You see, Stephanie doesn’t train for races or sporting events.  Ever.

I don’t know how she pulls it off, but she walks into every race totally unprepared and kicks ass. Last month some friends and I decided to enter the upcoming Yeti Snowshoe Race as a team and of course Stephanie imposed the no training rule.  To my knowledge, everyone has adhered until yesterday when I broke the rule and drove up to Mount Washington for an afternoon on the trails.  I have many good reasons for doing so but still secretly hope that Stephanie never reads this.

If you know her, please don’t tell her…I’ve lived in Courtenay for a week and a half and hadn’t been to the mountain yet.  It seems like everyone around has lift tickets hanging off their jackets, ski racks on their car and sore legs.  Seeing these guys every day for 10 days was too much for me.  I knew that I had to get up there doing something.  The upcoming Yeti and the dusty snowshoes in my garage seemed like a pretty good excuse.

I left school and headed directly to the mountain; I went the back route to scope out some potential riding routes and was amazed by the beautiful farmland surrounding the Comox Valley; I was seriously tempted to turn around and get on my road bike instead.  The thick rays of sunlight streaming between the pines lining the roadside were heating the pavement and sending steam drifting off into the beautiful bluebird sky.  Tidy cedar fences ran for hundreds of meters along the road and silently grazing cows looked up carelessly as I drove past.  At one point I pulled over to admire one particularly beautiful scene.

Unfortunately I didn’t have my camera with me but noted the time and exact location so I can try and get a shot if the weather ever cooperates with me.

Once I got to the Raven Lodge at Mt Washington, I quickly got my snazzy running suit on and got out onto the trails.  I had heard reports of fresh powder this morning and was hoping to find a trail that had been used so I could avoid breaking trail.  It has been a full year since I’d been on my Atlas Snow Race’s and the bright yellow decking brought back memories of the last Yeti I raced.  It was one of those perfect alpine days: bright blue, the sun high above and no wind.  The event truly is a race everyone can and should do – participants ranged from the hardcores wearing their bright XT Wings and sponsor jerseys to first time snowshoe-ers in thick heavy winter clothing to the snow queens, all dressed up in their Sunday best (you have to see them yourself, words don’t do them justice).  There was several inches of fresh snow that race day and running through it sticks in my mind as one of the hardest things I’ve ever done – surpassed only by the Squamish MOMAR.

There’s something cool about running through the snow that makes me enjoy it more than any other running surface.  Road running to me is bland and unexciting.  Trail running is much better – twisty trails and mud puddles get me excited.  Finally, running on the snow gives off this almost romantic je ne sais pas.

I remember one particularly steep hill about 45 minutes in when everything just seemed to fall together perfectly.  Clearly defined sunbeams were flowing out of the trees beside the trail but a cold wind was biting at my cheeks, reminding me that it’s still winter.  Loose snow flung up by my snowshoes was flying all around my head; every few seconds a piece would land on my neck and send a chilling rivulet of ice water down my back.  My iPod had once again picked the perfect song to run to and I kept pace with the strong beat with my feet and my man-dance head bobs.  My heart rate was high and I could almost feel each individual heart beat throughout my body but I was breathing regularly, focusing energy to my legs and screaming calves.  A perfect mix of hot and cold, pain and calm; total sensory awareness yet total removal as well.  Sports psychologists call this moment ‘flow’ and if you’ve ever been there, you know how amazing it feels.

After two laps of one of the snowshoe specific trails and one last sprint up the final hill of Raven’s Revenge all I could think of was the sauna waiting for me in the lodge.  I jogged back up to the lodge, confident of what to expect from myself in next weekend’s Yeti.

I can’t promise that you’ll achieve this same level of consciousness if you participate in The Yeti but I do promise that you’ll enjoy it immensely and have loads of fun.

The post Training for the Yeti first appeared on Pack & Trail.

The Group

Last year when the MEC winter catalogue arrived, my girlfriend Kirsten was awed by the cover photo.  A group of friends camped out in the snow on a bluebird day surrounded by all the amenities one would have at home.  “That looks like a great idea for my birthday party!” she exclaimed excitedly in a way that made me think that things were about to get a whole lot colder.

A few weeks later, we were sitting in the snow beside Kwai Lake in Strathcona Park.  The fog was so thick it was difficult to see more than 2 meters and most of our clothing and gear was soaking wet; a far cry from the jovial scene on the catalog now unceremoniously propped upright in the snow beside us.  Five of us had made the trek and while we were all in a pretty good mood it certainly wasn’t the trip we had imagined it to be. 

