Longest voyage of the summer. In a way, the whole season has been building up to this — testing the boat, fixing the boat, testing ourselves. Each short run a rehearsal for something bigger. Now it’s time.
Full tank of gas and a reserve. Calm forecast. The last long weekend of summer. We’re headed to Savary Island.
The Strait of Georgia was smooth, sky pale blue. We passed Nelson Island when two humpbacks surfaced just ahead, their backs arcing gracefully, heading north, same as us. We held steady, careful not to alter their course.
A humbpack waving its tail in the distance
An hour later, more whales near Texada. The sound of their exhale carried across the water, heavy and breathy like the earth sighing. Past Powell River, still more whales. Three sightings, plus porpoises cruising through the calm. At this point, we were worrying more about avoiding marine wildlife than dodging debris. The sea was alive, and we were guests moving through it.
This strait, once quiet of whales, is now a highway of life again. Humpbacks returning each year. Dolphins, porpoises, grays threading the same waters. We didn’t see orcas this year, but that’s ok. We’d been given enough.
After just two hours and about 40 nautical miles, Savary came into view. Long and low, like a ribbon of sand stretched across the water.
Arriving to Savary Island
We passed the mooring field, followed sonar to forty feet to avoid the shoaling shallows, and set anchor. Dropped a crab cage for luck.
The sun cracked open the horizon, smoke from distant fires painting the sky red and orange. Dinner was flank steak with chimichurri and fried plantains, and a bottle of red.
Sunset dinner aboard with flank steak, fresh chimichurri, fried plantains, grilled asparagus and red wine
Bioluminescence shimmered in the water like starlight trapped beneath the surface. A shooting star burned overhead.
Sunset and moonrise
Sleep was restless. Dreams of barking dogs woke me, heart pounding. But the anchor had held. Sea Goat was steady.
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30/08 — Savary Island
A slow morning, coffee and breakfast on deck, then a dinghy ride over to the wharf.
Off exploring the island
Savary is built for two wheels. A sandy spine of road runs the length of the island, with trails and side paths peeling off toward beaches and coves. Up Campbell Road, we rented e-bikes from the local shop. We cruised west, meandering through sandy stretches and shaded forest trails until the road opened toward the south side. At Duck Bay, we leaned the bikes against driftwood and stopped for a cold one, specifically a yummy cider from Banditry, a local cidery on the Sunshine Coast.
Savary is unlike anywhere else. White sand beaches wrap around it, warm shallows giving it a near-tropical feel. Once a gathering place for the Coast Salish, it later became a retreat for settlers and wanderers. It still feels like a place that resists being tamed.
Turns out, paradise really is just 0 km away
Back to check on Sea Goat — still holding safe beyond the shoals — then on to Mermaid Cove.
Mermaid Cove
From the beach, climbed the stairs and walked a short path to the Mermaid Beach Club. Palomas with feet in the sand, but wasps chased us off before the charcuterie board. We saved that for later.
On the beach we met a couple of local sun coaster who split their time between Sechelt and Savary. She’s a flight attendant, he’s a tattoo artist. They had the cutest bear-like pup who rolled happily in the sand. I miss having a dog. We swapped stories, shared laughs, and they gave us tips about island life. I hope to see them again.
Back aboard, the sky turned gold once more. Charcuterie this time, Warren’s smoked salmon, a glass of wine.
Charcuterie aboard and chilled rosé
The moon lifted over the bay, bioluminescence flickering below, and lightning flared far to the west. The sea was calm, the night alive.
Perfect sunset
Savary felt like a place we could stay longer, but the tide of the weekend was already pulling us south.
Perfect moonrise
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31/08 — Savary Island to McRae Cove (Qathet)
Anchor up at 8:30 am. Grey skies, low clouds. Crab trap gone. Northerly winds coming, so it was time to leave.
We cruised at seventeen knots, towing the dinghy. Then, off the starboard, two humpbacks erupted from the water, breaching high into the air before crashing back in a spray. A farewell show.
We stopped for fuel at Powell River — this trip already a full tank and more. Passed the Airbnb where we stayed with Juno last year. Seeing it from the water was bittersweet.
