons are clear. For some, it is about remote work and the freedom to live where they play. For others, it is about escaping the congestion of cities for a slower pace of life surrounded by nature. There is a strong pull toward places that offer beauty, connection, and a sense of belonging. Yet those very qualities make growth so complex to manage.

Lots of big questions remain: How much do we grow? Who are we growing for? Is there even a middle class left in these towns? What kind of housing and jobs are we really creating? Are we planning for the people who live here year-round, or for those who visit a few weeks a year? Can we keep our trails, forests, and rivers healthy while still accommodating growth? How do we maintain authenticity when tourism and real estate often drive the local economy?

Pressures on the Ground

The challenges do not stop there. We are all navigating a mix of climate and economic pressures that feel both urgent and unpredictable:

• Water shortages, wildfire risk, and other climate related stressors that continue to test our infrastructure and emergency response systems.

• Storm damage, flooding, and landslides that disrupt trails, roads, and essential services.

• Construction and housing costs that continue to climb, stretching both residents and municipal budgets.

• Labour shortages that make it harder to build or maintain the housing and infrastructure we need.

• Energy and transportation costs that are rising faster than many small-town economies can absorb.

• The need to prepare for scenarios that few of us even considered a decade ago, from prolonged droughts to shifts in tourism seasons.

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The Divide Between the Haves and the Have Nots

Another theme that stood out was the contrast between the haves and the have nots. Some mountain towns have the advantage of legacy investments such as the Olympics, established tourism brands, or massive municipal budgets. These communities are often better equipped to fund infrastructure, manage visitor demand, and attract outside investment.

Others face the same pressures without the same resources. They are trying to balance growth, housing, and environmental protection with far fewer tools at their disposal. Many rely on volunteer capacity, limited staff, or seasonal funding to tackle problems that are anything but seasonal.

It is easy to assume all mountain towns share the same opportunities, but the reality is uneven. Visibility and name recognition can open doors to grants and partnerships, while smaller or lesser-known communities often struggle just to keep up.

The Peaks and Valleys of Seasonality

Seasonal swings are another shared reality. Picture a community of 2,600 people that suddenly surges to 30,000+ when a major event rolls into town. For some residents and businesses, this can mean earning a large share of their annual income in just a few weeks. For others, it brings frustration as infrastructure strains under the pressure and visitors spill over into driveways and green spaces. That duality, the prosperity and the pressure, defines much of mountain town life.

Balancing Livability and Identity

Another idea that stayed with me was the reminder that we are all trying to balance livability with identity. How do we protect the soul of these places while still welcoming new residents and visitors? The small-town charm and sense of community that attract people here can easily fade if growth outpaces planning. Finding that balance between authenticity and adaptability may be one of the greatest challenges ahead.

Working Together as One Community

One of the most important takeaways from the summit was the reminder that collaboration is everything. A mountain town cannot function in silos. The ski resort, local government, First Nations, residents, tourism operators, and outdoor recreation groups are all part of the same interconnected community. When these groups align, amazing things can happen. Trails are built thoughtfully, housing gets prioritized, and the visitor experience strengthens without losing sight of the place itself.

But alignment is not always easy. Are the ski resort and the municipality moving toward the same goals? Do race organizers and event planners truly understand the sensitive ecosystems they are operating in? Are decisions being made with input from those who have been stewards of the land for generations? These are the questions that determine whether a community thrives or frays under pressure. The future of our mountain towns depends on open communication, trust, and shared responsibility.

AI and the Future of Planning

There was also interesting discussion about how technology is starting to reshape how we plan and approve development. Artificial intelligence can make processes faster, analyze complex data, and help streamline permitting in ways that save both staff time and applicant frustration. The potential for AI to flag inconsistencies, support decision making, and improve efficiency is real. Yet in the end, planning is about people and places. It must remain a human centered process that weighs context, community values, and lived experience. AI can assist, but it cannot replace the judgment, empathy, and local knowledge that are essential to good planning.

