Climbing into a new perspective

I was desperate to find deeper meaning in my life. To participate in something bigger than me. To experience something life-changing. To feel like I've made a difference. Like the world is just a little better for me having been here.

So I joined up with an incredible organization called Kidstart. It's a mentoring program for disadvantaged youths.

I signed up.
I was interviewed three times.
I had a police background check.
I did CPR training.

And then, after three months in preparation. I got my "kid".

She is a 10 year old who is full of life and love and ambition. Her family may be "poor" but she is very rich in character. And she is loved. I do not feel sorry for her. She is bright and happy and chipper and smart. And she desires to see the world. She is a mini-me.

"So," I said during our first meet-and-greet. "What do you like to do?"

She shyly listed off a few mundane activities. And I realized that she really didn't know what she likes to do because her lifestyle hadn't afforded her the opportunity to test the waters.

"Let's go hiking!" I said. And her eyes were aglow.

I mentioned that the Chief in Squamish was one of my favourite hikes but that it was very steep, very long, and very tough. But VERY worth it, if she was game.

She jumped at it! "Yes! I want to do that!".

The day we chose to go was pretty much perfect weather-wise.
There was not a single cloud in the sky. It was blue to oblivion.
It was 25 degrees. A cool breeze came in from the West from over the ocean.
And it was bliss.

"There it is!" I said and pointed to the huge jutting rockface that is the Chief as we rounded a bend in the Sea-to-Sky highway into Squamish.

She gulped. "That's it?!?"

"Yep!"

"We're going to climb that?!?" She was hesitant. And scared. And I realized that she thought at that moment that she was in over her head.

"We'll take it slow," I proffered to calm her fears. "You can do this!"

"Yes, I can" she said matter of factly.

As we ascended the first 200 meters of stairs at the trail head, she was instantly fatigued and asked for a break. She ate an apple, drank some water, took a deep breath, and said "Let's go!"

Ten minutes later, she was sweating madly (as was I) and working hard to keep it up.

"Are we almost there?" she asked like a kid on a car trip.

"Nope. We have about an hour to go! Let's just take our time. There is no rush."

She made it to the half-way point, a beautiful rock ledge where we sat in the shadow of a boulder, cooled off, ate some granola bars and talked about hot it was. she was quiet. And I could tell that she was fighting with herself. She was on the fence. She kind of wanted to go back and abandon our attempt to summit.

"If it's too much, we can go back," I said. "But you are doing SO well. you're the only kid on this trail. And I know you can do it."

"Okay, I believe you" she said.

So we pressed forth.
We breaked when we were tired.
We munched on more food when our tummies growled.
We doused our heads in water.

And then we hit the first ladder up a rock face.

"Only about ten minutes from here" i said.

"really?" She smiled wildly. "Let's see if we can do it in 8!"

Ah! my kind of girl!

So she picked up the pace, pushed forth, climbed ladders, shimmied through rock crevasses, and pulled herself up using chains.

And then, suddenly, we were there.
On top.
And the view was stunning.

She turned to me, and said "I am the proudest of myself than I have ever been in my whole life!!"

And she was so genuine.
And so proud.
And so tired.
And she had pushed forth even though she wanted to quit.
And she made it.
The only person under 25 on the summit that day.

And I was so proud of her.

And then I realized, right there, that this relationship was so much bigger than me and my desire to do something good.
She was giving me a gift far greater than the gift I was giving her.
Maybe we were mutually lucky.
And mutually in need of this opportunity to get to know each other.

We spent 2 hours on the top. Lounging in the sun. Eating our lunch. Talking about life. Highfiving for our victory.

"It is so beautiful here." she said "Don't you wish you could live up here forever?"

I nodded.
It was like our brains were linked. That was exactly what I was thinking!

45 minutes later, we were at the car. Our faces and hands were caked with dirt and salty rivers of sweat. We were laughing hysterically after a mad dash to the car (she won, but I still say she had a head start!) We scooted over to the 7-Eleven in Squamish, got two super-big slurpees, and sang Miley Cyrus songs all the way home.

