Welcome to a world of deep powder, untouched runs, and epic mountain terrain. There are no chair lifts or long line-ups. There are no crowds whatsoever. No grading, crunchy corduroy, out-of-bounds ropes, shopping strips, or parking lots. This is a world measured in vertical feet. It’s going to cost a little (or a lot) to get here, because you’re going to need a modified helicopter or Piston Bully snow groomer. Cat skiing and heli-skiing carve virgin lines into your bucket list. But perhaps you’re wondering: how do they stack up against each other?

First, a primer: Cat skiing puts you inside a cabin attached to a snow groomer with the torque and tread of an indestructible alpine tank. The driver ascends white-knuckle inclines, skirting dramatic ridges and cornices, depositing you at the top of Seventh Heaven – not the famous run in Whistler, but the real Seventh Heaven – again and again. Skeena Cat Skiing’s base camp, accessed via an exhilarating helicopter ride from the town of Smithers, B.C., looks like an alien settlement on an ice planet. Guests stay in comfortably heated dome tents with notably soft bedding, and gather in the adjacent lounge to drink craft beer, feast on gourmet meals, and unpack the day’s events: a daily adventure consisting of a dozen runs, around 15,000 vertical feet, and unabashed “can-it-get-any-better” skiing or boarding.

I consider myself an intermediate boarder at best, but feel perfectly safe encouraged by our veteran guide Bruno, who I’m happy to talk about, oh yes oh yes (note: he hasn’t seen Encanto yet, the poor guy). Before setting out, Bruno gives my group a thorough grounding in avalanche safety and rescue, equipping us with avalanche packs, radios and airbags. I ask how often someone needs to be rescued with poles and airbags and radios. Not once in his 15-year career.  Safety is taken very seriously, but don’t let the risks — and there are risks with backcountry anything — stop you. You don’t want to miss out on those moments where snow and ski and body and mind converge into an unforgettable peak life experience. Think about the best ski run you’ve ever had at a ski resort. Now concentrate that feeling, increase the elation by at least tenfold, and you’ll get a sense of what it’s like to cat ski in this part of the world. Meeting the cat at the bottom of a gulley, my group climbs aboard, whooping and hollering, discussing the lines and glades and bowls. The cat shifts into gear, treads bite into the snow, and here we go again. By the end of the day, my legs are exhausted. Cat skiing never gets boring for a second.