Moving From Challenges to Solutions

Talking about shared problems is important, but what stood out to me just as much were the creative ways communities are trying to respond. Mountain towns might face similar pressures, but they are also full of innovation.

Some are developing shared housing strategies that bridge municipal boundaries and involve employers, housing societies, and the private sector in coordinated delivery. Others are using seasonal data and climate modeling to guide land use decisions, recognizing that floodplains, wildfire zones, and even snowlines are shifting.

Partnerships are proving essential. Regional collaboration between neighboring towns helps small communities share resources for planning, tourism management, and emergency response. Engagement with First Nations is also leading to new co-management models that combine traditional knowledge with modern planning approaches.

There is also a growing recognition that success depends on long-term thinking, not just short-term fixes. Building climate resilience into infrastructure projects, planning for year-round economies, and maintaining affordability through creative zoning and land trusts are all part of the conversation.

Ultimately, the next steps will look different for every community. But a few ideas apply everywhere:

• Start with relationships and trust before projects or policies.

• Plan for people, not just for visitors or investors.

• Build flexibility into plans so communities can adapt as conditions change.

• Keep collaboration at the center across governments, sectors, and cultures.

Shared Lessons

What I appreciated most about this summit was its scale. It was small enough to allow for genuine conversations and honest reflections. The stories shared by other planners were both relatable and reassuring, reminding me that while every mountain community is unique, many of us are facing the same questions and trade-offs in different forms.

My biggest reflection leaving the summit was simple. These are complicated problems, but no one is facing them alone. By continuing to share ideas, experiences, and practical solutions, we can keep learning from one another and make meaningful progress in the places we care about most.

Thanks!

I had a great time connecting with so many passionate planners and community builders throughout the summit, and I look forward to taking part again next year.

Thank you to the organizing committee for bringing everyone together and creating the space for these important conversations.

When I came across this comic1 by Tommy Siegel, it made me laugh but also think. Because it is so true.

We have all heard it. Maybe we have said it. It is the classic backcountry contradiction. We want to experience wild places, just without the crowd.

Let’s be honest. More people getting outside is not the problem. Poor planning is.

New trails get all the attention. But have you looked at what is already in your backyard?

We are quick to build and slow to maintain. Quick to explore and slow to steward.

Without thoughtful planning and long-term care, we risk loving our trails and the ecosystems they pass through to death.

What good planning looks like:

• Designing trails that protect sensitive ecosystems and wildlife

• Spreading use across a broader network to reduce wear and crowding

• Supporting different users such as horseback riders, hikers, bikers, dog walkers, and skiers without conflict

• Keeping trails resilient through proper drainage, surfacing, and signage

• Engaging with local communities and First Nations to reflect shared values and priorities

• Using data and mapping to understand patterns of use and pressure points

• Taking care of the trails we already have instead of always looking to build more

A well-designed trail network is about more than just fun. It is about balance. Between access and conservation. Between solitude and sharing. Between building new and caring for the old.

The backcountry is not just a playground. It is a privilege.

Let us plan and maintain like we mean it.

Whistler is buzzing, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think the entire mountain bike world had converged on this little B.C. resort town - oh wait, it has.

Welcome to Crankworx.

From Local Showcase to Global Series

In 2004, a few hundred spectators lined the trails of Whistler Mountain Bike Park to watch slopestyle mountain biking as it unfolded live1 - a discipline still new to the mainstream sports world. Backflips and steezy whips were far from household terms. That year, Whistler Blackcomb’s Rob McSkimming and Mark “Skip” Taylor, known for launching the World Ski & Snowboard Festival, introduced the inaugural Crankworx: a modest event with big aspirations.

Two decades later, Crankworx is not just a bike event. It is a global action-sports brand, a broadcast property, and a proving ground for the sport’s next superstars. What began as a niche festival in a Canadian ski town has become the world’s premier mountain-bike festival series, with additional stops in Austria, New Zealand, Australia, and a rapidly growing audience that includes millions of livestream viewers.

