Long before lift lines became normal, before skiing meant queues and reservations, one family stood on a snowy, south-facing slope east of Quesnel and saw possibility.

In the early 1970s, Norwegian newlyweds Lars and Astrid Fossberg bought land on Pinegrove Mountain after noticing one important thing: it snowed. A lot. With limited resources and a lot of determination, they cut trails by hand, built the lodge from salvaged wood, constructed lift towers, and installed a single T-bar. Troll Ski Resort opened in 1972.

It never stopped growing—but it never stopped being Troll either.

Today, Troll is still family-owned and operated, still community-built, and still refreshingly simple. Four surface lifts keep things moving. The terrain is better than you expect. And it keeps getting better. The hill is always expanding, with new glades to explore and a new lift opening terrain on an additional mountainside. When it snows, you ski fresh powder without fighting crowds, ropes, or lift lines.

This is the kind of hill where locals open the lodge on powder days. Where families grow up skiing together. Where kids learn on the bunny hill while parents watch from the lodge. Where people point you toward their favourite stashes instead of guarding them. Where life is less about who else can we get up here? and more about how do we keep the regulars happy?

It is also where people gather around the campfire on long winter nights, finding connection no matter their background or experience. Where real coaching is helping build the Lightning Creek racing team. Where strangers become friends, and friends become your new family.

The sign down the road reads Best Place on Earth.
It’s said half-jokingly. And half-seriously.

Because at Troll, skiing still feels like skiing used to—lap after lap, snow on your face, legs burning, no waiting around. Just you, the mountain, and time for one more run.

No lift lines.
Fresh powder.
A ski hill built by hand—and held together by community.

Cariboo. It’s true.