Waves built as we went, but Sea Goat sliced through them smoothly. We reached McRae Cove, a wide, sandy-bottomed bay. Quiet, sheltered enough for the night.
Anchored at McRae Cove, Qathet
Explored by dinghy, snorkeled among oysters and crabs. A nearby islet teemed with seals and sea lions, barking and growling in chorus.
Dinner on the BBQ. I lounged, lost in the pages of Son odeur après la pluie. The words fit the silence of the cove, heavy and thoughtful, resonating with the stillness around me. Clouds thickened, lightning flashed over Vancouver Island, rain pattered on the deck. We stayed put, falling asleep to the sound.
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01/09 — McRae Cove (Qathet) to Duke’s Marina (Sechelt)
Swell crept into the bay overnight, rocking us just enough to stir. We left at low tide around 8 am.
The skies were dark, winds stronger, waves on the bow. Sea Goat cut through the chop, steady and sure. Ahead, the horizon broke open — the sun piercing the clouds in golden beams.
Even in rough water, the boat carried us with confidence. After a season of short runs and small lessons, this voyage felt like proof. Proof we could go further.
We turned south, retracing our path through the Salish Sea. The marina’s familiar silhouette emerged at last. We were back where we began — proof in transit and return that even the longest voyage circles home. Summer leaves you that way… grounded, yet changed. Not everything comes back the same, but somewhere along the way, home is found again.
08/08 — Duke’s Marina (Sechelt) to Buccaneer Bay (Thormanby Island)
Sea Goat’s stocked and set up now, which makes getting going easier.
Tried changing the fuel filter again. On the way to Thormanby, the engine quit completely — almost there, but stuck in the middle of the bay. I’m no mechanic, so I let the captain handle it.
We made it to anchor without too much trouble. Thankfully, it’s not too busy here.
Anchored at Buccaneer Bay, Thormanby Island
Shrimp pasta in lemon-garlic cream for dinner while the sun broke across the sky.
The Sturgeon Moon rose behind Sea Goat’s constellation again. A sign? Watched it climb into the darkening sky, full and glowing orange. Magical.
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09/08 — Buccaneer Bay(Thormanby Island)
Stayed anchored today. No point trying to fix something we don’t have the parts for. Not a bad place to spend the day — so much to do, or nothing at all.
After coffee, took the dinghy out to drop crab traps at 100 feet, plus one closer to the boat.
Back for breakfast: our classic shrimp cakes with fresh mango guacamole.
More exploring by dinghy. Clear waters, lots of swimming, walking the sandy beach. So much life — mussels, tiny fish darting, shells scattered along the shore.
Beautiful sandy beach and clear waters
Back to Sea Goat, cleaned the engine, propeller, and sonar.
Pulled the trap near the boat. One small red crab released, and one Dungeness kept. Decided to eat it here rather than transport it home the wrong way. Thanked it for the perfect meal.
Sparkling wine, fresh crab, music, sunshine. Haven’t felt that happy since Juno passed. Life isn’t always easy, so I’m savouring these magical moments while they’re here.
For dinner, cooked Maui steak skewers on the BBQ and made another fancy platter. Still full from the morning, but why not—fifteen years in the food industry has taught me there’s always room for something good.
Played games, watched the moon rise again.
Lay on the bow, stars beaming alongside the moon. Thought of Juno, Lady, my mom. Of the people I’ve met while moving through the world—some who’ve drifted with time and distance, and others who’ve stayed close. Faces, moments, places—they come and go, yet linger somewhere within. And so do the places I’ve been, the things I’ve seen, and the ones still waiting.
11/07 — Duke’s Marina (Sechelt) to Buccaneer Bay (Thormanby Island)
Arrived at Duke’s Marina around 7:30 pm with more gear than expected. Cloudy skies with pockets of sunshine as we set out.
The horizon opened into sunset by the time we anchored at Buccaneer Bay. Smoked bacon and ravioli with pesto for dinner, and a bottle of red.
Beautiful evening on our way to Buccaneer Bay, Thormanby Island
Then the full moon rose under Sea Goat’s constellation. I sat at the end of the boat watching stars move across the sky. The moon was so bright. Is this you, Juno? Lady?
How magical is this!