My heart was aglow.

Dam Mountain and a piece of heaven

It was a cool September morning. I had been keeping my eye on Grouse from my home in Kits all morning. Although the sun was shining and the sky was blue, there was a big fat cloud sitting on top of my favourite mountain. The view, I knew, would be nil.
But my plan had to been to climb it today, then to climb its adjacent peak, Dam Mountain, thereafter.

I was set on it.

Today was the day that I would finally go out and spread Beamer's ashes in one of the places she loved most: nature.

By 2 o'clock, the cloud had decided to stay and, with a huff of disappointment at this less-than-ideal circumstance, I set forth.

With Beams in my backpack (a difficult reality to get my head around still), I trudged up the Grouse Grind, my weekly 2.9km workout up the side of Grouse.

At the top, just as I suspected: the view was a big white abyss. No city. No ocean. No anything below. Just white at every direction.
It was eerie and almost fitting, I think. For what this journey was all about. It was like I was already in heaven.

The trek from the top of Grouse to the top of Dam is maybe another 2 km up up up. The trail is not too steep, it winds nicely to and fro, following a little creek of winter run-off.

This trail, actually, is exactly the kind that Beamer loved: thin and windy, so she could forge ahead and see what was around the bend, then return back to me, wagging her tail, and letting me know that it's all okay. The sidelines were littered with flowers, grasses, puddles of water, and berries. All the things that she loves to sniff, pee on, and rub in! There were 6 or 7 places on the hike where the trail forked, and I was reminded of how Beamer always, without fail, stopped at a fork in the road on our hikes, and waited for me to lead her in the right (and sometimes the wrong direction.) She always had a sense, and usually hers proved better than mine.

The top of Dam Mountain is literally a pointy rock. It's small yet iconic. I climbed up, sat on top, took off my backpack, and cried. I know the view from here is brilliant, but all I saw were the tree tops closest to me and the white white clouds.

I decided it was time to get B.

There is something so heart-wrenching and so final about seeing those you love as a pile of tiny stones and ashes in ziploc bag. In fact, it's down right cruel.

I poured Beams into my hands, stood up, and let her go.

The ashes carried off in the gentle breeze. The stones fell to the ground, dotting the landscape with white pebbles of love.

I sat back down defeated.
I wanted it to be more monumental. I wanted it to be less painful and more therapeutic.
I wanted there to be sunshine and love and light and beauty.
I wanted to feel like she was there and that I was not alone.

But there I was. All alone on a mountain top, one of my most favourite places to be, and I was miserable. And I felt alone.
And I missed Beamer with a terrible ache.

I would give anything to have my best friend back. Anything to pet her furry head atop that mountain, share a cookie and a drink of water like we always did, then say "Ok! let's go!" and watch her excitedly lead the way back down.

I got up to leave.
I said goodbye and I'll see you soon.
And with teary eyes, I sulkily climbed down the rock.

And then, with my very first step, like out of a carefully choreographed movie plot, the clouds parted, just a little bit. And a small ray of sun shone down on the rock where I had just been sitting.

I stopped.
"You've got to be kidding me!" I said aloud and laughed.
And I stood there staring, as I watched the clouds part more and the sun shine brighter, and this mountain top come alive.
In the very moment, I knew that, for me, Dam Mountain was heaven on Earth.
And that although Beams is no longer by my side, she, in fact, very much by my side, giving me light and love when I need it most. That's what she always did... and that's what she still does.

As I descended the trail, back to the top of Grouse, the cloud continued to move away, so fast that I could actually see it move in front of me. By the time I was half way, the sky was entirely blue and I could see as far as I could imagine. I was 1,000 feet higher than I had ever climbed before, and the view from up there was nothing short of majestic.

I can't think of a better place for my very best pal to rest.