Nonetheless, Kirsten decided that the event would become tradition and earlier this month publicized her plans for a bigger (including her twin brother) and better (not wearing one pair of cotton hiking pants) Twin Birthday Snow Camping Adventure.

This year we invited everyone who would listen to us and expected about 6 people to join us.  We were obviously surprised when more than 14 people expressed serious interest.  I have finally realized that people don’t need the newest and latest gear to be happy and comfortable, which is a change from my normal reaction of getting all concerned and scared about what gear and experience hiking partners have.  A couple people with little experience were to join us so I made sure they had enough stuff to be happy and left it at that.  This realization has been a long time in the making; my next outdoor related problem to overcome is convincing myself that every individual activity needs certain, specific (and usually expensive) equipment.  I suppose that after 3 years working at an outdoor gear store I’ve sold myself pretty well on most products.

Saturday morning arrived and we gathered at our favourite restaurant, Urban Beet, for a group breakfast and then we were off to the mountain.  Although it was opening day, the roads were totally empty and it took no time to get to the Raven Lodge at Mt Washington.  If you’ve never been there, the Raven Lodge is a beautiful facility that serves the nordic community at Mt Washington.  I’m moving to the Comox Valley in a month and am hoping desperately that school doesn’t get too much in the way of play and that I’ll get to spend more time there.

Our route out to the lake was non conventional to say the least.  Early on the group decided to take a slightly shorter yet steeper route but randomly drifted between that and the other option; a longer, easier route. It seemed as though every time a new person took a shift at the front we veered towards the other route.  The snow in the trees wasn’t as compact as in the open and Kirsten constantly found holes to sink into; despite her snowshoes her entire leg sank down into the snow every fifth step or so.  The combination of our reduced mobility (having snowshoes on) and her backpack made it quite a chore extricating her.  While this complicated path gave us all a great butt workout and let us enjoy incredible views of Paradise Meadows, Mt Washington and Strathcona Park, it ate up time in the already late day and just tired us out.  We quit that nonsense as soon as we reached Lake Helen McKenzie and just stuck to the standard Albert Edward approach trail; we made it around the lake and up to the ranger cabin in a new record time in the 12 slowshoers and 2 backcountry skiers category.  Kwai Lake is just a short jaunt from the ranger cabin and is almost entirely downhill.Once there we quickly set up our various forms of shelter – there were 3 and 4 season tents, snow caves, bivies and siltarps – and got started on a snow kitchen big enough for our group.  A quick probe test surprised us with a snow pack of 189cm!  As soon as the sun disappeared behind Albert Edward the temperature dropped rapidly and spirits began to sink too; there was a light misting rain beginning.  It was about this time we saw two faint lights in the distance – Kirsten’s twin brother and his wife had left late and hiked in after us, finishing by the light of their headlamps.  Their arrival brightened us up, literally and figuratively, as they had carried in a 4 hour burn fire log that we lit on a grill made of fallen branches (I know, I know – we’re not supposed to have fires in the park but the situation seemed pretty ok).  The fire (…and Crown Royal…) did wonders for our energy levels until the rain finally drove us to our tents.

Nobody believed me when I said I was going to sleep in till 10am until I poked my head out of the tent at quarter after the next morning.  Everyone else had already woken up and several people had eaten breakfast and packed their tents.  The cold had woken them early and driven them to movement, while I with my -13 sleeping bag, downmat and powerstretch pants slept warmly into the morning (or, maybe I’m just lazy?).  Half of the group left early to check out the sauna at the Raven Lodge and the other half followed shortly behind them.  The hike out was uneventful; we took the regular route the entire way, which turned out to be far easier than the route we took.  Maybe it was the ease of the route or the amount of complaining we did about how dumb we had been the day before, but the hike out flew by and soon we were back at the parking lot ready to hit the pub.  The kitchen in the Raven Lodge was about to close so we made our way to the Longwood in Nanaimo for a little more birthday cheer.

We had so much fun that we’re now picking uncommon spots for all our holiday festivities.  Next up?  An abandoned hotel out at Cape Scott for New Years!  Stay tuned for that report!

The post The 2nd Annual Twin Birthday Snow Camping Adventure first appeared on Pack & Trail.

