Heli-Skiing Goes Snowless   The whirlybirds don't just hole up for the summer. Of course, the sexy stuff lies mostly in those unbelievably gorgeous untracked fields of fresh pow, but take away skiing and tack on any manner of outdoorsy activity when the snows melt: heli-hiking, heli-fishing, heli-paddling. It's the hottest way to flee the fanny-pack-wearing crowd and find wilderness all to yourself without the pesky effort of trekking in a week's worth of food and shelter. Rise early, eat, fly your way to seclusion, hike, eat, hike some more, fly back to your lodge in time for cocktails on the terrace. Naturally, heli-trek prices come down a little in the summer months, though you're still looking at a cool $2,000 to $5,000 for a week's heli-hop-scotching and base-camp pampering. For example, Canadian Mountain Holidays runs three-night chopper-supported trips from its Bobbie Burns Lodge for around $3,400 for two.

Instead of lift lines and runs littered with a crowded weekend's casualties, heli-skiing dangles a skier's irresistible carrot: first tracks, wilderness solitude, and powder—lots of powder. First pioneered in the European Alps, according to Skiing Heritage editor Morten Lund, helicopter skiing took off in Western Canada in the 1960s. There, freethinkers like mountain guide Hans Gmoser, an Austrian émigré, started the world's first heli-skiing business, Canadian Mountain Holidays (www.cmhski.com), by shuttling backcountry skiers to powder stashes in British Columbia's Bugaboos.

Today, heli-skiing operations have spread across Canada, Alaska's Valdez region, New Zealand, and even places like Kamchatka in the Russian Far East and the Chilean Andes—basically, anywhere skiers and snowboarders are thirsting for fine new lines. Heli-skiing outfitters offer a huge amount of territory to a limited number of skiers, and can take adventure-seekers to terrain previously only accessible in their wildest dreams. Of course, there is a flipside to all this powdery largesse: a week's heli-skiing will typically cost the lucky few from $5,000 to $10,000.

Although once the sole domain of extreme skiers, these days intermediate-and-better enthusiasts with some G's to burn can get the thrill of snowy descents on user-friendly fat skis that let them float across powder. "You're skiing in untracked, pristine snow—all day, every day," says Marty von Neudegg, director of corporate services at Canadian Mountain Holidays, which has grown from accommodating a handful of skiers staying at three rustic shacks to hosting more than 7,000 skiers each winter at their plush lodges. And not only are the lines epic, but the after-party can be as decadent as you want—many heli-skiing operations offer everything from massage therapy to fine cuisine to help wrap up that perfect powder day.

But in the end, the wilderness exposure is really what it's all about. "You're discovering the essence of skiing," raves von Neudegg.

Pioneer: Mike Wiegele

Austrian-born Mike Wiegele, 66, has fulfilled skiers' snowy dreams in British Columbia's Cariboo Mountains since 1969. His company, Mike Wiegele Helicopter Skiing (www.wiegele.com), boasts the largest single shot of heli-skiing terrain in the world—a whopping 1.2 million acres (read: bigger than the state of Rhode Island) with nearly 1,000 peaks.

Growing up, Wiegele snuck in ski-racing sessions while working on his family's farm in the Austrian Alps. In 1959, he immigrated to eastern Canada and found work as a carpenter.

But the mountains drew him westward, where he raced, ran ski schools, and coached national team racers. On the side, he'd explore Canada's wild backcountry in search of the world's finest snow.

By 1970, Wiegele's day job was shuttling skiers by helicopter into the mountains near the tiny town of Valemount, British Columbia. But he wanted more snow, so Wiegele hooked up with an amateur meteorologist, "Grandma" Molly Nelson, who'd kept detailed records of the weather in the Blue River area, an hour south of Valemount, for the previous 34 years. What got his heart racing: annual 30-foot-plus snowfall and regular dumps of four feet at a time.

The result? In 1974, Wiegele shifted his heli-skiing scheme south to Blue River, where it's based today, tucked in a powder epicenter between the glaciers of the Cariboos and the steep-and-deep Monashees.

Wiegele, who founded the Canadian Ski Guide Association to train more mountain-savvy Canadian skiers, still gets in as many ski-days as he can. While Wiegele's daughter, Michelle, took over the company's helm in 2001, "Mike continues to be the director of karma," says Marty Hansen, the heli-skiing outfit's marketing director. And for Wiegele, who rallies the troops with his signature cry of "Let's go skiing," the best karma is more time on the snow.