Thank you.
⸻
12/07 — Buccaneer Bay (Thormanby Island) to Codfish Bay (Jedediah Island)
Howly guacamole.
Woke groggy to a ceiling that looked like a mosquito massacre. Over twenty didn’t make it through the night, their bloody remains marking the beige carpet.
Waves were picking up. Out the window, trees swayed and the mast light of our neighbour’s sailboat bobbed. At least we’d anchored well.
Coffee first, then anchor up. I need to get faster at that. Getting out of the bay was easy. What came next was not.
Swells rolled in. This is ocean, baby. I kept telling myself this is what I wanted, but maybe not today.
It was rough. Very rough. Terrifying. I put my life jacket on. That’s what they’re for, right? I go quiet. My mind races to my mom, to the ones I love, to the great life I’ve had — highs and lows included. I thought of Lady and Juno. Maybe it’s okay. Maybe if today’s the day, I’ll be with them again.
Fuck.
Engine problems.
We approached Texada Island as the swells became full waves. At least the engine held through the worst of it, but we still weren’t there yet.
Ta ta ta ta.
We crept slowly toward our destination.
Finally, we found the bay. Secluded. Protected. Only two boats, and one left, giving us the prime anchorage.
We made it. At least for now. Time for a Caesar, then we’ll explore the island. That’s what we came for, after all.
⸻
11/07 — Jedediah Island
Beauty morning at Codfish Bay. We’d scored prime real estate in the sheltered bay on the southeast side of the island. The water here is calm and glassy, framed by rocky shores and thick forest that opens into wide meadows.
Cooked breakfast, then set out to explore. Today was for no worries. We’d stay anchored here.
View of Codfish and Home Bays on Jedediah Island
Jedediah is only reachable by water, and solitude arrives the moment you step ashore. Long before homesteaders, these shores were part of Coast Salish life; a tidal fish weir in the shallows still shows how people once lived and gathered here. In 1949, Al and Mary Palmer came to the island, carving out a homestead where they lived for decades before it was purchased by the Province in 1995. When the people left, some of the goats and sheep remained, turning feral and reshaping the meadows in their own way. Visitors still speak of Will, the horse who lived out his days here.
The trail wound north through forest into an open field. I searched for the goats and sheep, but saw only their traces — droppings, faint paths through the grass. I found Will’s grave, then others, small markers of lives remembered in silence.
On the southeast side, the old cabin still stand, once inhabited by the island’s homesteaders and now slowly weathering back into the land. I’ve always been drawn to cabins — the way they hold onto stories even as time wears them down, balancing what was with what is.
Near the barn, an orchard of apples and pears still leans into the grass as if waiting for someone who never came back — a quiet reminder that those who lived and loved here left more than footprints.
It felt good to stretch the legs. Back at the boat for some appies and chilled wine — though the cooler really needs replacing, drinks warm up too fast. Adding that to the list.
Took the dinghy for a sunset cruise around Rabbit Island.
Off to bed early. Tomorrow we’ll be up before the storm rolls in. Let’s hope Sea Goat will take us home.
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13/07 — Codfish Bay (Jedediah Island) to Duke’s Marina (Sechelt)
Up at 5:30 am. The other boats had already slipped away. The storm was on its way.
Anchor up, slow cruise back. The motor still wouldn’t give us much speed.
The sunrise was beautiful, waters calm. Saw two humpbacks moving in the distance.
04/07 — Duke’s Marina (Sechelt) to Buccaneer Bay(Thormanby Island)
At Duke’s Marina, the tide was low and the ramp stretched steep, with seaweed drifting in the clear water and purple starfish fastened to the pilings. We stowed our bags into a wheelbarrow and trundled down to the dock, something I had always wanted to do. First time loading up, first time heading out. Sea Goat waiting below felt like the start of everything.
She still carries Maria on her stern, but to us she is already Sea Goat. The name surfaced in a conversation with my mom, a quiet nod to our Capricorn stars and our love for both the mountains and the sea. It is said that changing a boat’s name without the proper ritual can anger the sea gods, so for now her new name is only spoken between us.