My friend Helen and I spent about a month going on bi-weekly training rides and even went for a run before we registered for the race.  We had the intention of ramping up the training for the final couple weeks prior to the race.  Then, continuing on the tradition of the FUBAR Squamish race, immediately after I officially registered I hurt my knee.  Ironically, the very reason I felt as though I could do the race was that I hadn’t re-injured my knee in quite some time.  Initially, I wasn’t worried; this had happened before and I recovered quickly.  I figured I could lay off the high impact training for a while, get on the road bike to keep up strength and fitness then walk into the Cumby race all rested and ready, fit as a fiddle.

While this plan worked out well in theory, my knee injury coincided perfectly with my birthday which meant lots of beers and lots of cakes.  Yes, cakes with an s; I ate several of them over the course of the next week.  I didn’t get on the bike once.  Despite this total lack of physical activity and knee functionality I continued to plan for the race and made an agreement with my boss to borrow a demo kayak from the store.  I booked a room in a beautiful hostel on Comox Lake and examined maps from past races to hone my navigational skills.  My still painful knee (and excessive birthday-related caloric intake) was weighing heavily on my mind.  I was troubled with the decision I knew lay ahead: do I do the smart thing and cancel in order to save my knee or do I race, not knowing what kind of damage I risked.  I booked appointments with my doctor, physio and athletic therapist hoping that they would make the decision easy by making it for me.  Unfortunately for me, my knee injury isn’t serious or complete enough to justify special treatment (it’s a compression injury, nothing is torn, simply compressed and therefore painful) but it’s not minor enough to ignore.  They left the decision up to me but worded it in such a way that I felt kind of guilty when I decided to race irregardless.

I finally got on my road bike and discovered that riding in the saddle was fine, but for some reason as soon as I left the saddle going up a hill or sprinting my knee began to hurt.  Luckily there’s no hills in MOMAR’s hey…

About this time I went into work to discover a ‘SOLD’ sign on my kayak.  The one I was to race in later that week…

Kayaks in the mist

As I lifted my leg out of the kayak my mind flashed back to the last adventure race I had competed in with a kayak stage:  My leg had fallen asleep during the paddle and as soon as I stood up my leg collapsed and I fell face first into 4 feet of water; I went the entire race sopping wet.  As much as it had helped cool me down it simply wasn’t comfortable and I wasn’t prepared to race for an entire day in soggy clothing then or now.  I had managed to wrangle a kayak and we had just finished the 10km paddle on Comox Lake in slightly over an hour.  The sun was out and everyone had a big smile on their face.  We had finished the kayak in the middle of the pack which was pleasing as paddling is not a strong point for Helen or I.  The transition to the run was simple and we were soon climbing some steep single track.   We had been warned of a funny switchback that would confuse us at the top of the first hill and when we got there we were greeted by about 12 teams standing around looking at their maps.  Some had compasses, some were trying to guess positions based on the sun, some were splitting up and others were simply standing there waiting to follow the most confident looking team.

Thinking back to following a team 4km off course in Squamish I decided to get out my own map and compass to figure out exactly where to go.  My study sessions had apparently worked as I quickly led us down the correct trail right to the checkpoint.  We took off downhill towards the transition zone which was another 6km or so away.  My basic knowledge of the local trails helped out near the bottom as we quickly found our way from the Dodge City Down Hill course out to the main trail.  At one point I looked back to see a horde of racers coming at us out of the bush, like an angry mob chasing an outlaw out of town.  It struck me as a particularly funny moment and even though I could see the time advantage we held I stopped to take a photo.

I had been secretly hoping that my knee would be in great pain and that I could blame any poor results on it.  Unfortunately for me, it felt just fine throughout the paddle, the run and the start of the bike stage.  I could however feel my quads and lungs beginning to hate me; several weeks with no activity but lots of beer and cake seems to have ruined any conditioning these important areas had.  Helen easily beat me to the top of every hill and would stand there looking at me with an expectant expression as I huffed my way up towards her.  Much of our biking was done alone with no other teams to be seen.  This gave a calming feeling and provided us a chance to enjoy the best XC Cumberland has to offer.  The trails are fast, flow well and were obviously built with mountain biking in mind – in short – a pleasure to ride.  With no end in sight to this wonderful riding my legs seemed to move faster under me.

While Bucket of Blood is certainly worth the climb up, I think I’d prefer it when I wasn’t trying to get up as fast as possible.  My calves were close to cramping as we finally crested the longest hill of the race.  The trail down got pretty steep and rather technical in some parts which suited me just fine.  Many people were walking their bikes down sections that I had no problem ripping down.  We jumped off the bikes for a quick ‘urban’ run through the village of Cumberland.  We were told to say hi to the locals so we did our best to talk to everyone we passed.  Many people had no clue that the event was on and looked rather startled at the sweaty, muddy people running along their street.

