To be alone with my thoughts. To figure myself out. To breathe in some peace.
To organize my head and my heart, so I can lead myself out of the fogginess of 2011 into a brighter, better 2012.
So when a friend texted and said "Let's snowshoe. Meet you on Mt Seymour at 1," I was on the fence.
Then, karma worked its magic.
I heard a thump in the closet, opened the door, picked up the jacket that fell of its hanger inexplicably, and looked up – directly at my snowshoes.
I smirked.
And promptly texted back: "In!"
Long johns, toque, boots, and jacket – I emptied my drawers to find them all and jetted out the door.
The day was mild by winter's standards. A little sunny. A little cloudy. A lot crisp.
There were 7 of us (I knew one) and 2 dogs. Sadly, my 9-year-old arthritic pooch was home in bed with a back leg limp and two very irresistible puppy dog eyes.
The snowshoes crunched as we trod off toward the peak of Dog Mountain (Sorry again, Harley. An unfortunate irony.)
The trail winds up, down, and around. Over creeks and around ridges.
In some of the steep areas, we slid down on our butts over icy slides.
We tripped and giggled over gnarly tree roots frozen and slick.
The weather was mild enough that half-way in we had stripped out of our hats, gloves, and winter jackets, and were trekking in sweaters – and the braver ones in Ts.
An hour or so in, we trudged up a steep embankment and ... arms outstretched, eyes wide, there it was. The most spectacular view of Vancouver and beyond. We could even see Mount Baker in Washington crisply in the distance.
Suddenly, I felt totally, utterly alone. Not in the pathetic way. But in a peaceful way.
I just stopped. Breathed. Looked. Felt goosebumpy.
It was stunning.
The sun was starting to set below the clouds. And a bright orange hue highlighted the vista.
Even the dogs stopped for a moment from their playful romp to be still.
There were 10 or 12 people on the peak when we got there, and the only noise was the wind rustling in trees and the occasional snowshoe crunch.
The world was still.
And I felt a bit weepy about it.
Good weepy.
Grateful weepy.
Sorry for being such a whiney baby kind of weepy.
It was fairly liberating.
And the only thing vacant was the spot beside me where I wish my brothers and their families, my mom, my dad, would all stand and be equally inspired.
Otherwise: totally perfect.
A quick look at my watch and my daze in dreamland was over.
It was a little after 4 and the sun was setting at 4:28.
Only half an hour of daylight and an hour of trail.
We quickly hustled back on to the trail. The evening light turned the snow from bright white to pink-hued to almost blue as we crunched forth. Magical. Psychedelic even.
The sun set quickly, but the snow illuminated the forest from underfoot.
It was half Narnia and half a Tim Burton movie.
Wholeheartedly beautiful.
When we crested the last hill and came upon the Chalet, the city below was aglow with millions of sparkling lights.
And I knew that it was all going to be alright.
There's so much more fun to be had.