Mountain Biking and Land Use Planning

You do not pull off a global festival like Crankworx without thoughtful land-use planning. Whistler’s trail network which is dense, varied, and close to the town, did not appear by accident. It is the result of decades of planning, advocacy, and partnership between the Resort Municipality of Whistler (RMOW), Whistler Off Road Cycling Association (WORCA), Whistler Blackcomb Ski Resort, and countless volunteers who treated mountain biking not as a fringe sport but as a legitimate form of recreation, transportation, and tourism.

Trail density, village access, zoning for event infrastructure, and environmental protection all play a role. Whistler’s planning decisions - including day lots doubling as event space and valley trails that connect neighbourhoods enable Crankworx to function at scale.

Let’s not forget about the built environment: approximately 20,000 pillows sit within 500 metres of the lifts2, and the community has capacity for around 30,000 overnight visitors3. This town was designed to handle the crowds, and it does so with ease.

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Summer Tourism Powerhouse

For a resort town known for its deep pow, Whistler now welcomes more tourists in summer than in winter - approximately 45% in winter and 55% in summer4. Walk through the Village in mid-August and you will see it - families, athletes, retirees, day trippers from Vancouver, all packing restaurants, trails, and patios.

While hiking, lakes, and golf help draw crowds, mountain biking is arguably the biggest single driver. Although an older stat, the Whistler Mountain Bike Park saw more than 160,000 rider visits5 in 2016 - highlighting just how big of a draw it’s been for nearly a decade.

Crankworx does more than fill hotels during its ten-day run; it acts as a marketing engine for the rest of the summer. It sells the idea of Whistler as a summer destination, inspiring future trips, group rides, and bike‑cation bookings.

The Business of Sending It

What makes Crankworx unique is not just the athleticism or the mountain backdrops, it is how well it has been branded, packaged, and monetized. Crankworx understood early that mountain biking, like skateboarding or snowboarding before it, could transcend sport and become a cultural movement. Broadcast deals with Red Bull TV6 and partnerships with platforms like Pinkbike7 have brought the action to millions around the world. The event has evolved from a niche freeride contest into a full-blown media spectacle, complete with drones, athlete profiles, and slow-motion replays of next-level mountain biking.

It has also attracted serious commercial backing. Red Bull, Maxxis, Specialized, RockShox, Bosch eBike Systems, and SRAM, are just a few of the major sponsors that help power the festival. These brands do more than just fund the event, they activate on site, engage audiences, and help elevate Crankworx into the broader world of sport, lifestyle, and outdoor culture.

A Niche Industry with Outsized Impact

Mountain biking remains small compared to skiing/snowboarding or mainstream sports. Yet within the outdoor industry, it delivers an outsized impact for its size. Crankworx contributed $50.7 million in economic activity in Canada in 20238, adding $40.8 million to B.C.’s GDP and $29.6 million to Whistler’s economy. It supported 586 jobs and $26.3 million in wages in B.C., including $21.2 million locally. For a so-called niche sport, the economic ecosystem is vast and still expanding.

The Sport’s Pipeline and Platform

Crankworx is more than a show, it is a development pipeline. Events like the Red Bull Joyride, Specialized Dual Slalom, and RockShox Canadian Open Downhill and CWNext amateur series give up‑and‑coming riders a shot at recognition. Winners often transition to the pro circuit or secure big sponsorships.

One standout example is Emil Johansson. He has dominated slopestyle across the Crankworx World Tour, breaking the record for most Slopestyle gold‑medals in 20239 and claiming his third Triple Crown of Slopestyle, making him one of the most successful slopestyle athletes ever.

Built by the Locals, Backed by the Community

Behind every broadcast highlight reel and podium shot is an army of locals who help make Crankworx happen. Each summer, dozens of Whistler residents and seasonal workers take time off from their regular jobs to volunteer at the festival. Some do it for the free lunch and merch, others for the front-row seat to world-class riding, but most do it because they absolutely love it.