Back on our bikes, we made our way back to Comox Lake Park where the race began and was set to end.  Knowing how close we were to the finish line made me feel good; presumably we would finish in time, would be ranked and would have collected all the checkpoints.  The orienteering had been the most difficult part of the Squamish race for Steph and I as we had basically tried to stumble our way through, asking questions and taking measurments later.  In Cumberland, most of the orienteering course was on rough, uneven groud with a lot of bushwacking.  The dull ache in my knee slowly grew as we went for the first two control points.  I told Helen I would prefer to walk through as fast as possible and that running was out of the question for me.  This was a good move as it gave me time to focus on the wonderfully accurate orienteering map.  We would get close to a CP, I’d tell Helen exactly where I expected the flag to be and she would run up to it and mark the passport, giving me a few brief seconds to rest my knee.  This system worked awesome and we quickly had all 10 points.

The big inflatable finish line was wonderful to cross under – it had been packed up by the time we finished in Squamish.  We had also missed the chili in Squamish so I made sure to eat my fair share.  Our official time was just under 7 hours and our categorical ranking was 10/20, right in the middle which is where I had expected to be; we were about dead center overall as well.  I’m pleased at how well we navigated and how well my knee held up but am rather dissapointed with my conditioning level.  I suppose it’s just more motivation for next year.  As I mentioned I was hoping that my knee would be my limiting factor but sadly I’m just a bit out of shape.  On the days leading up to the race I had visualized myself sitting in front of my computer with my leg in a cast, wrapped up in a cozy plaid blanket, body covered in cuts and bruises writing a race recap about how I became the first person to break my knee while paddling a kayak or some other whimsical injury.

We drove up to Mt Washington for the afterparty but got there early so we busted out some camp chairs and bevvies I had in my trunk and had an impromptu little tailgate party.  By the time we’d eaten the delicious dinner the dreaded one beer syndrome had kicked in and I was ready for bed.  We had already decided to leave after the awards to get back to Nanaimo so we quickly said our goodbyes and left to jump in the adventuremobile for the drive back to Nanaimo.  Knowing how tired I was on the drive home I don’t regret skipping the infamous party but can imagine how much fun it was!

I can now join the ranks of adventure racers raving about the Cumberland race and will do so at every opportunity.  Once again, MOMAR didn’t dissapoint.

The post Cumberland MOMAR 2009 first appeared on Pack & Trail.

For me Hornby holds a special appeal, partially because of the many memories I have of my time there but mostly because of the potential for adventure it holds. Even with a well planned itinerary Hornby always finds a way to surprise and delight. You never know who you’re going to meet or what’s going on on the island.

Several weeks ago I was thrilled when a good friend invited me to her cabin there for the weekend. Even though I was in the middle of renovating my kitchen, I knew my girlfriend and I needed a break and we packed up and left our kitchen in ruins – no drywall, flooring or anything, really. Everything that used to be in the kitchen had been unceremoniously dumped anywhere there was free space.  

Nevertheless, the adventuremobile made it’s way north with three bikes balanced on top and the back seat and trunk packed with food, clothing and gear. We got over to the island after dark and slowly made our way to the cabin then climbed straight into bed to rest before a day of riding.I got up the next morning rested and excited; Hornby’s Mt. Geoffrey is home to my all time favourite bike trail – No Horses. I decided to go for a hard solo ride in the morning and then for a more leisurely group ride after lunch and a beach trip. Both rides were stellar, 3 hours in the morning, slightly less in the afternoon. Both included a lot of climbing, a characteristic I’m trying to introduce into all my sessions; the training effect is undeniably positive but the pain is immediate and frequently brutal. Anyone wanna go for a ride?

No Horses was of course the standout trail; it flows down along an old creek bed, sending you swooping down one side then spitting you back up to the top – over and over. It mimics a mutant halfpipe, only steeper and more aggressive in its mission to throw you out over the buffed berms. The ever present imaginary soundtrack in my head was loudly playing ‘Two Shoes,’ by The Cat Empire; my mind transferred up into the trees above and I could see myself there, smoothly streaming around the high corners then violently accelerating back down towards the old creek before once again soaring up and around. Over and over, faster and faster until..

It’s flat all over and the trail is finished with you. Bummer.