We pushed off at dusk. The water was calm and easy, only the hum of the motor and the occasional ripple. The sun set straight ahead, casting gold and pink across the Malaspina Strait.
On the Malaspina Strait, from Secret Cove to Thormanby
A cool breeze came up as we moved, carrying cedar from the shore mixed with salt from the water. It was exactly the kind of beginning we had hoped for, smooth and quiet, with the evening light pulling us toward Buccaneer Bay.
Thormanby’s Buccaneer Bay is known for its long sandy beaches and its safe, sheltered anchorage. Even from the water you can tell why people fall for it — the stretch of sand, the quiet protection of the cove, the soft pull of summer gathering here year after year.
Sea Goat anchored at Buccaneer Bay, Thormanby Island
05/07 — Buccaneer Bay (Thormanby Island) to Anderson Bay (Texada Island)
Woke to still, shallow water. Very shallow. Too shallow. We’d anchored just outside the deep channel, close to the sand stretching out with the low tide. Time to move. Fast. We won’t make that mistake again.
Pulled anchor and headed for deeper water. Drifted toward Texada Island for a couple of hours. Coffee brewing, sun warming up, air salty and clean. Let the day start slow.
Anderson Bay sits on the southeast tip of Texada Island. It’s quiet, tucked in, and well-sheltered when the wind comes from the north side. The water is clear green along the shore and fades into a deep blue further out. The warm pine scent from the forest hangs in the air.
Anchored at Anderson Bay, Texada Island.
We anchored for the day and watched eagles circling overhead while fishing boats hummed past.
Neigbour watch
On the distant shore, a little otter appeared. She slipped into the water and swam toward us, curious. Pirouetting in the waves, juggling her meal, she floated on her back, paddling slow and snacking on little fish. Otta will be her name. I hope I see her again.
Otta the otter playfully snacking on fish.
We didn’t make it to shore, but next time for sure.
Headed back to Buccaneer Bay for the night, and this time we’ll set the anchor right.
❝ I am not here in this life to be well balanced or admired. I’m here to be an oddball, eccentric, different, wildly imaginative, creative, daring, curious, inventive and even a tad strange at times. I’m here to (roam) and (learn) and (love) and (dream) and find (magic) in a blues riff, a sunrise, a touch of the (wild). I’m here to discover ME in all of that. I’m here to add clunky, chunky and funky bits of me to the swirl and swagger and churn of life and living. It demands I be authentic. So when you look out at the world, that’s me (and my dogs) dancing in the fields… ❞
Whistler is home to untouched powdery terrain, high alpine bowls and extensive natural playgrounds that we get to enjoy during our beautiful winters. To celebrate another wonderful season, here are a few snowboarding clips taken earlier this year.
I slipped my feet into the white sand. Its cool composure liberated me from the throbbing pain. I was too exhausted to jump into the ocean and wash out all the dirt on my face and my hands, and the sweat that has accumulated on my skin and my clothing. I laid there for a couple of hours, soaking in the warmth of the sun, the breeze of the sea, and the sand between my toes, thinking about nothing but: I did it!
Seven days ago, my girlfriend and I had packed our backpacks with everything we needed to survive for a week: camping gear, hiking clothes, dehydrated food, and survival kit. We had planned this trip for a few weeks and were anxious to finally begin. The West Coast Trail has always fascinated me. I’ve heard about it from fellow adventurers I’d met along my travels, and it seemed like the kind of adventure I had to put on my bucket list. I am no expert hiker, although I have several trips under my belt. The Pacific Northwest has been my backyard for over a decade now, offering many trails to wander, glacier-fed lakes to discover and mountain peaks to conquer. I have also hiked around Kathmandu, Nepal, staying in tea houses, eating home-cooked meals and carrying a small backpack. But the WCT was the kind of adventure I’ve never done before. It was a physical and mental challenge far beyond anything I’ve done. It was much more than just a stroll in the woods.
The West Coast Trail is a gruelling 75km long backpacking trail hugging the southwestern edge of Vancouver Island in British Columbia, Canada. Construction of the trail debuted in 1889, originally part of a communication system connecting the British Empire in North America by an undersea cable which ran all the way to India. After the wreck of the Valencia in 1906, the trail was improved to facilitate the rescue of shipwrecked survivors along the coast. It is now part of Pacific National Rim and is known as one of the world’s top hiking trails.
