Lift Lines. Humans of Norquay. The Next 100 Years.

People tend to think, ‘this has been here forever, it’ll go on forever.’ Actually, it doesn’t work that way ~ Adam Waterous in ‘The Mighty Quay’.

A while back, Norquay ran with a plan I presented — to name a chair after my dad. As he approached 100, I thought it a special way to honour

 him. I imagined his chair rising to the top for many years to come, later generations asking who is this Eddie? as chair 1926 rounded the bull wheel. I wasn’t thinking ahead — but Norquay was. They have a plan. When the new gondola is in place, Eddie’s Chair won’t be dismantled along with our beloved big chair. It will be given a permanent home on the hill — hopefully as a symbol of the affection we all have for that old lift, and the fellow who arguably loves it the most.

The dedication became more than I had imagined. The people who showed up that day were all part of our bigger ski family. Maybe this is what skiing is. Maybe other small hills in other towns have similar communities holding a place together. But Norquay has faced a unique set of challenges — sitting inside a national park, in a tourist town shaped by corporate monopoly — pressures that most ski hills never encounter. The sightseeing trade becomes central to whatever comes next.

This is why Norquay’s 100th, and the recent Nostalgia Day in particular, was far more than a day of celebration — more than an anniversary.  The hill’s resilience was written in every moment — the stories, the tours, the warmth of a community gathered around a crackling fire and melting s’mores. It was a day that honoured the past while signaling a promise for another hundred years.

Never has a hill more suited its mighty moniker— validated by the large turnout. Old faces, some of whom I’ve written about here, some I have yet to meet and hopefully hear their stories.

Current owners Jan and Adam Waterous took the stage to share their story and vision — a bold plan navigating a mogul field of regulations and compliance. A mix of family nostalgia and real problem-solving drew them to Norquay. As Adam put it simply: “Jan and I are investing in Norquay to save it.” Their company, Liricon, may sound like an austere corporate name but it’s a compound of their sons’ names: Liam, Riley, and Connor. One more reminder of what keeps coming up in every conversation about Norquay — this place runs on family.

The Waterouses acquired the train station lease in 2015 — 32 acres at the west end of town — and with it, the means to bring free intercept parking to Banff. This move was central to a larger goal. They plan to return passenger rail from Calgary to Banff and build a car-free access system that connects the city to Banff, and Banff to Norquay. But none of this entirely makes sense without first overhauling the hill itself. The train is both the instigator and the goal— and to justify its necessity, Norquay has to be worth arriving at.

The plan unfolds in two stages, each requiring its own application through Parks Canada. The first — and the one nearing approval — replaces the Big Chair with a two-station gondola running from the base lodge to a restored and expanded Cliff House. The North American Lodge comes down in the process, reducing visitor centres from three to two and restoring sensitive alpine habitat in its place. At the top, the rebuilt Cliff House, relocated ski jump judging towers, and a new wheelchair-accessible walkway will form a high alpine heritage and education centre. Even with the upgrade, people at one time stays capped at 3,800 — growth guided by what the mountain can hold, not just what it can sell. The second application, to follow, is the aerial transit gondola from the train station in town up to Norquay’s base — completing the car-free vision, taking vehicles off the wildlife corridor, and splitting a sightseeing market that one company currently dominates almost entirely.

I’ve read mountains, like icebergs, can extend more than five times their visible height below the surface. I keep thinking about that. What’s visible about Norquay — the runs, the lifts, the centennial celebrations — is only part of the story. Most of what has made it resilient, and what it’s still navigating to survive, goes unseen and runs deep.

When the Waterouses took over in 2018, they inherited not just a ski hill but decades of groundwork. André Quenneville, Norquay’s long-serving general manager, had spent years working alongside previous owners with Parks Canada on plans to replace the aging infrastructure— a process that, like most things in a national park, moved slowly and without guarantees. Nostalgia day was a day to celebrate. Our home hill could just as easily not be here — sold for parts years ago — and yet here we all were.

Sitting with my dad, on the cusp of 100 (his birthday is May 23), it feels easy to think the same: he’s been here forever; he’ll go on forever. Yet, I am profoundly aware he won’t bear witness to the changes planned for his favourite hill and I feel, deeply, the importance of stewardship.

But then again, what Dad has always loved about this place was never really about what it was becoming. It was about being there — the same way, year after year. When I asked him what he has to say to Norquay as it moves into its second century, his answer was nothing original or unexpected. Why would it be? To him — to everyone — this hill has always meant family.

Happy 100th to the hill that raised me. It’s been a privilege to write about you!