Thoroughly used up, we enjoyed a fresh salmon dinner surrounded by more friends who had made their way over for the rest of weekend. The drinks and the stories continued past a characteristically beautiful Hornby Island sunset and late into the night.

Trying to keep the bicycling theme of the weekend alive, I brought my road bike to ride home on, assuming it would only be 60km or so.  After feeling slightly tired from riding across Hornby and Denman Island I was shocked when the first road sign indicated I was still more than 80km from Nanaimo.  Uh oh.   I stopped at several gas stations along the way home to fill up on electrolytes and arrived home about 3 hours later, ready to fight the kitchen.

The post Hornby Island first appeared on Pack & Trail.

You see, last weekend was when I finally ballsed up and competed in the race and boy did I hurt.

I’ve always wanted to do one but for whatever reasons always managed to find an excuse not to.  My knee was injured, I was busy, I wasn’t prepared, I didn’t have enough experience, whatever.  I ran every Gutbuster trail race for two years straight and competed in several smaller adventure races.  Hell, I even volunteered for a MOMAR and stood in the sun for 7 hours way off behind Ukee watching costumed people bike past giggling and having tons of fun.

This past winter I talked to many people who are very well respected in the adventure racing community and all of them said I was being a baby and to simply sign up and go for it.  I met Todd Nowack before he moved and within minutes this man – nay, legend – convinced me that I would have the best experience of my life if I did one.  That’s why earlier this year when my friend Steph asked if I wanted to do the race I threw down.  I said yes before she had even finished asking the question.  I had NO idea what I was getting myself into.We went for one training run and one bike ride, both about a week prior to the race.  Mistake number one.  We had spent more time picking a team name (Ramrod) and deciding how we were going to dress up (matching old skool yellow cycling  jerseys with the team name sharpied on them) then training or talking strategy, efficiency, or technique.   We’d assumed that we’re pretty active people and that we could walk into this like it ain’t no thang.

I suppose we weren’t woefully underprepared; we did go to Victoria for a MOMAR 101 course presented by Doug Doyle, a very informative course with tons of great information.  He made us pay very special attention to his number one rule: never ever EVER blindly follow another team without checking your map.  Any guesses as to where I’m going with that?

We show up in Squamish on the Friday evening before the race to check in, scope out the competition and relax before the race.  Turns out that the MOMAR attracts the fittest most hardcore athletes in the entire province.  I think every single person lined up to register was wearing a shirt from some previous race, MOMAR, Raid the North, Kusam Klimb, 5 Peaks, Gutbuster – everything hardcore I’d ever heard of.  

Awesome.  

That’s great for the ol’ ego now isn’t it.

Race morning comes and we truck out to Alice Lake where the race begins.  I’d been up for a while and was feeling good.  The weather was amazing, my knee was feeling good and I’m thinking I’m finally here, doing a MOMAR – this is awesome!  We get our map and look it over very briefly – we have plenty of time to look at it when we’re racing right?  We don’t need to look at anything now do we?  Mistake number two.

The horn goes and we’re off on a 4km run around the lake to spread people out.  Steph is a great runner and she had no problem almost leaving me behind in several locations.  We got to the transition and it looked like we were near the front – not many bikes had left yet and by the time we were pedalling away were feeling great about overall placement and competitiveness.  As the hills started rolling in on us I started to feel worse and worse.  My legs felt like concrete and every pedal stroke I took felt harder than the last.  My mind shut down and I slowed to an incomprehensibly slow speed.  Steph kept looking back to check on me after rider that passed us.  I stopped, raised my seat, ate a bar and took a huge drink as I told myself “you’re not even a quarter of the way into this!  go go go!!”

My little pep talk seemed to work and I increased cadence a bit and picked up the pace until we arrived at the transition into orienteering, which turned out to go rather uneventfully.  We found all of the checkpoints and jumped back on the bikes feeling ok, unaware how much time we were about to spend in the saddle.Time went on and the hills kept coming.  My fitness level was beginning to show and riding got harder and harder.  I chowed as much food as I dared and nearly emptied my electrolyte bladder.

As we slowed and more riders passed us our goals for the race turned from being competitive in the race to finishing the course in the allotted time and then winning the infamous MOMAR afterparty.  We missed the course cutoff at checkpoint 8 and were bypassed to checkpoint 9, which were were told was in three easy sections from there – ride down pseuga-pseuga (really fun bike trail) then when you get to the university turn left, then ride a bit down the road – shouldn’t take more than 10 minutes.