Day 1: Embrace the opportunity Gordon River to Trasher Cove- 6km
Butch took us to the trailhead across the Gordon river with his fishing boat. We jumped off the craft onto the sand, only to be welcomed by a 52 rung vertical climb ladder. Welcome to the WCT!
My bag was heavy. It pulled my shoulders and the strap on my chest pushed my lungs making it hard to breathe. It wasn’t that the trail itself was hard, but rather acclimatizing to my gear. My 43 pound bag carried all I needed for surviving a week in wilderness. I did read it shouldn’t be more than 30% of my weight, yet bringing a deck of cards, a reading book, tank tops and too much food seemed to be essential and weightless at first glance. I regretted my amateur decision of bringing the unnecessary every step I took, carrying a bag nearly half my weight, turning into a turtle camouflaged by her shell. It was a slow march through the woods, travelling 1km an hour.
As I hiked I pondered what drew me into doing this trail. It wasn’t solely for the remote beauty of the coastline, the impressive old growth forests and the endless empty beaches. I wanted to test my capabilities, to see how far I could go physically and mentally. I was attracted to the sheer challenge, to the experience, to the accomplishment, to the opportunity to learn and to grow.
When we got to Trasher Cove, we set up camp on the beach, and watched the sun disappear behind the trees, leaving an orange glow over the ocean. As the sun dimmed its light, we called it a night.
Day 2: Slow down Trasher Cove to Camper Bay- 8km
The sunrise was sublime. The sky was clear and the breeze was invigorating. We started the day on the beach at low tide, hiking on black stone shelves, careful about wet surfaces. This part was so beautiful, and pretty enjoyable to trek. We walked through a cave and arrived at Owen Point where a group of sea lions sun bathed on a rock erected from the ocean.
We hopped from boulder to boulder, jumped over crevasses, traversed the edge of a gully holding on a slippery rope.
The magnificence of the views muted me. I was in awe taking in impressive images of the vistas. We took our time, slowing down to admire the incredible landscape.
When the tide rose up, we entered the forest and finished the trek inland. It was muddy, extremely muddy, and we had to be very smart about each step. This very technical day ended up at Camper Bay, where we arrived in our first cable car.
As the sun shied away behind the clouds, we gathered around the campfire with fellow hikers, discussing of food and gear, and sharing stories of the trail and of home.
We retired early to our tent, away from the beach and sheltered in the trees. Then the rain began.
Day 3: Love the journey Camper Bay to Walbran- 9km
It poured all night, and it wasn’t ready to stop. We broke camp, put on our monster backpacks and headed back on the trail as the heavy rain lashed. The course was challenging and we got to test our skills and our sense of humour on slippery logs, impassable headlands, uncountable ladders, broken boardwalks, thick patches of deep mud, suspended bridges and one more cable car.
It wouldn’t have been the WCT if it wasn’t for the wet weather, the rugged terrain, the remoteness of the trail. I was soaked, dirty, sweaty, yet I couldn’t be more happy to walk this incredible journey.
As we reached our couple last kms, the sun slowly penetrated the clouds. The forest canopy stood high above me as the sun rays filtered through old growth trees. I fell in love with the lonesome beauty of nature. It was raw, it was pure, it was terrifyingly beautiful.
The trail opened up to the creek, that ran into the ocean. We walked through the fog, shuffling our tired and wet feet in the sand. Campers setting up their tent, warming up by a fire, and collecting water greeted us with a smile. It felt like a parallel universe, being alone all day in the wilderness and arriving to a place temporarily inhabited by humans. I grabbed my flask of maple whisky from my bag, and took off my shoes. I didn’t want to start a fire, set up the tent, get fresh water nor cook dinner. I wanted to admire that well-deserved sunset.
Day 4: Things aren’t always like planned, and it’s okay Walbran to Cribbs Creek- 11km
The morning light seeped into the tent. I forced my feet back into my wet socks and boots, and strapped my loaded bag on my back. Our plan was to hike on the beach, but the creek was too high to cross that early. We changed our plan and headed inland, after crossing our third cable car.