This is what sets Crankworx apart. It is not just hosted in Whistler, it is co-produced by the people who live here. Volunteers help with everything from course setup and crowd control to athlete support and waste management. Their energy, flexibility, and deep knowledge of the community help create an experience that feels dialed-in and authentic, even as the event grows on a global scale.

It is not unusual to see someone volunteering in the morning and behind the bar or wrenching on bikes later that night. That blend of passion and commitment is a big part of why Crankworx works so well in Whistler and why other host cities often try to replicate that vibe.

Public Investment in a Private Event

Crankworx may be a global brand, but it still receives public support from the RMOW. Through the Festivals, Events and Animation (FE&A) program, the RMOW provides annual funding to help support the event’s infrastructure, programming, and community integration.

In 2024, Crankworx Whistler received $145,00010 from the RMOW, demonstrating the value placed on extending the visitor season and maintaining Whistler's cultural vibrancy.

The funding is not just about dollars, it is about recognizing the value Crankworx brings to Whistler’s identity, visitor economy, and local pride. Crankworx helps fill hotel rooms, activate parks and plazas, and showcase the Village to a global audience. In return, the municipality helps ensure it stays rooted in the community that built it.

What’s Next

Crankworx continues to evolve with the sport. In recent years, it has embraced e‑bike racing as a competitive format, increased visibility for women’s categories, and expanded youth programming and mentorship.

This year’s Whistler schedule even includes aMTB First Tracks11 for adaptive mountain biking for anyone to discover the experience and Aspire12, a day bringing together athletes, brand leaders, grassroots organizers, and community members to redefine belonging in mountain biking and the outdoors.

More Than Just a Festival

Crankworx is more than a bike event. It is economic strategy, community celebration, and cultural momentum rolled into one. It elevates Whistler, grows the sport, and shows what happens when outdoor recreation, land-use planning, and creative vision collide.

When people hear “resort municipality,” they imagine chairlifts, surf breaks, golf courses, or hot springs - and they’re not wrong. But in British Columbia, “Resort Municipality” is something more specific. It’s an official title, and it comes with money. Real money.

These are communities built not just to welcome visitors, but to revolve around them. From Revelstoke’s chairlifts to Tofino’s beaches, these destinations carry seasonal populations far beyond what their roads, trails, and tax base were designed to support.

To help manage that load, the Province of BC created the Resort Municipality Initiative (RMI), which is a dedicated funding program that supports infrastructure, amenities, and tourism-enhancing projects in high-demand destinations.

RMI towns may be small in population, but they’re massive in visitation. Whether it’s skiing, mountain biking, hiking, or beachcombing, tourism isn’t just part of the economy - it is the economy. That reality creates a unique kind of planning challenge.

As someone who lives in Whistler (BC’s flagship resort municipality), I’ve learned that even locals often don’t know what RMI is or how it works. Let’s change that.

This is Groundwork. Let’s dig in.

The Resort Municipality Initiative (RMI)

To help these towns manage the double life of serving residents and entertaining guests, the Province of British Columbia launched the Resort Municipality Initiative (RMI) in 2006. It’s a provincial funding program that supports eligible communities with projects that enhance the visitor experience, while also making life a little easier for the locals.

The RMI is managed through the Ministry of Tourism, Arts, Culture and Sport. It’s not for potholes or payroll, it’s specifically targeted at investments that support tourism-based economies. Think festival grounds, trail systems, public washrooms, signage, waterfront access, transit for skiers, or arts and culture programming.

Who’s In?

There are currently 14 designated Resort Municipalities in British Columbia:

• Whistler

• Tofino

• Ucluelet

• Harrison Hot Springs

• Osoyoos

• Valemount

• Sun Peaks

• Rossland

• Kimberley

• Fernie

• Invermere

• Radium Hot Springs

• Golden

• Revelstoke

These communities span mountains, lakes, beaches, and forests, but they all share a tourism-first economy and high visitor demand that outpaces their tax base and infrastructure capacity.

Can Other Towns Get In?

Short answer: no.