At this point we were tired and all we wanted to do was get to that next checkpoint, do the rappell that everyone had been talking about and get some beers in us so we just attached ourselves to a large group of riders in the same position as us.  Mistake three AND four.  Remember what Doug taught us?  Turns out we missed that left turn at the university and rode 6 km downhill off course.  

After riding back uphill and saving several other racers from our fate we found the next checkpoint and were on our way to the base of the Chief.

Racers who raced the year before remembered the rappell as a long but easy climb up and then a fun quick ride down.  Apparently that was too easy and the course designers decided that they wanted us to rappell off the top of the Chief so without thinking much we hopped off our bikes and started running not fully realizing how high the Chief was (over 600m) nor how long it takes folks to get to the top (about 40 minutes).

I’m pretty sure everyone who made eye contact with me during that section feared for their lives after the death glare I gave them as I struggled up the rocks, nearly puking out my nose.  Self addmittedly, the look was undeserved because it was beautiful at the top and I had a nice little self actualization moment there in the sun.  While we were near the end of the pack by then, what we had accomplished so far that morning is more than what most people do all weekend.  We are capable of amazing things, and as I stood there on top of the Chief, with sweat running down my face, the breeze cooling off my dirty and bloody arms and legs I was increasingly grateful that I was finally participating in a MOMAR – it was exceeding the hype I had built up around for all those years.  Things seemed much simpler until it was my turn to rope up and rappell down.  I’ve pitched out steep mountains twice as high and been in countless rappell situations before so didn’t think much of this one but can only imagine how someone with less experience would feel.

After this the race seemed short.  Down the Chief to the bikes, through the river and into town.  We had another navigation error that took us a ways off course and ate up more time but we made it to the finish shortly after.  They were already taking down the finishing chute and many of the competitors had already left but the feeling of accomplishment was undeniable and Steph and I walked around for the next 40 minutes with huge grins on our faces.

The afterparty was excellent and true to our word, we closed it out in style as the only two racers left at the end of the night.  We drove around for a while with the organizers looking for pizza, which we eventually found before passing out exhausted.

Looking back on the whole experience I wouldn’t have changed anything.  I needed a few kicks in my butt to figure out the more important lessons here: train beforehand, never follow anyone else and never ever stop having fun.

Would I do one again?  

Absolutely.  I’ll never not do one again.

The post MOMAR Squamish first appeared on Pack & Trail.

Taking a cue from this adventurer we decided to host our own Nanaimoized version – from Maffeo Sutton Park to the top of Mt Benson.

And so, the date was set, provisions procured, routes mapped and the team hand picked.  Weeks of preparation climaxed on April 5th; a day that would prove to be unforgettable for the 6 companions.

After a perilous trek through the depths of Nanaimo the original 4 were joined by 2 more at Westwood Lake  for the final summit bid. The mountain was angry that day, my friends – like an old man trying to send soup back at a deli.  We got past the Ridges and suddenly the great eminence appeared before us.  I tell you it was a thousand meters high if it was a foot.  

As if sensing our presence the sky opened with a great bellow of wind.  From where we were standing we could gaze directly at the distant snow covered apex.From out of nowhere, a great burst of energy sent our team at a breakneck pace up the steep slopes of Benson until we found ourselves right on top of it.  

Freezing winds lashed our faces and frost crept into our fingers and toes as we surveyed the city before us.  We gazed in curiosity as the lillipution scene unfolded; thousands below living their lives unaware of their keen observers.  

The cold seemed to loosen its grip and time slowed around us as birds gambolled in the powerful drafts and the clouds flowed overhead.

Minutes blended together and thoughts of work, school and other mundanities of life sank from our minds as our personal goals and dreams seemed infinitely closer.  Mt Benson is comparitively small yet right there and then it represented so much more; our drive to follow through on dreams, our ability to endure pain and difficulty in the pursuit of a goal and our love of beautiful things.

Temperature shocked us back to reality and we set off on our slippery descent.

 Packed snow proved to be an efficient and quick medium and we made incredible time off the mountain with no injuries but several bruised butts.

The post Sea to Summit first appeared on Pack & Trail.

Snow was falling heavily the entire way up but began to slow as soon as I reached the top.  Rad timing; it gave me a deadly view of the harbour and North Nanaimo.  I took a bunch of pictures then ran back down to the car.  I have a feeling that the first Yeti training run is coming soon…

The post First Snowshoe of the season first appeared on Pack & Trail.