It reminded me how in life things don’t always go as planned, and it’s okay. Sometimes we have to change our route or take a detour, but that doesn’t mean we’re not on track.
We arrived at Cribs Creek where I immediately removed my wet gear. I skipped dinner, still full from my decadent $22 cheeseburger I had at Chez Moniques’, a 77-year-old lady who opened up a burger shack in the middle of the trail on reserve land. I was exhausted and chilled to the bones, so after setting camp I crawled in the tent, zipped myself into my sleeping bag, and let my head sink into my pillow
Day 5: Keep going forward Cribs Creek to Tsutsiat Falls- 16km
It felt like a never ending story. My bag seemed heavier than the first day, carrying wet and sandy gear. It was a constant effort to stay upwright. I longed for nothing more than water and to take my pack off my shoulders.
It was a slow progress, stepping one foot in front of another, carefully watching every movement, every step. My eyes focused on the slippery roots, the sinking mud holes, the loose sidewalk. It became so technical I’d forget to look up. I had to stop, not only to rest my back from the load, but to admire the scenery. I stood in a world of infinite, pure and quiet beauty.
I’d take a deep breath, taking in all the fresh air and the beautiful images. Somehow it gave me energy to pursue. As it reminded me why I was there on this trail, how going forward was the only way to see more, to know more, to live more.
The last couple of hours were brutal. My body was about to collapse in the loose sand, my hair sticking to my face, my provision of water rapidly diminishing. I knew I had to keep going forward, because going back to where I started wasn’t an option. So I put one foot in front of the other, over and over again, because at least I was going somewhere. And I was going to make it.
I was drained, in pain and on the verge of collapsing when we arrived to the falls, but I was also over joyed and astonished of how far I’d gone.
Day 6: Appreciate the details in each moment Tsutsiat Falls to Darling Creek- 12km
We woke up to the roar of plunging waves. We admired the falls rushing their fresh water into the ocean bed. The birds songs travelling through my head overpowered the pain on my body. I was ready for another day.
We started off with a series of climbing ladders. I’m not sure if I got used to them, but I didn’t mind them. I had a couple days left on the trail and I was going to win. The clouds rolled in but it never rained. The overcast weather was ideal. There were some really nice stretches in the forest, and cliffside paths, with the ocean appearing in occasional views. I had to pause to appreciate the precious details of my surroundings. It was the lush greens of the trees, the water dripping from the tip of the branches, the sun filtering its timid rays through the fog, the sea foam caressing the sand…
It made me realize that since I’ve been on the trail, my mind never wandered like it does back home. I was so focused on each moment, on each step, free of appreciating the perfection of every circumstances. My mind wasn’t trapped in the past or the future. I was right there, in the reality of the moment, precisely where I was supposed to be.
When we arrived to Darling Creek, we found ourselves completely alone in wilderness. Hikers kept going further on to the next camp. We decided to stay, and enjoyed the whole beach to ourselves. We finally managed to have a raging bonfire, dry our clothes and boots, carved our names on a buoy and share our highlights of our trip, while sipping on the last drops of our whisky and savouring the ice cider I kept for our last night.
The sun came out for a last show of setting light and glow.
Day 7: Push your limits Darling Creek to Pachena Bay- 14km
We rose up to a moon crescent and a starry sky. It was 4am and we had a big day ahead of us. We couldn’t miss our shuttle in Pachena Bay back to Gordon River, and considering our slow pace, we had to have an early start. We poured the Bailey’s we kept for that morning into our coffees. I don’t know if it was the caffeine I didn’t have in a week, or the small dose of alcohol in my body, or a sudden boost of stamina on my last day, but I felt awake and energized. I knew I had to push myself even more today than the others. I had to, and I would. I was committed to accomplish this hike with bliss.
The first couple of kms were on the pebbled beach. We arrived at the other camp where everybody were still snoozing. We tiptoed through the tents and took the trail inland, making our way through the forest in the darkness of dusk.