The RMI stopped accepting new applicants over a decade ago. All 14 current members joined between 2006 and 2010, and the door has remained firmly shut ever since.

Meanwhile, tourism in British Columbia has surged. More people are mountain biking in Cumberland, skiing in Smithers, climbing in Squamish, or dancing at festivals in Nelson every year. These places aren’t just scenic, they’re tourism engines, drawing crowds and straining local infrastructure.

Take Squamish, for example. A 2018 tourism impact analysis1 recorded approximately 615,600 total visits - a staggering 290% increase from 2008. And yet, many of BC’s fastest-growing tourism communities receive no RMI funding. Despite their expanding role in the province’s visitor economy, they face rising costs without a dedicated line of provincial support.

Should RMI Open to New Towns?

It’s a fair question and one that keeps coming up in planning circles, tourism boards, and council chambers across BC.

When the RMI was created in 2006, it made sense to limit the number of participants. The Province needed a pilot program, a manageable group, and time to figure out what worked. But two decades later, the tourism landscape has changed and so have the communities.

Plenty of communities weren’t on the tourism radar back then - but that’s changed. They're facing the same weekend surges, infrastructure strain, and trailhead backups as the existing RMI towns but without the same support.

Let’s Not Forget: The Current RMI Towns Earned It

While it’s fair to call for broader access, we also need to recognize the impact RMI communities are already making. Towns like Whistler, Tofino, and Revelstoke aren’t just scenic destinations - they’re economic engines.

Whistler alone contributes over $1.53 billion2 (yes, billion) in annual provincial GDP through visitor spending and accounts for 25%3 of B.C.’s total tourism export revenue. That’s a big return on investment. So yes - these 14 towns are absolutely deserving. But that doesn’t mean others shouldn’t be invited to the table.

What About Existing Tourism Support for Non-RMI Communities?

The Province of BC offers several forms of tourism-related support beyond the Resort Municipality Initiative. Programs such as the Rural Economic Diversification and Infrastructure Program4 and grants from Destination BC5 provide funding for economic development and tourism marketing. These efforts play an important role in attracting visitors and strengthening local economies, but they are not designed to directly address the operational pressures that come with high seasonal visitation.

This is where the RMI stands out. It offers targeted, scalable funding specifically tied to the impacts of tourism. The question is not whether the Province is doing enough overall, but whether the right tools are in place for communities facing growing visitor demand. Evolving the RMI model could allow more towns to access the kind of support they need to keep up with tourism’s realities.

How is the RMI funding Calculated?

The Province uses a two-part formula6:

1. Fixed Base

   • Municipalities receive an amount equal to the average of their 3-year Municipal and Regional District Tax (MRDT) revenue (assuming a 2% rate).

   • If this base amount is low, the town receives a guaranteed minimum of $100,000.

2. Performance Lift

   • Additional dollars are awarded based on MRDT growth - rewarding municipalities for expanding their tourism economy.

Who Gets What?

Not all Resort Municipalities are funded equally. The Province distributes about $13 million per year through the RMI, but how much each town gets depends on its tourism performance - specifically, how much Municipal and Regional District Tax (also know as a Hotel Tax) it collects from overnight stays.

Here's how the funding breaks down:

• Whistler7

  • gets the biggest slice of the pie ~$7.67 million annually

  • $6.57M base (2022–2024) + a $1.1M tourism performance boost in 2024

• Golden8

  • receives around $500,000 annually

• Other RMI Towns

  • Range from $100,000 to $1 million+, depending on MRDT and visitor volume

Whistler, thanks to massive visitation and high MRDT revenue, receives more than half of total RMI funding. Smaller towns like Radium or Sun Peaks receive proportionate support.

How Is The Money Used?

RMI funding can’t go toward schools, core services, or housing. It’s strictly earmarked for tourism-related capital projects and services.

Common projects include:

• Trail networks and signage

• Public washrooms and waterfront access

• Transit services to ski resorts or day-use areas

• Arts and culture programming

• Parks, plazas, and visitor amenities

Each municipality must create a Resort Development Strategy (RDS) which is a 5-year plan outlining how they’ll invest the funds, often shaped through community input and tourism advisory committees.

