Up until a few days ago, it was mild and rainy in Vancouver. Time to clean up the garden, rake the leaves and maybe kick some leaves while out on a run on the trails between rain showers.
Then it started to snow. And it snowed. And it's still snowing.
It's been snowing in the city, but it's been SNOWING in the mountains! So on Saturday, I dug the snowshoes out of the basement, packed up the kids and and headed up to Grouse Mountain to check it out.
It is staggering how much snow there is up there. We had a blast in the knee-deep powder. Made it all the way up to top of Dam Mountain...no mean feat with a 8 and an 10-year old. Doug MacKay and I were itching for a run, so we hucked off the main trail and cut our own trail out to Thunderbird Ridge. Going for an early season snowshoe run is a fine way to test your true fitness. Needless to say, I'm not where I want to be.
One of the great things about living near the mountains is that it's possible to be spontaneous. There was more snow on Sunday and again on Monday. Monday night after 7:00 pm I get the call from fellow Fat Ass, Doug Keir. "Wanna go cross-country skiing?" "No man, sold my gear. How about going for a little snoweshoe run?" "Humm. Sure. 8:00 at your place?" "Done."
And so it was that Kier and I found ourselves at the top of Grouse at about 8:30 pm on a cold, clear night in late November.
Neither of us had the presence of mind to time our ascent from the tramway to the top of Dam Mountain, but we sure didn't waste any time. There was a path, but it was sketchy. Step off the path and you sank to almost your shoulders in light powder.
The view of the city of Vancouver, Vancouver Island, the Fraser Valley and even Bellingham, Washington was breathtaking at the summit. It was inky dark, but the moon cast long shadows. I'd call it a romantic moment, were it not for Keir. =;-)
We counted to three and ran off the first cliff. What a rush! The snow was so deep I thought we'd suffocate. We half ran, half slid down the side of another cliff with our headlamps out, laughing and gasping for breath and wondering why we were the only ones out having so much fun.
As fast as we could, we ran back up to the peak and took a different line off the cliff, then picked our way downhill through snow that was up to our shoulders. As we made our way back to civilization, Doug glanced up at a 10-meter cliff next to the patch. We looked at one another and started to run up the hillside in a tight zig-zag to prevent the whole side of the hill from loosening underneath us. At the top, we packed a little platform of snow, took a couple of deep breaths and leapt into space. "One steamboat. Two steamboat. Three steam...." Poof! We augured so deep into the snow it was as if we had to swim to reach the surface.
It was nearing 11:00 pm when we got back to the pub at the top of the mountain. Dho... closed for a private function!! Needless to say, this evening was cause for celebration so we drove to a watering hole and celebrated until fully rehydrated.
Lessons learned? First, don't forget your camera! Second, call home with a heads-up on where you're snowshoeing in the dark in the back country and also let someone know if you head off to the pub to play pool afterward. My wife was about to call Search and Rescue when I finally got home!