This last stretch was the easiest of the whole trail, and we crunched distance like superheroes. I didn’t let my back, nor my blisters, nor my aching knee, nor my exhaustion discourage me. I was in such a mindset to push and keep going that I couldn’t feel anything anymore but my mind taking over my body. I was in a state I haven’t been in while, pushing myself well beyond what I thought were my limitations. I became numb to my pain, and felt the exhaustive exhilaration of pushing myself to my limits, with a burning desire to make it to the end.
We travelled 14km in less than 3 hours. And then there it was, the end. We have arrived.
We did it.
We signed off and unloaded our packs from our backs. We took off our shoes and our gaiters. We were the first ones of the day to complete the hike, and we had 4 hours before our shuttle. So we took the trail that headed to the white sand beach.
Humbled and blissed
The coastal trail had humbled me. I was brought into the flow of life, embracing the immense beauty and magic of each moment. I had pushed myself further that I’ve gone before, and discovered a strength within that assured me that I could achieve anything I set my mind to.
The WCT reminded me the importance of setting ourselves goals, pushing ourselves out of our comfort zone, challenging ourselves to take one more step, running when we can’t walk anymore. By physically and mentally pushing ourselves, we discover that pain and exhaustion lead to incredible feelings of joy and success.
Life is about choosing our own path, taking risks, embracing uncertainty, taking the unpredictable turn, falling down, getting up, and never giving up when the road gets tough. We are stronger and greater than we think, and are capable of anything we set ourselves for. As long as we keep moving forward. As long as we have the right mindset and are not afraid to cross the creek and get wet.
“There is no bad weather, just inappropriate clothing.”
-Ranulf Fiennes
Some people tend to find inconvenience under atmospheric precipitation. They fear to get wet, to get cold, to soak their hair, to ruin their makeup, to get lost in the fog, or to be drown in sadness. Of course I am not talking about getting outdoors during a severe natural disaster. I’m insinuating getting outside and benefitting from the fresh air while the sky is grey, the temperature is chill and raindrops fall from the clouds. We don’t need to be kids to fill in warm clothes, a waterproof jacket and rubber boots. Adults can also find amusement in jumping in puddles and mud under a drizzle or a heavy downpour. At least, I do. I enjoy those simple pleasures and as childish as it sounds, it makes me happy: It makes me present in the moment.
February has been a rather rainy month in the Sea-to-Sky Corridor with chill winter air sweeping through the valley. Warmer days are in the forecast, and since spring is around the corner, with unpredictable weather, it’s important to remember that it is not a rainy winter day that should cancel our outdoor adventures. I made a list of 5 free winter outdoor activities you can do in the Sea-to-Sky Corridor on a rainy day :
Chase waterfalls
The Sea-to-Sky Country offers 5 stunning waterfalls: Shannon Falls, Brandywine Falls, Alexander Falls, Rainbow Falls, and Nairn Falls. Most of them are just a short hike from the parking lots, allowing you to wind through magical and impressive rainforests before accessing impressive rushing and crashing cascades. There is nothing I like more than walking through a forest under the rain. There is something so soothing about the sound of the rain falling through the tall trees, the freshness of the air and the scent of the earth soaking every drop. There is something so relaxing and purifying about standing at the bottom of a waterfall, breathing the pure air, and feeling the mist of the water pouring vigorously in front of us.
Squamish welcomes a significant number of wintering bald eagles from all over the Pacific Northwest each year. They congregate along the Squamish and Cheakamus Rivers to feed on salmon carcasses. It is a great spectacle to observe them perched in the trees, or flying gracefully above the water. The large gathering of eagles is prominent from December to March.
We are spoiled with two incredible, natural and road-accessible hot springs. Key Hole Hot Springs are found 100 km from Whistler, down Pemberton Meadows and up the Upper Lillooet Service Road. Sloquet Hot Springs are located about 142km from Whistler, and most of the drive is on the In-Shuck-Ch Forest Service Road, a gravel road along Lillooet Lake (be aware that snow might cover the road up to Sloquet. Watch the road conditions before you head up). What’s better than to soak in the warmth of mineral-rich pools, tucked into the wilderness, while the rain falls over your head.
If you have a cross-country bike, you are up for a treat. The Sea-to-Sky Corridor has an extensive trail network to explore, rain or shine. Squamish has the best spots to bike in the winter, due to its lack of snow at lower elevation. While mostly sheltered by the thick trees, you can find challenge in pedaling up and down muddy and wet surfaces. There is something cleansing about biking under the rain through the rainforest. A sense of pure joy and freedom.