What Impact Does RMI Have? Why Should British Columbians Care?

For Local Residents

RMI funding helps keep tourism towns from breaking under the pressure. When tens of thousands of visitors show up for a long weekend, it’s that funding that keeps the trails open, the washrooms clean, and the festivals running. It makes small towns feel organized instead of overwhelmed.

But this isn’t just about tourists. The best RMI projects also improve daily life for residents - new signage makes it easier to navigate town, groomed trails become morning walkways, and improved parks benefit everyone. That’s why local oversight matters. The money should work for the community, not just the Instagram post.

For Everyone Else

If you’ve vacationed in Osoyoos, hiked in Fernie, soaked in Radium, or surfed in Tofino - you’ve benefitted from RMI, whether you knew it or not. That trailhead kiosk? RMI. That outdoor washroom at the lake? RMI. That arts and culture festival on a sunny Saturday? RMI. That gorgeous new park rejuvenation? RMI.

And the money? It doesn’t just come from hotel taxes. It comes from BC’s general provincial revenues. That means every British Columbian is helping fund these towns, even if you’ve never stayed the night.

What Can You Do?

These towns are doing their part. You can help too.

• Join a tourism or economic development advisory board.

• Vote in local elections and ask how candidates plan to invest tourism dollars.

• Take part in RDS consultations as your voice helps shape the projects that get funded.

• Start the conversation, share this info and keep the conversation going. The more people who understand RMI, the more impact it can have.

RMI isn’t just a tourism grant. It’s a community-building tool. It’s rural infrastructure. It’s planning with a purpose and it only works if people are paying attention.

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Are There Other “Resort Municipality” Programs in Canada?

Only one province has a comparable model: Prince Edward Island.

A one-of-a-kind model, Prince Edward Island is the only Canadian province besides British Columbia with an official Resort Municipality9. Designated in 1990 by an Order in Council and now enshrined in PEI’s Municipal Government Act, the Resort Municipality of Stanley Bridge, Hope River, Bayview, Cavendish, and North Rustico is unique in its structure and mandate. Thanks to legislation passed in 201710, no new resort municipalities can ever be created on PEI meaning its status is permanent and exclusive.

All Other Provinces? Not Quite.

Across the rest of Canada - Alberta, Saskatchewan, Manitoba, Ontario, and the territories - municipal tourism is supported through general grants, destination development funds, or growth programs. Saskatchewan, for instance, recognizes “resort villages” but these refer to seasonal residential areas and are not linked to provincial tourism funding. Similarly, Ontario uses Conservation Authorities for watershed and park infrastructure, not dedicated tourism financing.

Other provinces support tourism through grants or destination funds, but only BC and PEI have legal structures for tourism-based municipalities with dedicated funding.

Where Do We Go From Here?

The Resort Municipality Initiative remains a vital tool for helping BC’s top tourism towns manage the demands of high seasonal visitation. It gives small communities the capacity to welcome the world while supporting local quality of life.

But the program has limits that are hard to ignore:

• Only 14 towns are currently part of the program.

• No new applications are accepted.

• A growing list of high-tourism communities are left on the sidelines.

Places like Nelson, Cumberland, Sooke, and Smithers are dealing with packed parking lots, worn-out trails, and stressed infrastructure - but have no access to this support.

Whistler gets the most visitors - that’s undeniable. It’s already a world-class destination with well-established infrastructure. Yes, maintenance is important. But should the majority of funding continue flowing to a town that’s already thriving while others go without?

If the Province wants BC’s tourism economy to remain strong and sustainable, expanding or adapting the RMI could be part of the solution. Here are a few potential ideas:

• Reopen the program with clear, transparent criteria. Think tourism-to-population ratios, seasonal population surges, and infrastructure strain. This could open the door for a community like Sicamous which hosts high visitor volumes and depends heavily on tourism to become eligible.

