A first-time skier up on two skis, grinning

Your First Time · Minute by Minute

The Water Doesn't Care
That You've Never Skied.

Neither do we. Three thousand people have stood where you're standing — wondering if they could do this. They could. So can you.

$75First set · everything included
15MINOne set — most book three
0Things you need to bring but a swimsuit

Let's Be Honest

What's Really
Stopping You?

Everyone who's never waterskied has a version of these thoughts. They're normal. They're also wrong — here's why, one at a time.

“My first waterski experience was at age 15 and I got up on my first try. I was instantly hooked — it gave me a feeling of accomplishment.”

— Ken Nelson, who built this lake because of that feeling

“I'll embarrass myself.”
You're on a private lake, not a public beach. The only people watching are your coach — who's seen three thousand beginners — and maybe a couple of ducks. Everyone falls. The five-year-olds fall. The champions fell when they started. Falling into fresh water with a life jacket on is the least dramatic thing that will happen to you this week.
“I'm not fit enough.”
You don't waterski with your muscles. You waterski with your balance. The boat does the work — you just stand there and let it pull you. We've taught five-year-olds, seventy-five-year-olds, people who haven't exercised in a decade, and people who swore they had no coordination. If you can stand on solid ground, you can stand on water.
“Good skiers will be watching me fail.”
Your session is your session — one skier on the water at a time. There won't be a competitive skier running buoys in the next lane while you find your feet. And here's the secret: every good skier at this park started exactly where you are. They love watching beginners. It reminds them of the best day they ever had on the water.
“It's going to hurt when I fall.”
At beginner speeds, falling off a waterski feels like stepping off a slow-moving sidewalk into a pool. You're wearing a life jacket. The water is fresh — no salt sting. You bob back up in two seconds. The most common post-fall reaction we see is laughing. The second most common is “can I go again?”
“The water's probably freezing.”
It's Alberta, so — fair concern. The season runs mid-May to mid-September, and by midsummer the private lake is genuinely warm. Early and late season, wetsuits are included with every set. And once you're up, you're on top of the water, not in it: you barely get wet unless you fall, and by then you won't care.
“I don't want to waste the money.”
A first set is $75 for fifteen minutes — less than a decent dinner out — with a private boat, a coach, and a championship lake to yourself. Even if you spent all fifteen minutes falling and climbing back up (you won't), nobody has ever told us it was a waste. Not once in forty years.
“I don't know anyone who does this.”
You don't need to. This isn't a club sport where someone has to introduce you. Book a set, show up, and your coach takes care of everything. Most first-timers come alone or as a family — and leave knowing the coach, the dock, and the feeling of standing on water. That's enough.
“My body. In a swimsuit. In front of strangers.”
You're wearing a life jacket over everything — the great equalizer. Wear whatever you're comfortable in: board shorts, a rash guard, a full wetsuit if you like. The coach is looking at your ski position, not your body. And there's no beach full of people here. Just water.

Your Day

Minute by Minute.
No Surprises.

Arrival

You drive down a gravel road and see a lake you didn't know existed.

Fifteen minutes from Edmonton International, tucked against the North Saskatchewan River valley. Park by the clubhouse. Take a breath. The lake is bigger than you expected.

On the dock · first 10 minutes

Your coach walks you through everything before you touch the water.

Skis on your feet, rope in your hands, right there on the dock. You'll practice the body position, hear exactly how the boat will pull, and rehearse the stand-up before it happens. No jargon, no rushing — by the time you get in, you've already done it once on land.

Gearing up

Everything fitted, everything provided.

Life jacket (the fitted kind, not the floppy kind). Skis chosen for your size. Wetsuit when the season calls for it. Gloves for grip. You brought a towel and a swimsuit; that was the whole job.

The boom

The hardest part of waterskiing is eliminated completely.

The boom is a rigid bar on the side of the boat. You're close to your coach, the speed is gentle, and the deep-water start — the thing that defeats everyone behind a family boat — simply isn't part of your first lesson. You hold on. You stand up. The boat does the work.

The moment

You're standing on the water.

Most people are up within minutes. Some take a few more — it doesn't matter. The moment the spray starts and the trees begin to move past you, every fear from the parking lot is gone. This is the moment. This is why three thousand people came before you.

The rest of your set

You ski. You fall. You go again.

Your coach adjusts you run by run. You try crossing the wake. Maybe you fall — and discover it doesn't hurt. The jacket bobs you up, the boat circles back, and each run gets a little braver.

After

You sit on the dock and grin at the lake.

Fifteen minutes is enough to know. Most people are hooked and book their next set before they've dried off. The muscles you didn't know you had will introduce themselves tomorrow. That's normal. That's good.

Ken Nelson in the water, steadying a young first-timer
The founder still teaches the same way — in the water

After the First Set

Where It Goes
From Here.

Set two and three usually happen the same week — that's when the boom becomes a rope, and the rope becomes the open lake. From there: kids' programs, women's groups, set packages that bring the price down to $57, and — for the ones who catch the bug badly — the same slalom course the champions run.

It all starts with the same fifteen minutes.

First set · $75all gear included
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