If you can’t find any friends willing to embrace the rain with you, why not drop in at your local shelter and see the possibility to walk a dog? Dogs don’t complain about being wet or cold. They wear the warm fur and will wag their tail at the idea of playing in puddles and mud with you. Not only does it allow you to get outside and get some fresh air, but you are also helping a furry friend to stretch its legs. Dog shelters welcome responsible dog lovers to apply as volunteers and drop in to take a dog for a walk.
So next time you see the rain, dress properly, wear the right attitude, and embrace the weather. Trust me, bad weather often looks worse from a window. So get out there and get wet!
The season has changed, leaving place to the cool and crisp air of autumn. Summer has been absolutely crazy, in so many good ways, with work, and camping and adventuring every weekend. But I am now looking forward to quiet days at work, cozy wool sweater weather and wrapping my hands around hot teas and good books. But the one thing I really love the most about fall is the cool mornings and glorious sunny afternoons. I am looking forward to get outside and embrace the fresh autumn air with my dogs.
Even if many trails are open year-round, I find that autumn is the best season to hike: no crowds, no bugs, no heat. Plus, it’s the time of the year where nature wears its best colours and its unique fragrance. Here are 5 incredible hikes to do with your furry companions this fall in the Sea-to-Sky Corridor:
Skywalk Trail- NEW!
There is a new trail in town! Built by volunteers from The Alpine Club of Canada, The Skywalk Trail was completed at the end of August 2015 and offers a stunning and scenic hike that starts in Alpine Meadows and leads to the north of Rainbow Mountain. This 14km round-trip trail goes up along 19 mile creek, passing beautiful waterfalls before entering into alpine meadows resting at the foot of an ancient glacier. After scrambling over some rocks, the trail leads up to Iceberg Lake, a beautiful green opaque lake sitting at 1600m, with an ice cave resting on its shore. The trail goes further up to Screaming Cat Lake and loop back to the starting point.
While the trail is limited to foot traffic only, there haven’t been any restrictions for dogs. Remember to respect others by being a responsible owner and keep your dogs under control. Thank you to the volunteers at Alpine Club for this great job on building by hand this trail and offering us the privilege to explore our backyard in such a way. This is a true Whistler experience!
Stawamus Chief
Located in the town of Squamish, the Stawamus Chief, commonly known by locals as The Chief, offers a steep but short 3-hour round trip hike atop of the 700 massive granite cliffs. There are 3 summits, the highest being at only 1.8km, all offering scenic views of Howe Sound and the town of Squamish. There is a lot of traffic on this trail and sections with steep cliffs, so always keep your pooch close by.
Sea-to-Sky Trail
The Sea-to-Sky Trail runs 180km from the waterfront of Squamish all the way up to D’Arcy. There are many scenic spots to see along this non-motorized trail, from cascading waterfalls, to raging rivers, to suspended bridges, and pristine lake views. Wether you are biking, walking, running or hiking, your four-legged friend will be ecstatic to run beside you.
Joffre Lakes
A very popular and must do hike. Joffe Lakes Provincial Park is situated north of Pemberton, up the Duffey Road. There are 3 lakes, the upper one located at 5 km. The trails are well-maintained and enjoyable to ascend, although the last part between Middle Lake and Upper Lake is a bit more challenging. The reward is worth the sweat: pristine turquoise waters and rugged Coast Mountain scenery. Your pooch will be happy to pose for a photograph with such a background.
Rorh Lake
Nestled near the Marriot Basin on an alpine bench, just a few minutes north of Joffre Lakes Provincial Park, Rohr Lake is a beautiful and uncrowded hike. It is an ideal environment for the dogs, where they can sprint through steep trees and run freely in the alpine meadows. The hike is short (3-4hours one-way) but steep, rough, rocky, muddy and wet. Also, due to the unpopularity of the hike, the trail isn’t well-marked, so read the direction properly before heading up. Rohr Lake is beautiful and clear, and the peacefulness of the place is worth every efforts.
Footloose Diary 