• Introduce a tiered system so funding is scaled to fit. Not every town needs - or can manage - the same level of funding as Whistler. A tiered model could scale support based on tourism volume, local capacity, or population size. A town like Kaslo might not need full membership but could benefit from support for pilot projects or visitor data collection.

• Allow smaller towns to apply for project-based grants tied to tourism-related metrics like MRDT eligibility or visitation counts. This could open the door for a place like Powell River, which punches well above its weight in arts and cultural tourism, to get support for key events or infrastructure.

• Build regional collaboration models. Tourism doesn’t stop at municipal borders. Allowing RMI and non-RMI towns to pool resources on shared projects could boost regional cohesion and reduce duplication. Imagine Golden and Field partnering on trailhead improvements for the Yoho and Kicking Horse area.

This isn’t about taking away from existing members. It’s about recognizing that BC’s tourism landscape has changed, and the support systems around it should change too.

What they don’t picture is a trail . . . but maybe they should.

Because trails - those winding ribbons of dirt, gravel, and the occasional surprise boardwalk, are some of the best examples of good land use we have. They connect people to place. They show what we value, and they quietly expose what’s not working in our built environment.

Trails Do What Planning Should Do

A great trail doesn’t just get you from Point A to Point B. It makes you want to go. It guides you, it feels natural without being wild, and somehow manages to be both useful, fun, and rad.

Wouldn’t it be nice if our communities worked the same way?

Let’s take a closer look. Let’s dig in.

What Trails Teach Us

Access + Accessibility

No car? No problem. Trails are one of the most democratic pieces of infrastructure we’ve got. No tickets, no gates, no dress code. Just show up and go. That’s land use equity in motion.

Of course, not every trail is equally accessible. Steep grades, rough surfaces, or missing connections can create real barriers for people with mobility challenges, families with strollers, or those without safe routes nearby, however, that is not a reason to give up. It is a reason design better, because when trails are thoughtfully planned, they do more than connect places. They connect people to possibility.

Trails give us access in every direction - outward and inward. They’re the bones of active transportation: a way to walk to the grocery store, bike to school, or take the long route home from work without ever touching a traffic light.

Trails also open the door to wild spaces. From front country to backcountry, trails make places feel possible, letting people reach lakes, viewpoints, and landscapes that would otherwise be out of reach.

Stewardship

Trails show what happens when people care and collaborate. The Sea to Sky Trail in BC wasn’t built by accident. It crosses First Nation, provincial, and municipal lands. It exists because people worked together instead of arguing over whose jurisdiction the dirt falls under. It's also part of the Trans Canada Trail1, linking the region to a country-wide network built on the same spirit of connection and cooperation.

That care doesn’t end once the trail is built. Long-distance routes like the Trans Canada Trail rely on ongoing stewardship across jurisdictions, communities, and generations, to keep them safe, accessible, and inspiring for all.

Place-Based Design

Good trails hug the land. They follow the contours, dodge the wetlands, weave through the trees. They’re designed for the place they’re in and not copied and pasted from somewhere else. Imagine if new subdivisions worked the same way.

Connection

The best trails don’t just loop around in the woods like a lost hiker or my lost black & tan hound dog after she tracks a scent and ends up somewhere in the backcountry. Trails link up neighbourhoods, parks, schools, town centres, and nature. Vancouver’s Central Valley Greenway. Ottawa’s Rideau Canal Path. Whistler’s Valley Trail connects pretty much everything. Over on the Rock, as they say in Newfoundland, the T’Railway runs nearly 900 km across the island, turning an old railway into a multi-use lifeline from Port aux Basques all the way to St. John’s.

These aren’t just trails - they’re spines, and more importantly, they’re paced, multi-use pathways designed for walking, biking, strollers, skateboards, and sometimes even skis. They move at the speed of people, not vehicles.

Trails Are Invitations and Destinations

Some of my favourite memories didn’t happen at big events or fancy venues. They happened on trails.

Whether it was riding loam on the Sunshine Coast, doing a winery tour in Penticton, or a bachelor party in Bellingham that turned into a group ride (despite nonstop rain and even a bit of snow) the trail was the reason we showed up. Sure, we were there to celebrate something. But it was the shared motion, the flow, and the feeling of being outside together that made it memorable.

Not all trails are about getting somewhere. Some are about being somewhere.

Natural surface trails - think hiking, mountain biking, snowshoeing - aren’t just ways to move. They’re magnets. People will travel hours, even days, for a shot at the goods:

• A mountain bike trip to Squamish

• A hike through Fundy National Park

• Snowshoeing around the ice caves on Lake Superior

• A weekend loop on the Iceline Trail in Yoho National Park

These kinds of trails don’t just support recreation, they drive it. They bring business to rural communities. They build identity around landscapes. And they become part of people’s core memories.

If we’re serious about planning places people love, we can’t ignore the power of trails.
They’re economic engines. Social glue. And some of the most effective, underappreciated land use tools we’ve got.

Trails Reveal What Your Community Really Cares About

Grab a trail map, fire up Trailforks, or scroll through the Strava heatmap. You’ll learn more about a place from its trail network than any local government official community plan will ever tell.

Are the trails safe? Lit? Accessible?
Do they connect to schools or just dog parks?
Do they serve commuters or just the weekend warriors?
Are they cared for or crumbling?
Do they go where people actually want to go?

Trails quietly reveal who’s included and who’s forgotten, and in many places, they’re still treated like recreation, not transportation. That’s a missed opportunity and trails can and should do both.

Not All Trails Are On Land

In Canada, some of our most historic, scenic, and culturally significant routes are water trails. Canoe routes, portage networks, and paddle corridors that have been used for centuries.

From the French River in Ontario to the Bowron Lakes Circuit in BC, to the Athabasca River in Alberta which was once a vital fur trade route, and today it's a designated Canadian Heritage River2. Water trails connect us to landscapes in ways that are both ancient and immediate. They’re the original trade routes. The original tourism. The original trails.

Today, water trails still serve as powerful connectors by linking people to nature, communities to culture, and visitors to unforgettable experiences. They draw paddlers, anglers, and campers. They support Indigenous tourism, guide outfitters, and seasonal economies.

Some of these waterways are gaining formal recognition - not just as infrastructure, but as beings worth protecting.

In 2021, the Magpie River in Quebec was granted legal personhood3 through joint resolutions by the Innu Council of Ekuanitshit and the regional municipality of Minganie. The river was given nine specific rights, including the right to flow, to maintain its natural cycles, and to remain free from pollution.

It’s a reminder that trails, whether on land or water, aren’t just corridors. They’re living systems, and how we treat them reflects how we value the places they pass through.

Final Thought

So next time you’re out for a walk, on a ride, pushing that baby stroller, or paddling a kayak, think about what’s working.

That natural curve of the singletrack through the trees.
That seamless connection between a neighbourhood and nature.
The quiet glide along a river that’s been paddled for generations.
The fact that you’re moving, breathing, seeing people - not just passing through.

What is Groundwork?

I’m still figuring that out - but I envision it to be a newsletter for people who care about where and how we plan, move, build, and play. Every week (or so), I’ll break down ideas, policies, and projects shaping the future of trails, outdoor recreation, resort development, and land use. It’s based in Canada, but always looking outward and drawing on global best practices.

The Groundwork Community

I hope the future Groundwork community is open, thoughtful, and inclusive - a space for people to learn, question, contribute, and connect.

Whether you’re a planner, land manager, advocate, builder, designer, or just someone who loves getting outside, this community (newsletter) is for you. Expect sharp takes, real-world examples, maps, diagrams, and the occasional zoning rant.

See you online or, even better, outside.
Let’s dig in.

Land Acknowledgement
This newsletter is primarily written on the shared traditional, ancestral, and unceded territory of the L̓il̓wat7úl (Lil’wat) and Sk̲wx̲wú7mesh (Squamish) Nations, whose enduring connection to this land continues to guide its stewardship.